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I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for… BEER!

I wouldn’t say I’m a beer snob, but if you stick a can of Coors Light in front of me, I’m not going to lie — I’ll ask you to bring me a glass of water instead because it tastes the same and has far fewer calories.

Unless it’s a hot summer day and I’m craving a cold light beer to get me through a project or a giant, juicy hamburger, I’m usually going to pick a darker, heavier beer.

So when Justin said he wanted to tour the Coors Brewery while we were in Colorado, I was intrigued because I hadn’t been since before I was of legal drinking age, but also secretly wishing we could have gone to some other brewery.

Turns out, though, that this one was worth the trip.

We arrived at the complex in Golden, Colorado, parked, and waited in line for about 20 minutes before getting on a tour bus.  The folks at Coors run a smooth — and free — operation.  My only complaint is that the outdoor waiting area wasn’t covered, hence my first high-altitude sunburn of the trip.  Our tour guide was hilarious, taking us on a quick run through downtown Golden before dropping us off outside of the brewery.

Coors Brewery

Hey, red shirt guy.  Get out of my shot.

Since the last time I was there, they turned the brewery part into a self-guided tour.  The nice thing was that we could meander as we pleased, listening to our little self-guided tour speakers.  Coors also had stations set up throughout the walk where employees could answer any questions we might have.

Of course, I don’t remember anything I heard through the speaker, so let’s just look at the pictures, shall we?

I have no idea who this woman is.  But she wouldn’t move, so I took the picture anyway.  She happens to be pointing to the label of what I’ve since discovered is a very awesome beer.

copper kettles

 The infamous copper kettles.  All I remember is that there were a lot of them, and you could determine the various purposes of each by looking at the size of the shaft.  (Ha!)  Also, the big red signs.

We’ll call this Mission Control.  I’m pretty sure that guy was watching football.  Or porn.  Or both.

Hmm… how does one test the quality of beer?

By drinking it, I imagine.

About halfway through the tour we came upon the Fresh Beer Room, where we were able to sample exceedingly fresh Coors or Coors Light, straight from the source.

I’ll admit it was tasty, fresh as it was, but it was still just Coors.

One of the coolest parts was the packaging room.  The maze of conveyor belts, gears, and complicated looking machinery had us mesmerized for several minutes.  Waaaay up high in the back, we could see cans coming in.  Then stuff would happen and suddenly they’d be in boxes.

Crazy.

By this point we were getting antsy and ready for the final stop of the tour — the bar.

The coolest part about the entire experience, aside from seeing that it’s actual people — not elves — who are responsible for putting beer in my fridge, was the fact that everything was free.  Including 3 pints each of our choice at the end of the tour.

The Colorado Native was good, but the Batch 19 was phenomenal.

Couple of Batch 19s.

I asked the bartender how they manage to keep the locals from stopping in every day for some free beers, and he said that they don’t!  Guests are limited to one visit per day, and he said there are students from the Colorado School of Mines who show up daily.

Daily.

Dude.  I totally went to the wrong college.

How to Win a Race Without Actually Running It.

1. Wear something comfortable.  Something like jeans and a t-shirt.  Something that says, I am not a runner.  I take myself too seriously.  I would rather sit on the sidewalk drinking beer while you fools go run like it’s fun or something.

2. Arrive at the square with enough arms and bags to carry all of your non-runner stuff (camera, purse, reading material, umbrella, water bottle, etc.) and all of your significant other’s runner stuff (water bottle, free t-shirt, wallet, car keys, etc.). Promptly lose significant other because you had to run back to the car to get more stuff (aka. your jacket because it’s cold and you, the smarter of the two, will not be running).

St. Patty's Day Race Raleigh

3. Find significant other standing in line to acquire his bib (that’s fancy runner talk for “numbers”).  Quickly become bored and wander off to see how many random strangers will let you take their photos.

I now own a piece of each of your souls. Mwahahahaha.

4. Realize how many people are there.  Start to experience a pang of anxiety.  Calm yourself by remembering that soon they will all be gone and you will be left relatively alone because, as one of the smartest people in Raleigh, you will not be running.  You will be free to breathe, holding nothing but 80 lbs. of crap.  And also, somehow, a glass of beer.

Will you all just GO already?  You’re drinking all of the beer.

5. Strategically position yourself in a place where you can get a good view of the lesser species — that running breed of human — as they leave your life forever.  Or at least the next 20-50 minutes.

Observe that the most hardcore competitive runners wear the most colorful footwear. Do you think that makes them faster, or is it simply so you can see something — a bright streak of color — as they zip by at lightening speed?

Some are clearly in it to win it. (Bright green shirt guy.)

Some wear looks of sheer determination. (Green tank top girl.)

Some are probably stoned out of their minds.

Kidding.

Some are… well.

I actually think he might be on to something here.  A kilt could provide excellent breathability.  Though he could’ve gone shorter.

This is NOT responsible running attire.

I sure hope he’s wearing a sports bra.

People who run with children are like extreme gluttons for punishment.

And also kind of badass.

It’s fun to embarrass your significant other by screaming and yelling like a crazed fan while snapping photos with paparazzi-like ferocity.

6. When they’re gone, find yourself the bar.

Order a Smithwick’s (but pronounce it Smiddicks, so you sound like you know what you’re talking about), sit on the sidewalk, and make friends with the other smart people who don’t run.

When the mob returns with the wet stench of sweat and pain unfit for human habitation, feel slightly superior in the fact that you’re still clean and happy as the last wash of Smithwick’s slides down your throat.

Totally, totally winning.

(For the record, I love runners.  They’re like the happiest people on earth, and the truth is I just like to be around them and try to absorb the endorphins via osmosis and beer.  Click here to see the last race I watched, and here for my friend Erin’s experience at the Merrell Down & Dirty Mud Run)