Popination Initiation

a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Downhill Brewery.

also, hiking.

This is Deer Creek Park, Coyote Song path. Looks like half Irish meadow, half Star Trek Classic Series alien planet set.

I grew up in Boulder, CO, and so I grew up hiking. Every single weekend it seemed, we went up to walk around the many mountain trails, or at the very least in the foothills. I know how to sniff pine needles (and to roll them between my fingertips to see if they’re pine or fir) and use or avoid embedded rocks in my path. I know the crusty texture of lichen vs. the soft velvet or dense carpet of moss, though in Colorado the moss doesn’t get huge and humanoid like it can down South. I know what GORP stands for and know it’s actually better with chocolate chips and even better with M&Ms included.

This childhood report might seem unrealistically frequent, but if you know anything about Colorado, and Boulder in particular, you’ll know how close the mountains are—it’s not hard to get up in them anytime, even for a young family with little to no money. So like, it might not have been literally every single weekend but I remember it that way, and how it felt to be a mountain goat (or at least a trail goblin) up till my teenage years, when I indulged in illusions of cosmopolitanism.

To this day, my parents still frequent Rocky Mountain National Park, Estes, and any number of other mountain places, mom’s bad and/or titanium joints be darned. But I don’t go up into the mountains nearly as often anymore. Not sure why —I guess my job/s and lifestyle has gotten pretty urban since college (or even highschool), and it’s not something I have the good shoes for anymore anyway.

But! I went hiking with my husband yesterday, and as much as my old body isn’t nearly as spry (and much more prone to back pain when walking) as it used to be, my body memory allowed for good technique on both uphill and downhill walking —I still know how to use my knees to not bite it on a steep downhill, and etc. It was a beautiful and fulfilling thing to do, and a gorgeous day, even if I did get a little hot and my back a little bothered by the end. Hubby grew up in Boulder and even up in the mountains himself too, but I’m not as familiar with the trails South of Denver where we live now, as much as he is. As he has raised two kids down here, he knows the good places to hike. But I did procure a new pair of walking shoes for the occasion.

Deer Creek Park had some amazing scenery to enjoy as we walked, too —unusual alien-esque extrusions of stone poking out from (for Colorado) impossibly green meads and shrubs. Several different types of people and their families and dogs were trekking up and down, too, including a couple couples who were actually jogging like…oh my god I needed to sit down just looking at them…

I didn’t actually get a shot of Downhill’s exterior, but tbh it was sorely lacking in any aesthetic whatsoever.

But a hiking trail is not a pub!

After our hike and a quick change at home, we ventured back out to a new (to us) stripmall brewery called Downhill. I had noticed it’s very near the shooting range where husband and his oldest like to go do pew-pew things, and so I had planned to go Popinate there whilst they did that. Turns out the kid went out fishing with his friends and husband decided to come try the brewery with me instead of his old plans, not the least because he has found a new taste in good craft lager. I’m a terrible influence. Though not really —he still grimaces death when he samples an IPA.

I say ‘stripmall brewery’ and I mean it: what a bland, almost rough-neighborhood-looking, this complex was. With its Sports Book sports bar across the way, newly reopened after having burned to the ground, and various other things painted a dull puce on the exterior.

And of course, the obligatory Jackalope on the wall.

Down the hill to Downhill

But inside, the contrast in niceness/comfort was extreme: it did boast a lot of the classic brewpub interior design, including wooden tabletops, steel seating, lots of open wall-sized picture windows, and the vats and kegs used to brew their in-house wares visible in the back. There were two other rooms for family seating off from the main bar area and high tops of the main floor, and there was the requisite silent sports and the current taps on big screens above. And a jackalope trophy. What’s a jackalope? Hm. Look it up. (It’s a local cryptid, is all I’m gonna say.)

My companion and I had a leisurely discussion of what a comfy workplace this would be to bang out a project for a little bit within a work day. As we crunched on their cracker-thin-crust pizza (the only food offered here as their beer was the main event), we felt that this homey place with its quiet friendliness could help a lot with feeling trapped in a work from home sitch: this type of pub is one solution or at least a slight soother of it.

It’s pretty much impossible to get a good pic of the inside of a good pub, as Colorado is *always* sunny, and a good pub should be a bit dim, IMO. So it’s always backlit. But hey. Maybe it gives you even more of a realistic idea of its feel, no?

Upstairs, Downhill

What a perfect thing to do after a hike! As a kid, my family did indeed follow a ‘tradition’ of stopping for a reward after the hike: often, it was to sit on the glorious and luxurious outside balcony of the five-star Chautauqua Dining Hall, a fine dining establishment that yet didn’t mind hiking boots on their floors or walking poles leaning against the walls of their patio. We’d order a couple pieces of the best banana bread on the planet, and robust spiced tea on ice that seemed to continue the juniper berry, pine-y air we’d just been gulping. This trip to Downhill felt similar, and I felt both refreshed and ready for a nap when I was done. That’s as it should be.

This was a deliciously crisp Kolsch. Named after Gondor. I also tried a strawberry lemonade sour (Gose, too?) that was so yummy, I took a crowler home. Husband had a couple pints of a Mexican lager called Obi-Juan Kenobi, which made me chuckle.