At last, I get to chronicle the happy leg of our harrowing journey.  It’s hard to believe the whole driving trip of 1,124 miles lasted only three nights and four days. It seemed like a month. After two nightmarish border crossings and a sleepless night in Montreal, we were entering Vermont and headed toward our first stop, The Alchemist Brewery.
I was giddy with excitement. Let me tell you about Heady Topper, the flagship beer from The Alchemist, considered the fifth best beer in the world by Beer Advocate.
The irony: Heady Topper is not distributed beyond 25 miles of Stowe, Vermont. It is unpasteurized and must be kept cold at all times. It’s a delicate, delicious double IPA. Most fans have never tasted it. They only know of it. I never thought I would ever get to taste it, but here I was.
Thanks to surly border patrols and a deceptive advertisement for our Canadian AirBnB, we found ourselves driving over Smuggler’s Notch, headed for Heady.
We entered the brewery parking lot. It was full of guys carrying beer to their cars. This was a tasting brewery. No full beers were served. All sales must go. Inside we grabbed a glass to taste four beers, no waiting. I was anxious. What if Heady tasted MEH? I didn’t want to be disappointed.
I put it to my lips; I closed my eyes. I took a drink. I didn’t know if it was day or night. I started kissing everything in sight. But when I kissed the border cop down on 34th and Vine, he broke my little bottle of ….  Oops. Sorry. Those are the lyrics to “Love Potion Number 9.” Couldn’t help myself.
We spent an hour at the brewery tasting, and loading up on shirts and koozies.      Gino’s cousin, Matt Capone, owns Pennsylvania’s third largest bottle shop outside of Philadelphia. Gino wanted to buy some Heady for Matt’s personal consumption as a surprise. Customers are limited to 16 cans, so we both maxed out our limits.
We were reminded by the clerk that their beers are unpasteurized. She kindly admonished to keep them cold at all times. Gino and I left the women lounging in the grass and drove several miles to a grocery store to purchase four coolers and six bags of ice..
After that stop, the whole wide wonderful world turned a beautiful hazy unfiltered amber. I got a text message from Jim Benson, a classmate from kindergarten to 12th grade. Hadn’t seen him in 47 years. He was living in Vermont working for America by Bicycle. “Hey, Steve. I see on Facebook that you are in Vermont. Stop by Lincoln for a visit. My friend has a house you guys can stay in for several days, no charge. We’re having a concert.” Good old Jimmy boy.
I wrote back. “Sorry, Jim, but I must decline. We wasted our vacation visiting Montreal. But we’ll be back. If you come to California, stay free with us.”
He replied. “At least stop in Burlington on your way through. You won’t regret it.” We did, and we didn’t. We stopped and didn’t regret it.
Burlington is Vermont’s most populous city, a college town 45 miles south of the border, and the first American city to run completely on renewable energy. Central Church Street has no cars, only bars, restaurants, dance clubs, gift shops, and happy people. We strolled the night away and slept in late at the quiet, comfortable DoubleTree. We all agreed. One day we would return and further partake.
Our trip got better and better. The wooded highways were lined with attractions like a string of Christmas lights. “Flea Market on the left!” “Maple syrup on the right.” We stopped and shopped our way through Vermont and New York. Gino and Patricia bought yard art.
I found in a ten-room old building of antiques, an original Currier and Ives hand-colored print of Little Sisters, released on Christmas Day 1862. They reminded me hauntingly of the twin Grady daughters from “The Shining.”  “Come play with us.” It was in its original frame. $30. It now hangs on my bathroom wall in front of the toilet to creep out my friends.
We drove until sunset and found ourselves in Wellsboro, PA., the gateway to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon and home of the old Dickens of a Christmas Celebration, which draws thousands of visitors.
We took a cozy room at the Penn Wells Hotel built in 1869, just missing their massive Mountain Laurel Festival, but able to stay for Fathers’ Day. The complimentary breakfast consisted of Dirt Cups, jalapeño-popper quiche, bacon chocolate chip cookies, whiskey and Coke cupcakes, and a hot dog bar — a true rural meal like no other. The room and breakfast for four: $130.
Our final stretch was to cross Northern Pennsylvania on historic Route 6, the Grand Army of the Republic Highway, that stretches from Massachusetts to Bishop, California. We stopped at the Lumber Museum and restored logging camp with ancient locomotives and log cranes. We picked up some postcards. Lastly, we stopped in Smethport, founded 1807 by Dutch investors, and home of the first magnetic toy, the Wooly Willy. I own three of those.

Steve Gibbs is a retired Benicia High School teacher who has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

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