Joe Sixpack: Miles to go, many brews to sample

PEDALING UP another hill on a lonely road through the Poconos, I had the feeling I'd taken a wrong turn. My fellow cyclists were nowhere in sight, my water bottles were empty, and the roadkill was turning ugly.

What was I thinking?

Riding a bike 300-plus miles over six days from Philly to a beer festival in Cooperstown, N.Y., sure sounded like a great idea back in March. We'd cycle hard all day and drink and eat as much as we liked all night!

Out of shape? Yo, I could still squeeze my butt into Spandex shorts.

Creaky knees? That's why they make Aleve.

Hills? We'd follow the Delaware all the way to New York and probably coast half the way.

Six of us - led by Jeff Appletans and Lara Marek of Philadelphia's GoCycling LLC - pushed off from the Art Museum steps two weekends ago for our ride to the annual Belgium Comes to Cooperstown fest.

Held on the sunny meadows surrounding the Ommegang farmhouse brewery, the festival is two days of nonstop music, food, camping and beer, beer, beer. A lavish, bottle-emptying, opening-night dinner is followed by an afternoon with ales from more than 75 American and Belgian breweries, then hours of gleeful debauchery around scattered campfires.

More than one beer freak has called it the Woodstock of Beer.

Yeah, we could've driven (gas is back under 4 bucks, isn't it?), but as any cyclist will tell you, the destination is only half the story. The slower pace of a bicycle lets you see, smell and, perhaps most importantly, hear the journey.

A gurgle of clear spring water along the road . . . the easy chatter among friends . . . the whoosh of an eagle's wings . . . the cheers from kids in front of a double-wide . . . the high-pitch ping of a chain racing through the derailleur.

And, sometimes, just the beautiful, majestic silence of the river.

Enough poetry - what about the beer?

Our ride took us through Milford, N.J., home of the Ship Inn, a funky, British-style brewpub where the waitress didn't even blink when the riders - sweaty and soaked by a violent thunderstorm - piled in for pints of bitter.

In Easton, Pa., we rambled around the Weyerbacher brewery, then loaded up our bags with bottles of dark, rich Slam Dunkel.

Those places I already knew about. It was the small inns and restaurants in out-of-the-way spots that gave me a new appreciation for how far full-flavored craft beer has come in the past 10 years. This is the backwoods of Pennsylvania and New York, remember - hunting country, where pickups rumble along the road with a gun rack and a case of Yuengling Premium.

But after each day's ride, we never failed to find something special.

At the 196-year-old Indian Rock Inn in Narrowsville, Pa., there were cold bottles of Troegs Rugged Trail nut brown ale. In Andes, N.Y. - a town where cell-phone reception is nonexistent - fellow rider Chris Lapierre of West Chester's Iron Hill Brewery lucked into perfectly aged, 2-year-old bottles of Orval Trappist Ale from the bar at the Andes Hotel.

Even at the generic Hancock House in Hancock, N.Y., (a town with more taxidermists than taxi cabs), we found half-liters of Spaten Oktoberfest.

The finest of these gems, though, was in Hawley, Pa., population 1,303.

I'd never even heard of the town and, until I rode along its shores, I was certain that nearby Lake Wallenpaupack was some fictional resort out of a Yogi Bear cartoon.

Hawley was my destination that afternoon as I grunted up another 11 percent Pocono incline. Grinding the pedals, I reminded myself to check a map next time I got the urge to load up the panniers. Places with names like Skytop Lodge & Resort and Camp in the Clouds might've given me a clue.

Just past Promised Land State Park, though, the climbing eased and the road began to drop down the mountainside. Fifteen, 20, 35 mph. I gripped the handlebars tighter when the speedometer showed 40, then grinned all the way into the tiny town.

My heart still racing, I ambled into the Settlers Inn, a handsomely furnished, Craftsman-style hotel. A hot whirlpool eased the muscles. A cold glass of Allagash White took away the last bead of sweat.

The inn has long had a reputation for its extensive wine list. But owner and executive chef Grant Genzlinger has discovered that his dishes (Moroccan-spiced filet, lamb shank in blueberries) pair beautifully with beer as well.

So when the other riders finally arrived (a bunch of flats and a longer, roundabout route put them a couple of hours behind schedule), we eagerly dove into a beer menu that could match any back home in Philly.

There were goblets of St. Bernardus 12 and Koningshoeven Quadrupel and Schneider Aventinus and Jever Pils and apple-flavored Ephemere and . . .

Back onto the bikes early the next morning.

There were still many miles to ride and there would be more great beer around the bend.

in Bethlehem

This week, Bethlehem hosts the Eagles training camp, Musikfest and Joe Sixpack. I'll be leading a beer-and-cheese pairing at the Starfish Brasserie (51 W. Broad St., Bethlehem) at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Join me and maybe I'll share more biking adventures. $39, 610-332-8888. *

This week, Bethlehem hosts the Eagles training camp, Musikfest and Joe Sixpack. I'll be leading a beer-and-cheese pairing at the Starfish Brasserie (51 W. Broad St., Bethlehem) at 6 p.m. tomorrow. Join me and maybe I'll share more biking adventures. $39, 610-332-8888. *

"Joe Sixpack" by Don Russell appears weekly in Big Fat Friday. For more on the beer scene in Philly and beyond, visit www.joesixpack.net. Send e-mail to joesixpack@phillynews.com.