#16 - The Best-Laid Brewing Plans...

It's been one of those periods where brewing, beer and running have conspired to remind me that very little ever goes exactly to plan.

Let's start with the beer.

Back in Blog 13, I mentioned my Superdelic split-batch experiment. The idea was simple enough. Brew a beer showcasing a hop I'd never used before, then split the batch between two kegs. One would be conditioned in a cask-like fashion and served through the hand pull in the Fuzzy Duck Brewery, while the other would be force carbonated and served conventionally.

In theory, it was a great experiment.

In practice, it turned into a lesson.

I started with the hand-pulled version because I didn't have space in the kegerator for the force-carbonated keg at the time, and the temperature in the garage was ideal. Over the last couple of years I've learnt that cask-style beer is surprisingly delicate. Let it creep much above about 12°C and bad things start happening. At best it isn't cool enough to drink properly. At worst it starts refermenting, oxidising or generally finding new ways to disappoint you.

Unfortunately, when I first poured the beer, something wasn't right.

The flavour was muted, the hop character was dull and the colour was noticeably darker than I'd expected. Worse still, when compared side-by-side with the kegged version, the difference was obvious.

Oxidation.

The old enemy.

After discussing it with a few members of the homebrew massif, the likely culprit became clear. I'd left too much headspace in the conditioning vessel and despite enough secondary fermentation to generate some carbonation, there hadn't been enough activity to properly purge the oxygen.

The frustrating thing is that I'd encountered similar issues before without ever fully understanding the cause.

At least this time I learned something.

Unfortunately, learning doesn't make it any easier when an entire batch is heading towards the drain.

I left the kegged version to condition for a while, optimistically hoping some kind of miracle might occur. Every brewer has done it. You know the beer is flawed, but you keep tasting it every week just in case it somehow transforms itself.

It didn't.

This morning it met its inevitable fate.

Down the drain.

Twice the frustration, really.

Firstly, it was a waste of time, effort and some genuinely good hops. Secondly, the result was that I suddenly found myself two kegs lighter than planned.

Being short of beer is not a situation I enjoy.

Brewing Under Pressure

Naturally, the obvious solution was to brew another beer immediately.

Work has been ridiculous lately, so rather than spend days designing a recipe I decided to keep things simple and use a new thermo-tolerant yeast strain that supposedly throws out big mango and tropical fruit flavours. It's some sort of Kveik-derived strain and is designed to ferment at temperatures that would normally make traditional brewers break out into a cold sweat.

The only slight issue was that I couldn't actually get the fermentation temperature anywhere near the recommended 30°C.

Still, if the beer turns out clean, fault-free and easy-drinking, I'll consider it a success.

Like most rushed brew days, the recipe evolved as it went along.

The plan had originally been a fairly straightforward West Coast Pale. I'd already started mashing before I realised I didn't actually have the hops I'd intended to use.

Not ideal.

So I resorted to what I had available.

Simcoe.

Idaho 7.

Columbus for bittering.

To be fair, that's hardly a disaster.

I also included around 12-13% Vienna malt, which should add a little sweetness and body to balance things out.

The danger, of course, is that by winging it I've ended up with a beer that ferments drier than intended. Kveik yeasts have a habit of chewing through everything in sight and lowering pH as they go. That's probably getting a bit deep into beer nerd territory, but it's one of those details that can completely change how a finished beer drinks.

We'll see.

Running To Solve Beer Shortages

The immediate consequence of two drain pours was that I found myself short of beer.

There was only one logical solution.

Run to Glasshouse Brewery and buy some.

Obviously.

As the crow flies, it's roughly fifteen miles away.

Unfortunately, I don't fly.

So I extended the route to around twenty miles to make it a worthwhile excursion.

The run itself was decent enough. The final stretch took me through an area that some locals would politely describe as "up and coming" and others would simply call "bandit country," but I arrived at the brewery without being robbed.

Always a positive.

The reward was twelve cans of Bringing the Seshy Back, their excellent 3.8% pale ale and one of my favourite lower-strength beers.

The barman gave me the familiar look.

It's a look I've encountered many times before.

A mixture of confusion, concern and curiosity.

When he asked whether I'd cycled there and I explained that I'd actually run, the expression intensified considerably.

In fairness, my wife was collecting me afterwards.

Even I draw the line at running twenty miles home carrying twelve cans of beer.

Adventures In Leicestershire

I've also found myself running in some unfamiliar places recently thanks to work.

I probably spend more time choosing hotels based on nearby running routes than I do considering the quality of the accommodation itself.

A comfortable bed is nice.

A decent ten-mile loop is essential.

The problem is that running somewhere new always involves an element of uncertainty. You can study maps all you like but you never really know what you're going to find until you're there.

One route in rural Leicestershire looked excellent on paper.

I'd actually covered parts of it previously with a colleague during a management team away day and decided to create a variation.

Big mistake.

I chose to run it in reverse and promptly rediscovered several important facts.

Firstly, Leicestershire is far hillier than it has any right to be.

Secondly, much of rural Leicestershire consists of fields.

Lots of fields.

Thirdly, if you're not running through a field of barley or wheat, you're probably running through a field containing something that's considerably larger than you.

Usually cows.

The Great Cow Incident

I am not a huge fan of cows.

To clarify, I quite like them on a plate.

In a field, especially when I'm on my own, less so.

Part way through the run I found myself faced with a sizeable herd blocking the route.

I had little choice but to continue.

What happened next was less enjoyable.

Within a couple of minutes I was essentially surrounded, and one particularly confident member of the herd appeared determined to make its feelings about runners abundantly clear.

I'm not ashamed to admit it became a little tense.

My strategy involved shouting, waving my arms, clapping loudly and generally behaving like a lunatic.

When that failed, I escalated matters by charging towards the offending cow whilst shouting even louder.

Remarkably, it worked.

The cow turned.

The herd followed.

And I continued on my way with my heart rate suddenly discovering a completely new training zone.

According to Garmin, it may have been my hardest interval session of the year.

A Reconnaissance Mission Up North

Before I finish, I should mention a significant development.

My wife and I have decided that we'll likely be moving back to God's Own Country next year.

There are various reasons behind the decision, but that's probably a topic for somewhere other than a beer and running blog.

What it does mean, however, is that I've started using work trips as reconnaissance missions.

One such stop was Masham.

What a place.

A beautiful Yorkshire market town, home to Black Sheep Brewery, excellent pubs and enough character to remind me why I've always loved North Yorkshire.

I stayed in a Greene King pub, but thankfully they also served Black Sheep and Theakston beers.

One thing quickly became apparent.

I've become thoroughly conditioned to lighter, hoppier beers in the Midlands.

Spending time in Yorkshire reminded me that northern brewing traditions often lean more heavily towards malt-forward beers.

It may take a little palate reconditioning when I eventually return home.

Not that I'm complaining.

A Windy Evening Near Hartlepool

The following evening saw me staying just north of Hartlepool.

Again, I'd planned a route in advance.

Again, reality differed from the map.

While driving to the hotel I found myself repeatedly thinking one thing:

"I don't remember this looking so hilly."

The run itself was around eight miles.

The opening climb was sharp and directly into a strong headwind, which was every bit as enjoyable as it sounds.

After that came a long descent before reaching the coast.

And coastal running has a special ability to humble you.

Every path seems to go either steeply up or steeply down. Add strong winds coming off the North Sea and progress becomes considerably harder than expected.

I've also noticed that evening runs after a full day of work never feel quite right.

Whether it's hydration, nutrition, fatigue or simply the fact my body much prefers a stupidly early morning start, I've no idea.

What I do know is that I didn't run every step.

There were sections I walked.

Some climbs I shuffled.

A few parts became negotiations rather than running.

But I got it done.

And sometimes that's enough.

Sometimes that's simply what the body is prepared to give you.

And if there's one thing running, brewing and life keep teaching me, it's that not every session needs to be perfect. Sometimes survival, learning something new and finishing with a good beer is more than enough.