The first day of fall in Bend. Ahh. Most of the tourist trade has vanished (I’m told), and the hipsters have slunk back to Portland and their PBRs. Locals are relaxing, the sky is blue, and the beer is flowing.
When I moved to Portland twenty years ago I had not yet heard of hefeweizen and immediately contracted OBD (Oregon Butt Disease), which manifests as fifteen sudden pounds in the posterior caused by too many 200-calorie pints. I’ve since switched to red wine and martinis (probably no less caloric) but now that I’m #inbend, I’m rediscovering beer. Portland is touted as Beervana, but Central Oregon seems to be nosing ahead as the leader of the craft brew movement.
First stop: Oktoberfest, downtown. Lots of said beverage, an oompah band, brats, deep fried pickles, wiener dog races, “absurd games of skill for prizes”, and a lederhosen/dirndl costume contest (though more were dressed in yellow and green and relieved to learn the Oregon game would be aired in the polka tent).
Twenty minutes away in twee Sisters, more music and more drinking under the big tent at the Fresh Hop Festival.
All uncrowded, all free admission, all in one weekend. Dozens of designer beers, 105 bands, 90 degrees…wait, why am I telling you this? Strike that. Bend sucks. Nothing to see here…move along.