Remember the bikes we used to ride as kids? They were fixed geared, fatty tired, and rusted. And, you always would have the neon crotch pad on the frame…just in case. Kind of looked like this:

From Boulder, CO, Fat Tire amber ale is slowly biking it’s way to the east coast. I remember when it first rolled into Chicago. I was working at a gear shop and all the buzz from customers and employees, alike, pertained to the anticipation of Fat Tire’s arrival in the city. The day finally arrived and I had the pleasure, nay, the honor, of sipping its sweet amberness in the little Lincoln Park bar: Kelly’s Pub.

The air was still and the conversation was nil as we all partook of pure Rocky Mountain beer gold. As we left that evening, we stopped at a local liquor store only to find out that no Fat Tire sixers were to be found and enjoyed…instead, bombers were abundant. Yes. Tasty. And yes.
It’s been a year since my last Fat Tire. I’m having withdrawals. But, I soon will be moving back to Chitown – which is the farthest east I’ve found Fat Tire.

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