The Beer Run, Part 6:  Our Journey Ends at Triton Brewing Co. and Bier Brewery

By Donovan Wheeler of Indiana On Tap

Growing up an hour southwest of Indy, I was only vaguely aware of Fort Harrison, a thriving military complex at the height of the Cold War.  Actually, my first time on the grounds was the moment Jim and I turned into the entrance on our way to Triton Brewery.  It was only when I saw the “military-esque-ness” of the place that I fully appreciated how deep and pervasive our sense of readiness was when I was a kid, and we all spent our nights worried that Brezhnev would take one too many vodka snorts and push that damn button.

Today, Fort Harrison is transitioning from its barracks and pavilion past into something bordering on a mini-community on the east side of the Circle City.  At times, passing the apartment complexes which clearly used to be military housing you can pretty easily convince yourself that you’re looking at just another housing  set-up which looks no different than any other neighborhood in town.  But, when we rounded the corner and turned for the brewery, I noticed the open plaza and instantly saw in my head at least six of my favorite scenes from Stripes.

Triton Brewery

One of the bonuses of our journey around Indy was that, with each brewpub and taproom stop, we experienced something different, something unique as we crossed through every set of doors.  Triton’s stylistic and arguably strategic decision to embrace its military roots probably made its facility stand out the most to us.  Where Indiana City melded into darkened shadows, where Fountain Square meshes avant-garde with urban flair…Triton opts for a sterile, brightly lit environment which strikes me as a consumer-friendly mess-hall.  The corrugated steel we saw at Fountain Square is also here, but here it shines (or better yet, glistens).  And whereas at Fountain Square the steel is haphazardly placed across the ceiling, here it it’s uniformly arranged along the walls, just above the brick and siding wall texture below it.  Additionally, black steel support beams and posts crisscross the silver duct-work, and combined with the taproom’s large windows the result is a well-lit atmosphere that sometimes has the feel of an echo-chamber.  For the most part, it’s an atmosphere I appreciated.

Once Jim and I sat down at our table and looked over the menu, I knew that Triton’s military motif was more than a mere coincidence of visual associations, starting with the mythological analysis on the menu detailing Triton’s role as the trident-wielding son of Poseidon, the god who could command the waves with his conch horn.  This dovetailing effect is something the brewery has mastered well from a visual-marketing perspective.  The dominant use of the three-pronged spear (on the six-pack boxes, on the tap handles, on every sign in and out of the facility) works extremely well, creating the ambient sense that sitting in front of fine beer is a deed worthy of men and gods.

Jim and I began with Triton’s house flight of samples, served to great effect on a hexagonal paddle-tray, complete with detailed sampling instructions in order for the palate to savor the full experience.  Of those six brews, one of the standouts included (for me, at least) the Four Barrell Brown.  In this beer, most of the 21 IBU’s comes early, followed by the smooth-tasting mixture of caramel and coffee on the finish.  I first sampled this beer last summer at the Penrod Art Fair hosted by the IMA.  Usually, on a hot day, I prefer a hoppier pale or IPA, but the Four Barrel crossed the tongue perfectly, even in the midst of a late-summer scorcher.  Continuing my penchant for smoother, darker beers, my other favorite among the collection was the Deadeye Stout, a delicious brew which also carries hops-laden tinge to it, despite the low IBU rating.  In fact, if any one distinction stuck with me across the board, among all of Triton’s products, it was probably the mildly bitter kick to them.  Of course that was noticeable in the Railsplitter (a very good IPA commonly sold in taps across the city and state), but that distinctly Triton bite seemed quite evident even in the traditionally smoother beers as well such as the Sin Bin Belgian (named after a slang term for the penalty box in ice hockey), the brown, the stout, and even in the Fieldhouse Wheat (one of the better wheat beers I tasted on the journey).

As much as we enjoyed the beers, the one element Jim and I both discussed as we walked outside was the taproom’s atmosphere.  Like Jim, I preferred the darker, more “hipster-ish” scenes, but I wasn’t bothered by Triton’s more traditional feel, particularly because I saw how comfortable it made some of their obviously military clientele (further proof that the craft beer culture is a phenomenon serving more than millennials).  

Bier Brewery

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into an obscure strip mall on 65th Street, and walked into one of the more strangely named joints on the trip: Bier Brewery.  I quickly assumed the name was a tribute to the German roots to most varieties of beer as we know them, but I was still struck by the simplicity of it.  Furthermore, the red storefront and the streamlined logo and sign above the door all reminded me of the commercialized, sanitized feel we’d just walked out of at Triton.  When we stepped in, however, that sense of “ho-hum” ended abruptly.

Bier’s taproom borders on an emporium.  From the Boba Fett head and Captain Morgan statue guarding the restrooms, to the half-rusted fridge tucked a few feet from the entrance-way, Bier exudes all those “millennial” elements that kids like Jim love, and that became obvious once he took it all in. When he noticed the more homey decor on the other side of the room–bookended on one side by an array of ribbons, medals, and other awards and by a small stack of empty kegs and other clutter on the opposite side–Jim was officially wowed.

Not long after entering, when we worked our way back to the bar, our sense of the place was complete.  Grabbing our attention almost instantly was the chalkboard mural situated over the row of small, black tap handles.  On the one hand, the use of a chalk-wall is hardly different from dozens of other brewpubs and taprooms across Central Indiana, but Bier’s staff has taken the subtle mixture of art and information to levels I’ve not seen at other pubs.  On the day we arrived, the board displayed a row of illustrated kegs standing shoulder-to-shoulder, if you will, with the names of each respective beer artistically incorporated into, above, and even around the artwork.

And those beers…

Bier Brewery adopts a unique approach to the brewing process as well.  Unlike virtually every other establishment (which builds its reputation around a cornerstone of “house” beers), Bier basically brews whatever they want.  And what they brew is what they serve.  Consequently, every trip promises something new, and for Jim (who, like most college-aged kids, approaches the craft beer world with an experimental mindset) this combination of perpetual variety at the tap mixed with the hyper-casual atmosphere probably made Bier Brewery his favorite stop of the trip.

As our journey wrapped up, I sat by Jim at an old dining room table enjoying Bier’s RedRum ale and a delicious Belgian Dubbel.  Jim, meanwhile, savored their PDG (a popular beer which I’ve seen on the board both times I’ve been there), and he also sampled the Sessie, a powerfully sweet and creamy Belgian pale.  While I sat, the evening sun beams crept through the front windows and reflected off of the concrete floor.  I realized then that while the trip had been a great deal of fun, it had also been exhausting, but my emotional take on the experience was about to be best summed up by an observation Jim made, one he still talks about over two months later.

“Check it out,” he said point to the sofa next to us.  Seated a half-dozen feet away, two of the brewers wrapping up a long day in the back room, had settled into their cozy seats, glanced at each other, and offered up their freshly drawn pints in a cheers salute.  It was the sort of “we’re doing what we love” moment that both creates envy and also earns a substantial measure of respect.

Suddenly, our mutual moment of contemplation was shattered when we both heard a loud “crack” followed by a clattering racket of wood and concrete.  Four feet from where we sat, a small circle of middle-aged men had gathered, and as they enjoyed their conversation, one of them leaned on the edge of the old dining table.  Unlike most tables, which insert the extension-leaf into the middle, this one used fold-out leaves on the end.  The combination of age and pressure were enough, and the old wooden support brackets gave away, sending the unfortunate fellow who leaned on it sprawling onto the floor.  I want to say that my first concern was for the poor man’s safety (I do know it was an early thought in my mind), but as I recall my first actual thought was what I uttered to Jim in a whispered voice: “Holy shit,” I said, “how do you pay for a table this old?”

The owner, a white-haired gentleman sporting a pretty cool looking goatee, walked out and inspected the carnage.  I thought we were about to witness an awkward argument or maybe a naturally understandable fit of frustration.  Instead, the owner merely smiled, turned to the victim of the table’s worn down engineering and said, “Did you break the floor?”

After a round of relieved laughter, everyone continued to enjoy their evening.  Moments such as this only reinforced my love for the craft-beer culture.  A simple accident was treated exactly as it was and nothing more.  No paperwork, no “promise not to sue” disclaimers, no corporate policy and impersonal harassment.

We left Bier close to dusk and had planned to end our trip at the Three Wise Men in Broad Ripple, but by the time we arrived, the NCAA basketball crowd had packed the place.  Somehow we’d managed to traverse the city for two days and mostly avoid the hordes of Kentucky Wildcats fanatics who had invaded the town, but at that moment our good timing ended.

Despite that final missed opportunity, my two days with my son were in a lot of ways the culmination of that childhood/fatherhood chapter in both our lives.  I don’t really know whether Jim turned whimsically philosophical as our brew tour wound down, but I sure did.  My son has been by my side for most of his life.  From all those weekends I took him with me to the golf course, to the one-on-one basketball games in our old gravel driveway, to the plastic lightsaber fights in the back yard, to those long sessions at the XBox getting pulverized in Call of Duty…  Jim showed me that children do more than change or define who you are; they in so many ways become who you are.  We will go on more Beer Runs, for sure.  I want to write about them, and Jim wants to be along for the trip.  But by turning 21 and sharing those brews with him, I felt myself hand off some sort of emotional baton, and just like that, he was all grown up.

Where did the time go? 

Look for more articles by Donovan in the near future. Maybe Donovan and Jim will even continue on their ”Beer Run” journey. Where do you think they should go next? 




Previous Stop: Barley Island
Start the series over again with the first stop: Cutters Brewing Co.