“Nooooo!” This was my none-too-clever cry of dismay as the half-gallon jar of beer tumbled over in the back seat of the rental car and began spraying in all directions like an enraged sprinkler. I could only watch in horror as my beloved Wakonda Beachcomber Cream Ale lost its precious fizz in front of my teary eyes. “Whyyyyy?!” My sincerest Nancy Kerrigan impression erupted as I attempted to reseal the foamy jar and wrap the whole mess in my sweatshirt. I cradled the l...