DECATUR - There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, inevitably leads to beer.

And so it was with retired Decatur firefighter Charlie McGorray who, in 2006, found himself riding a Harley-Davidson across Europe on vacation with a bunch of other firefighters from stateside.

At rest, they would slake their thirst with stirring and full-bodied Euro beer that McGorray, a brew aficionado, had prepared himself for with much diligent conditioning.

"I had a friend from Dallas call me up before the trip and say, 'Charlie, be ready. Those guys over there are tournament-level beer drinkers," McGorray says. "So I made sure I was all practiced up, and my friend, Bill (Bordner), he helped me get ready by practicing drinking the heavier ales and stuff like that they have over there."

And so, he embraced the Old World and did not disgrace the New World, even as some of his less-conditioned colleagues encountered nine-alarm difficulties and sank into their cups. But experiencing such dreamlike elixirs of great excellence awoke in McGorray an effervescent surge of ancestral longing fermented deep into his genes: Why can't I brew beer like that?

His forebears used to. In the 1880s, great-great-grandfather Henry Shlaudeman owned Decatur Brewing Co., which, before we could speak easy of Prohibition, rose to be a major beer supplier in the Midwest. Nothing remains of that family legacy now but some old stock certificates and the persistent desire to brew, which got tee-totaled during McGorray's first marriage.

"I told my wife what I wanted to do, and she says, 'Over my dead body. You are not stinkin' up the house,' " he says.

But then came that fateful Old World bike ride and all those great tastes. And it was there that he met a retired fire captain from San Francisco who convinced him he could easily brew his own.

"This guy had won a couple of gold medals at the California State Fair with his beer," McGorray says. "He says, 'You really ought to try it, now you've got the time.' He just gave me that little push over the edge that I really needed."

McGorray came back full of hops and hope and soon found a willing assistant in Bordner, a union carpenter who knows how to build enthusiasm. "Brewing beer is something I've always wanted to try anyway, because I enjoy beer," Bordner says.

"Charlie provided the spark, and I caught fire."

They've kindled other willing flames along the way, too, and formed a kind of impromptu home brew club that often meets at McGorray's former fisherman's cottage, offering intoxicating views from atop a bluff overlooking Lake Decatur. The McGorray-Bordner brewery is now celebrating its first year, having mastered 10 kinds of mainly European-style beers, ranging from Irish red ale, an old-style beer called German alt to honey wheat beer and a rather powerful bourbon barrel porter.

Raising a glass to the Internet, they get their supplies via www.northernbrewer.com, the clientele of which ranges from wet-behind-the-ears beginners to seasoned brewmeisters who get their kicks manipulating alpha acids in hops for custom flavors.

McGorray and Bordner say novices can keep it simple and get something decent bubbling in their kitchens for an initial $300 outlay in equipment, then $25 to $30 for each self-contained ingredient package that makes about 50 bottles.

The kits arrive in the mail precisely measured, ready to go. All the budding brewer has to do is follow instructions while keeping his utensils squeaky clean. One bad bug in the fermentation process will multiply into a foul taste that will leave you crying into your foam.

Then, after at least four weeks of fermentation and conditioning, the day dawns when anxious home brewers can sample what they have wrought. McGorray will never forget that magical moment when he, Bordner and two other friends finally popped their bottle tops and prepared to down the first beer they ever brewed, an Irish red ale.

"It was like, 'OK, on three, just take a sip, and if we all die, we all die,' " McGorray recalls. "So we took a sip, and then we took another sip, and everybody is kind of looking at each other, and all of a sudden we all got this big grin on our faces.

" 'Man,' we say. 'That's good beer.' "

Tony Reid can be reached at treid@herald-review.com or 421-7977.