Tavern Tales

[ScottP]

A post originally posted by Rodchester:"Well I say that Whopper and I went into one place one night for a few cold ones and it was quite clear that we were not welcome there. We stood our ground had a brew anyway and left on our own accord.No fights...but is was painfully clear that we were not welcome there."

Reminds me of a friend and I walking into a bar in rural Montana a few years back... two steps into the place and I knew that we had the wrong bar. It was like one of those scenes in a movie where the music stops and all eyes are focused on moi. In this case, all eyes were Native American and they weren't happy to see us lily white boys in their watering hole. Two steps forward and two steps back. I still get the creeps remembering the vibes coming off that crowd.

But wait...Darrington Bluegrass Festival late 80's: Two friends and I are unwittingly drinking ourselves into a stupor the evening before a day of climbing up Copper Creek. For some reason there is an arm wrestling match between Doug and myself. I lose and within a minute there is a diminuative chap wearing the classic logger garb challenging Doug to an armwrestling match. Doug makes the mistake of dismissing him with a wave of the hand and a smiley, "Get the fuck out of here." Next thing we know there are two gargantuan chaps in classic logger garb looming behind him, looking very mean. Kevin and I look at each other with the, "Oh fuck!" expression and at Doug with the, "You fuck!" expression. Somehow Doug manages to charm his, and our, asses out of getting soundly thumped by some Darrington logger types with promises of much beer. Some time during the night, I roll under Kevin's monster Dodge Power Wagon to escape the rain and wake up the next morning in a puddle. A fucked up weekend for sure

[haireball]

Kremmling, Colorado, 1972 - having been run off the road by a truck trying to pass me that came back into my lane a bit too soon, I was stuck - car totaled, no money... but I travel with a banjo... so I'm sitting in the city park frailing away wonderin' how the hell I'm gonna get out of this hole (I'm 19 years old at the time - pretty damn green) and this old blue studebaker starts circling the park, slow-like...

about the time I'm startin' to get really freaked out, the studebaker stops, and a mostly bald beer-bellied guy gets out, pulls a Martin guitar out of the back seat, strolls over and asks if I can play Wildwood Flower. Two hours later, I know Frank grew up in Arkansas, works at a nearby mine, and I believe him when he says he used to play county fairs & taverns with Glen Campbell. He invites me to go with him to a friend's place where they are getting ready for a gig at the Grand Old West (main bar in town) that evening, and would be honored to take on an out-of-town banjo picker - even one with hair as long as mine...

well, old Frank was better than his word - his friend's place was packed with guitar & fiddle players and sound equipment. we jammed, they fed me, and at 8pm we loaded into a van and headed for the Grand Old West, already two sheets to the wind. now recall - I'm nineteen at this time, and it's not even legal for me to be in this bar, but the town constable makes himself scarce, out of respect for the banjo - and it seems word has got around; the place is packed!

the short ending is that I left Kremmling on Trailways the next afternoon, after sleeping off the free whiskey in the town's best hotel, and with the remains of a coffee-canful of folding tip-money tucked into my wallet.

so listen to Uncle Haireball, folks - you want to road-trip and drink on somebody else's tab - learn to play a banjo... after that first experience in Kremmling, I carried on hitchiking with the 'jo for fifteen years!

[David_Parker]

Jingleville, New York (1980) St. Lawrence County is 3 hours north of Albany and is also known as the North Country. It boasts the highest per capita cases of incest and related births. Just prior to X-mas vacation we were "cruising" around and came to this small little town in the middle of no-where. We decided to stop in for a beer. As soon as we opened the door, it was like we were on stage. They were having a Christmas party. Everything stopped and everyone looked at us. It was one of those moments when each side wasn't really sure who was looking at the stranger people. We didn't exactly get the feeling we we invited to stay. But being that we were under the influence of psyllocibin, we couldn't help but stare back. It was if we had stepped onto the movie set of Deliverence. These people were more related to each other than I could fathom as displayed by their alien head forms! We actually stayed and had one beer and played a game of pool, but the cross glances never stopped. Perhaps we were having too much "fun" to realize we were in danger, but after a while we just felt like we had had enough "cultural experience" and left. I still have that memory of those mongeloid head forms probably as vivid as you see that guy sitting on the bridge in Deliverence playing the banjo. Hmmm...banjo, that couldn't have been you Haireball???

[ScottP]

After a trip up the Grand in the early 90's, I made the mistake of walking into the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar wearing a sweatshirt with the logo of a basque restaurant named "Woolgrowers" on it.

[Bronco]

One night I was sittin at a bar drankin some Schimt and enjoying some dueling banjo muzak with my white trash redneck buddies and we looked at some timid looking hippies trying to blend in and they jus' turned around and left!!

Like thier stuff don't stank er sumthin.

Hairball:

One of my friends had a similar experience except the dude who befriended him also attempted to disrobe him after the beer started flowing. The molester was promptly beaten into submission and relieved of his cooler of beers.

[Cpt.Caveman]

quote:

---

Originally posted by Bronco:

One night I was sittin at a bar drankin some Schimt

and enjoying some dueling banjo muzak with my white trash redneck buddies and we looked at some timid looking hippies trying to blend in and they jus' turned around and left!!

Like thier stuff don't stank er sumthin.

Hairball:

One of my friends had a similar experience except the dude who befriended him also attempted to disrobe him

after the beer started flowing. The molester was promptly beaten into submission and relieved of his cooler of beers.

---

Hey Bronco did you grow up in the Chumstick?

[Cpt.Caveman]

I can disguide myself as hippie or yuppie or well not redneck

[Dwayner]

I ain't the fightin' type although I'm well trained to do so. I've seen some crazy action in Leavenworth. Once I saw a guy tossed out the backdoor of the Post Office Tavern in full horizontal mode. He looked like Superman in flight. He hit the pavement hard but got up and strolled away. Probably didn't feel a thing in his drunken stupor but was hurtin' the next day. Another time I be drinking with a scrappy little Himalayan celebrity who shall remain nameless. He liked to pound down beers, start fights, and often leave the scene for others to finish. Once he went into the men's room at the Post Office and finding all the facilities full, he pissed in the sink much to the ire of several big local brutes. He challenged them to a fight in the alley and then took off. I went out the back and two behemoths were waiting for the Sink-Pisser and recognizing me as one of his associates, they decided that I was a reasonable replacement. Fortunately, they were quite intoxicated so all I had to do was duck and run between them and down the street to where I found sink-pisser in another bar gearing up to start another fight. He was in the process of making advances to some other dude's wife. And it was gettin' ugly again! And than there was the back section of the old Icicle Tavern on Front Street which was essentially anything goes as long as they didn't need to call an ambulance. Lots of jumping up and down on tables as the Jukebox played "Another Brick in the Wall", and many plastic pitchers of cheap beer were flung across the room at fellow climbers. Alas, it has been turned into trinket shops or what not as has the neighboring Ski Tavern which was quiet but full of atmosphere.

[pope]

I's about 22 or 23 when I made my first trip out to the City of Rocks. My buddy and I stopped in to a joint in Burley called the Sidetrack Saloon. The patrons essentially wore one of two uniforms, either studded leather, or a greasy T-shirt and STIHL chainsaw hat. We occupied a table that seemed isolated from the action; nevertheless, a heavy local woman approached and asked us to play pool. For whatever reason, we declined. She insisted that we put our quarters on the table, and we again declined. Soon, a big, grizzly biker dude with more toes than teeth confronted us by stating, "Pussies don't play." We did our best to shrug it off, but we were both peeing our pants. I naievely glanced in the direction of the crew and every single one of these goons was giving us stink eye. We finished our beer and basically ran for the door.

[whoohoonickieclimbs]

Hey I have a friend who lived on CHUMSTICK road.....Hmmmmm

[Dru]

One time in a bar in Chetwynd this guy popped his glass eye out and opened a bottle of Kokanee in his socket.

[DirtyHarry]

One time at a bar in Chilliwack this crack ho, named Mrs. Sprayshaw, told me she'd fuck me if I bought her crack. So I did.

[archenemy]

One time, at band camp

[wfinley]

Fayetteville West (by gawd) Virginian (home of the New River Gorge) - early 90s - me and my climbing buds finally get up the nerve to hit up the bar under Sheeri's Beer City. I had just turned 21 the week previous and the night of my birthday had celebrated with a climbing buddy more interested in climbing then drinking (what's up with that?) by lying down in the dirt at dark to rest up for a day of crack. (Incidentally this same guy just joined CC.com and out of the blue just emailed me - which is cool!) Anyways... a week later I'm back with climbing buddies more interested in drinking then climbing and we get up the nerve to enter the bar to properly celebrate my birthday.

 

So we walk down the steps to the basement bar. There is a mirror on the door and a buzzer with a handwritten "Ring" sign thumb tacked above it. We ring the buzzer and the entire place instantly goes silent. A second later the door is buzzed open and we discover the mirror is actually a 2 way and everyone in the bar is checking us out.

 

We walk over to the door with 30 pairs of redneck eyes on our back as we calmly order a beer. After a while everyone goes back to their business and we're left alone checking out the crowd. Just then a redneck appears before us; he is disheveled and grossly drunk and leans over and says: "Hey boys... do ourselves a favor and get out before last call."

 

We finished our beer and left to go fall asleep in the dirt.

[goatboy]

Joshua Tree -- about 8 years ago now . . . I walk into the smoky bar about 5 PM, in anticipation of the $1 drink/free taco deal that they do every Wed night, under the administration of "taco Tammy" who used to work there in those days -- good shit, free food, cheap drinks, great stuff after a day of crack climbing, hot sun or cold wind -- anyway, there was a very large, 60-year old gray haired woman sitting at the bar, wearing a curtain-like blue dress and draped in turquoise......she takes a grandmotherly-style interest in me at first, asks me what I'm doing in JT, tells me about her son who looks like me (she claims), and so forth . . . . finally, after downing a shot of gin (yuck!) she turns her bar stool to me abrubtly, reaches DOWN the front of my shirt and grabs my belt, practically lifts me off the bar stool as she pulls me into her face and hisses, "DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME???? DO - YOU - WANT - TO - FUCK - MEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!??!?!?!?"

 

"No, no fuck NO!" I scream, squirming away as best I can...she shakes me like a rag doll, suddenly looming above me out of her seat -- she is huge . . . .

 

Eventually, I escape and flee into the cold Mojave night . . . .

 

True story --- if you ever go to the J Tree Saloon, beware the "Lady in the Blue Dress..."