I forgot what it was like to step into an out of Vegas atmosphere bar, a basic biker bar type of thing. I got to experience it Monday afternoon. It was a freakin’ gloomy day with dark clouds and rain, wind forcing the rain drops into piercing needles, and the bank of clouds coming across the valley off the mountains foretold of a future with no sunshine or warmth.
It was time for Riot to return to spending time with Grannie. I had toyed with the thought of driving into Vegas and seeking adult company – like Marie – but the weather was damned grim and I didn’t want to spend a three hour trip in and out especially if I was facing snow and ice up over the pass (hump to you Vegas people).
My son and I elected to meet at the top of the pass. There’s a fire station there and I thought it would be a great place, he opted for the Mountain Spring Biker Bar instead. We were going to have lunch before we headed in opposite directions. We headed out at close to the same time but I beat him there by 25 minutes.
It was snowing like crazy as I hit the pass. I looked at the overall appearance of the place and really wasn’t impressed. But who cares, I’m only me, not one of the in crowd. I sat for a few minutes before going in, there were several rigs parked in the parking lot and of course, snow on the ground. I took a nifty nickel in with me because I was sure I had some spare time.
Open the door to a dark, dingy hole in the wall with four to five machines on the wall to my right by the door where I entered. A small alcove past the machines with two stand up tables with bar stools around them and windows so low in the wall they were meant for sit down tables. The bar was only about 12 feet max from the door and couldn’t have been longer than 15 feet.
A blonde woman that appeared to be late 30’s or she had a hard life, didn’t even look up as I walked up. There were three guys at the end of the bar on the left and two on the end at the right, looked like regulars.
I did a cheery, “Hi!”
She looked at me then, like she wished I was dead. Literally, no smile, no light in her eyes, nothing about her gave off a spark that she was faced with a live person.
I asked if they had a restaurant. She pointed over to the two stand up tables with stools. I asked if we could bring a child in, she said, “Yes.”
She went back to being herself and I went to the stand up tables.
I chose the table in the back, it was cold as hell in that nook and the cigarette smoke stunk to high heaven. I settled in to read and wait. A guy came in a bit later and stood around for a few minutes, left and came back carrying two pieces of wood that he tossed in the fireplace, it was on the end to the left of the bar, 20 feet from me at least. There was an electric heater on the floor with wiring strung out as a foot trap not far from me but it was pointed in the direction of the bar. The walls and ceiling had $1 bills taped and stuck all over it, with peoples names and addresses and sayings written on them in magic marker ink. Talk about marked bills. There were a few photos in various places, one nailed on the ceiling over my head that looked like one of the Blue Angels jets. The nails were sticking out from the ceiling. On the wall above the low windows were several things that were autographed. Seriously, I wish I had taken my camera in. One of the autographed things was a round piece of plastic that looked like it might have covered something – who knows what – and one of the signatures appeared to be cut out of it, in the cut out space was a nail that kept the whole thing on the wall. Nothing was unique in this bar, not even the grunge. It was dark, dreary, and held the misery of those that inhabit it on a winter’s day.
A woman came in and went to the bar, took a seat and started playing a machine. I don’t recall the bartender really acknowledging her either but she had an instant glass of wine in front of her.
I sat alone, out of sight for the most part, and watched one of the guys that had been on the right end of the bar when I came in, spit a stream on the floor as he left the place. Reminded me of other bars I’ve been in over the years. I kept an eye on the parking lot. A black truck pulled up and three healthy looking guys around the age of 25-30 got out and came in. The bartender was all smiles and full of enthusiasm, “Hi Guys!”
They bellied up and she served them, all kinda sparkly and fresh, like the drugs were taking effect. A couple came in, asked a question at the bar and left. A couple more guys came in and sat on the left end of the bar, and a guy brought his dog in through a side door on the left end of the bar. Yes, it was on a rope.
I called my son, told him that he could just go up and order chicken strips for me and Riot to share and I was sure the bartender would be happy to see him. We laughed. He pulled up about 10 minutes later. As soon as Riot and him came over to my table, the bartender arrived, “You can’t sit here with him,” she motioned to Riot. “You have to go up there,” as she motioned to an area behind the bar that had a window allowing a minor glimpse of another room. She high tailed it back to her kingdom and we went around the end of the bar, past the dog and three guys that we barely had space to clear, up the steps, and entered a room that had a pool table and another game table. There were several stand up tables there with bar stools, dirty ashtrays decorated the tables. Pee-uke! There were two menus on the window shelf that connected the room to the bartender. We looked them over, decided what we would like, and watched the bartender go through a parade of self degradation for five minutes.
She appeared to be shining on to the two gents that were seated in front of her smoking cigars. We could see her from the back, her head and shoulders, and hands as she expressed herself as she talked to them.
I was tired of the place and told my son to go ahead and get her attention. He said he would if she stopped long enough to turn around or act like there was someone else in the place. About that time, she lifted up her top to show off her priceless breasts to the two cigar smoking guys.
My son, even though he’s seen it all and done most of it, seemed a bit incredulous, “She just showed those guys her breasts!” shaking his head. I replied that she had to do something to earn her bread and butter. Riot was running around by the pool table and she was down below our view so there was no way he even caught a glimpse of any of it.
The bartender finally turned around, my son asked if we could order, “Oh Hon, the kitchen’s closed. There’s no water.”
The whole thing was too bizarre to even consider getting upset over. It’s not like she didn’t know that I asked if they had a restaurant. Guess she thought I was there to look at her breasts too, or just hang out and smell the stale cigarette smoke, or just didn’t have any place to be on a snowy day and didn’t even want a drink. Who could even fathom what she thought?
Neither one of us blinked. She turned around and went back to being too cute with breasts to know where she was.
The restrooms were in the area, down a short hallway. I made the trip before we left. I have to tell ya, if the ceiling stays in the women’s room til the end of the month, I’ll be surprised. I took my seat and as I did, a drop of water fell onto my knees. Looking up showed that the plastered ceiling might fall at any moment.
We left quietly.
Honestly, the whole thing was an experience, a year from now when I read this, I’ll be laughing harder than I was when I left there. This bar is supposed to be one of the best biker bars around. It has BBQ in the summer and a horseshoe pit and all the fixings. Maybe it’s just a bad idea to go there in the winter.
It reminded me of a bar in N. Idaho that we played guitars in all night long one time a million years ago when I played the guitar and sang. The bar is named ‘Buck and Edna’s’, it’s up in the woods about 20 miles out of the paved path and there’s a song out called ‘Playing Buck & Edna’s Friday Night.’ That’s what we did, we sang, we drank, we played and even though the song wasn’t about us, it could have been. We used the out door toilet that sat right next to a running stream too, and never thought a thing about it. Hell…that was 30 years or so ago.
Welcome to the real world.