After a nice dinner, we piled into my car with high hopes. My good friend Debby had been there before and I asked her to lead the way. I am not much of a night driver anymore, and I heard that the road out there was dark and curvy.
Debby used to test-drive performance cars for a living, and I wasn’t aware that she had recently purchased one of those Mini Cooper cars right out of the movie “The Italian Job.” She was off in a flash and I tried to my best to follow her. I guess I must have some “Slowsky” genes in me or something, because I lost her right away. Thankfully, she pulled over and waited for me. The drive resumed.
It seemed like we drove forever, but we finally arrived at the bar. It looked nice enough, but I think “saloon” would have been a better choice of words, as there were five horses “parked” in the lot across the street. How far had we driven, anyway? Did we cross through some time portal that spit us out into the wild, wild west?
I had dressed up a bit for dinner, and now I looked like an idiot in my black pumps, gaucho pants and black beaded sweater. I made my way awkwardly over the dirt and gravel toward the entrance.
The band was pretty good and we were able to snag a few bar stools. The crowd was a mixed bag of every age and dress. The place had a nice rustic feel to it. I’ve never been to Canada, but I imagine that it would look a little something like this. Things were going great until a huge brawl broke out in the middle of the dance floor.
I’ve never seen a brawl before, and let me tell you, it’s frightening! It’s like a big tsunami wave coming at you, complete with bar stools flying and people pushing to get out! We tried to get out of the way and finally the bouncers got the troublemaker in a headlock and threw him out into the street with the horses. The only thing missing was a piano player playing away, and swinging saloon doors.
It was exciting, but we decided to move on. As luck would have it (depending on how you look at it – thankfully, I wasn’t drinking …) two sheriffs pulled up outside as we were leaving. I asked them where we could go for a little more dancing. He told us that there was hip-hop music at a club nearby. Our “posse” headed up and moved out.
We entered the club. For starters, it was a rap contest. The language being spewed forth on the microphone would have made Howard Stern blush. A heavy cloud of smoke hung in the air and it wasn’t coming from Marlboro cigarettes, if you get my drift. I could barely breathe or see in front of my face, which was probably a good thing, since we were definitely the oldest people in there.
We went into the bathroom for a little fresh air. There was a young girl in there slathering on lip gloss and adjusting her bra. She looked at us and asked, “How old are you guys, anyway?” OK, I’ve never slapped a child in the face before, but I came very close that night. We stepped out of the bathroom just in time to see three girls dressed in leather thongs and thigh-high boots walk in. Yeah. Time to go.
And so the quest continues. Although we’ll definitely go back to the first bar, next time we’ll bring our horses. And they say cowgirls are a dying breed …