From Hope to Superior, through Paradise

After the July 4th madness in Noxon, Darin had to leave for San Francisco, leaving me to continue this expedition solo. Having finally admitted that gathering data for 3 chapters on 3 states will take much longer than 5 days, I had no choice but to continue into the dive bar wilderness on my own.

Fearing the inevitable, I procrastinated for a few days in the town of Hope (pop about 35), near Sandpoint in northern Idaho. Near Hope is East Hope, and then Beyond Hope. I sometimes think this book is beyond hope and that all I'll have at the end is a need for a liver transplant. But then I round a corner and find something that gives me hope yet again, and the cycle continues. Here's an example:

On Monday (last Monday - yes I'm way behind on my posting here), I finally mustered up the courage to venture out on my own and headed back in to Montana. Destination: Paradise (pop 184). Great name for the book, small town, close to Missoula, and a bar cheekily named the "Pair a Dice" (dice rolling is a big thing in Montana and Idaho) --- I thought it was a done deal. Until I went into the bar. There I found a few rather down and out looking people playing the Video Poker machines and a female bartender who showed very little interest in helping me identify the town barflies. When I asked if anyone comes in here regularly, she actually said, "I can't give out that information." Who knew bars had confidentiality policies? (Lesson: find a male bartender and show cleavage).

Finally resigning myself to the fact that this was Paradise Lost, I slunk to my car and headed down the highway to my next destination -- St. Regis. Here at the Talking Bird bar, I found a friendly bartender named Jerry and a colorful ex-Navy barfly named Sully who was regaling the bar with a story of a recent boating misadventure with a "Polock". (This was my first hint that I'd left the world of bend-over-backwards-political-correctness and entered a land where words like "nigger" and "Polock" are used in common conversation. I try to look like I haven't just fallen from the 30th story ivory tower window when this happens, but once again it's clear that Dorothy's not in Kansas anymore.) Anyway, with the bar full and lively and happily laughing at Sully's cocktail infused storytelling, I'm sensing that I'm getting closer to that "just right" I'm looking for, but there's a certain je ne sais quoi I still haven't found here. Sully won't let me leave before regaling me with a raunchy joke about a canoe (don't ask), but I finally manage to extract myself out the door and on towards my next destination - Superior.


And there I find it -- the Montana Bar. As soon as I walk in, the friendly bartender, Gaila, asks who I am and where I'm from, knowing full well I'm not "from around here." And then April at the bar is telling me her life story, and James on the barstool next to her is buying us drinks. And then everything is taken up a notch when the owner -- Doug -- shows up. Doug holds court at the corner of the bar, sucking down vodka-on-the-rocks-with-just-a-dash-of-lemon faster than cheap wages can suck American jobs to S.E. Asia. Well, Doug is no fool and keenly recognizes Ms. Newcomer -- and before I know it, I've been summoned down to the corner of the bar, fondly known as "douche bag corner."



Soon the night bartender, Marina, shows up and regales us with a story of how on the 4th of July her friend thought the tampon in her purse was firecracker, then proceeds to place said tampon in her cleavage while James dutifully tries to ignite it with his lighter. Despite the high entertainment value of this scene, I'm trying to get out the door to Missoula for the night, but that ain't happening any time soon -- In the midst of douche bag corner, more free drinks appear (thankfully I'm drinking straight cranberry juice today), and I'm told I can't possibly drive the interstate tonight as all the bears and moose are out running across it at this time of day, and by the way did you know they just let all the convicts out of the local prison? Just stay here in douche bag corner -- it's where you belong! Well, it's nice to feel welcome.



I finally do drag myself away, but only to return a few days later - how could I not! It's then that I'm introduced to Butch and Richard. Butch has lived in Superior most of his life, fought in Vietnam, ran a debarker in a sawmill for many years, and now works at the local jail. Butch doesn't have much to say about the meaning of life, but tells a mean joke about a farmer's daughter (don't ask).




Richard -- I'm told -- is the last of the old school ranchers in Mineral County. He grew up on the ranch, and still runs roughly 200 head of cattle (a head = one cow by the way, in case you are wondering like I was). I think Richard could qualify as one of the nicest, most self deprecating men alive (in contrast to his overbearing, know it all brother, who -- according to bar patrons -- "has spent too much time in California." Those damn Californians.) Richard even took James and me to see his mother's original homestead -- log cabins and all. I won't go into too much detail about Richard's philosophies, as he may well make the book, but suffice to say there's some simple wisdom here -- and, he's got the look!

And then there's owner, Doug, who kindly shared 4 hours of his time with me one morning over his sunrise brew of two kinds of liquor I couldn't -- and didn't really want to -- make out. That man is an inspiration. He may like the drink, but hey, we all have our addictions - whether it's work, bad habits, or just bitching about anything and everything. Doug at least makes no bones about his, and after what he's been through -- I think he's entitled. Doug grew up a ward of the state in a reform school that makes today's prisons look like Canyon Ranch. He's created everything he has in his life with help from no one because -- quite simply -- there was no one. And today he has 3 beautiful daughters, a wonderful wife (friendly bartender Gaila), and more money than God, but he still works, because -- "hell, what else would I do?"

Doug's wisdom runneth over -- so much so that I'm considering making an exception for my Montana chapter and profiling the bar owner in addition to, or instead of the barfly. For anyone who's read the trendy hit "The Secret" (I'm told entire management teams are reading it after Oprah fêted Rhonda Byrne for 2 days) and has come to accept that we create our own reality, Doug delivers the message with refreshingly simple zest: "70% of our wounds are self-inflicted. Until you hear the big pop when your head comes out of your ass and you see what's really going on, you won't get that." Maybe "The Big Pop" will be the next bestseller -- hey, I'd buy it.

Well, I'll leave it at that for now. For more tales on 3rd generation Irish ranchers and a bar with a gold mine in a bedroom and a famous madame, stay tuned ....

Noxon, Montana

OK- The pictures say it all on this one. We finally ventured into Montana on July 4th and were greated with a healthy dose of Americana and pure drunken debauchery! This photo of "Gorgeus Greg" and his Hagaar the Horrible lookalike friend, Ed, pretty much sums it up.

Best quote of the day (spoken by Mr. “Slem” Slemmer, complete with flag bandana and many missing teeth): "You gots to gets back to where ya was before you gots to where ya is." Wait – I’m paying you-don’t-want-to-know-how-much to new age PhDs in Marin to tell me I’m supposed to “come home to myself.” For the price of a $2.00 Budweiser, didn’t Slem just tell me the same thing?? Lesson for the day: Forget this modern self-help crap. Just go into a dive bar and get hammered with Slem!



Barfly Zen LIVES. Happy Independence Day.

Bruce & Ed in Juliaetta, Idaho

After the White Bird adventure, it was back to the Bottoms Up in Juliaetta to dig a little deeper. Bottoms Up owner, Peggy, suggested I talk to two of the oldest regulars in town – Bruce, age 90, and her brother, Fred, age 71. In her words -- "the two biggest bullshitters in town."

I ultimately don't think Juliaetta's going to work for the book, but these two had some pearls of wisdom worth sharing:

On marriage:
Before Bruce's wife, Faye, passed away about a year ago, the two were married for 68 years. Bruce and Faye grew up together in Juliaetta, and by 8th grade Bruce knew Faye was the one. What's Bruce's secret to a long marriage? "Don't argue with your wife, and you can live a long time." Amen!

On society today:
According to Bruce and Fred, we're on a downhill slide. It's nearly impossible to find anyone who wants to put in an honest day's labor. In their day, if you didn't work, you didn't eat. Pure and simple. Not so today -- the "kids" they know can't wait to find their next route to a social security check. And when people do work today, they expect to have everything it took Bruce and Fred's generation 40 years to accumulate, so they end up in the debt trap. Bruce & Ed never would have financed something -- you save up for what you need and buy only what you can afford ("Hell, we kept house in a tent!").

Today's slacker + "need it now" mentality has led to and is fueled by an over dependence on government. Thanks to this trend, the government's now involved in everything and everybody's business. And as a result, we've lost our freedom. According to Fred, "it all boils down to people control." "And they can track you on that damn thing," he says, pointing to my cell phone.

Hmmm .. maybe these guys are on to something. Is it our own laziness and entitlement that's ultimately led us to the Patriot Act-cell-phone-evesdropping-throw-out-habeus-corpus-Cheney's-not-a-part-of-the-executive-branch slaughterhouse? Worth considering. Maybe if we stop consuming ourselves senseless and numbing our brains on Gameboys and reality TV, we could wake up and take our country back.

On what makes a good life:
"Hell, we didn't think about it. You just play the hand you're dealt."

And there you have it.... Wisdom of the ages.

White Bird, Idaho

On Monday Darin had some work to do, so I ventured out for my first solo foray – south of Orofino to the town of White Bird, population 150.

White Bird has 2 bars - the Silver Dollar and Mac's - and it's war (war of the Keystone anyway). For a while, Silver Dollar -- the good old locals stand-by -- sold Keystone for $1.00, while Mac's - the high falutin' newcomer -- sold it for $1.50. Well, that was enough to cause a ruckus in this hard drinkin' town of 150, until Mac's finally dropped their prices to even the score.

The Keystone Company loves White Bird in any case -- according to my sources, more Keystone is sold in this town of 150 than anywhere in Idaho. How is that possible?? Well, to give you an idea of how much alcohol flows around here, some of the locals apparently sign their social security checks directly over to the bar owner (no joke!). I guess that's where they'll spend the money anyway, and I imagine the bar owner doesn't want to get stiffed -- so might as well get those tax dollars flowin' right into the bar till! God bless America.

Anyway, before entering the bar, I was fortunate enough to first meet Mychelle and Marina while checking out room rates at the local motel. According to these helpful gals, the local barflies are a tough crowd. They don't warm quickly to outsiders and hate the Internet -- if you even mention it, they apparently look at you "like you're the devil." Guess I won't be talking up my blog in this town. But, rough as they might be, they were apparently bound to find me quite attractive simply because I have teeth! Oh my -- you know you're not in Kansas anymore when a full set of teeth makes you a beauty queen.




Marina graciously offered to take me to the Silver Dollar and introduce me to a few folks -- just the in I needed, especially in a place like this. As soon as I entered the bar, my suspicions were confirmed -- this crowd was way too rough around the edges for my book. But great for broadening my horizons and getting a little inspiration. Marina's friend Neal joined us (see photo) and told a great story about his great grandfather who was once run out of town by the sheriff. He roped the Sheriff, dragged him back into town, and went back in the bar to get a drink. No THAT's a barfly!

Elk River, Idaho

After recovering from the key disaster, we hit the road to the little town of Elk River (population 320). An old logging community, Elk River is now home to lots of big trucks and four wheelers, with the odd dirt bike thrown in. These people throw down their 4th of July celebration the Saturday before the big day, and we were there to see it all.



The bar was classic -- walls made of logs and adorned with animal pelts and shotguns, with a view of evening mist rising through pristine wilderness. An electrified country band hammers out the classics like "Small Town" and "Brown Eyed Girl", and the local girls go nuts for "Red Neck Woman." (Yeah, they were definitely all red neck women!) A small town fireworks display goes off as soon as dark hits -- right in front of the bar's front porch. Most efficient.

Best quote of the day: "Honey, you're hotter than a black vinyl seat."
Most eventful moment: Getting pulled over by a local cop -- again -- for a broken headlight, while driving a drunk red neck girl back to her campsite, 3 people piled into my front seat, no seat belts. He let us go. God bless America.



I've decided Elk River won't make the book, but if you're ever there you should check out the Elk River Cafe -- voted best burgers in the region/world/Idaho/whatever!

Juliaetta, Idaho

After a warm-up night in Orofino, it was time to hit the road on Friday to the real deal – the towns with population sub-1,000. We first hit Kendrick, population 369, but unfortunately the bar had closed (apparently the latest owner was not such a people person and ended up driving all the customers away). So it was on to Juliaetta, population 609, with the perfect bar to profile – The Bottoms Up.



Peggy bought The Bottoms Up back in 1968 from the Bottoms family, who had immigrated to these parts from Scotland. The Bottoms family set up shop in 1906, and the bar has been central to the town of Juliaetta ever since, not only serving as the local watering hole, but as the venue of choice for everything to medal pinning ceremonies for local military honorees to wakes. Peggy’s two daughters – Heidi and “Tick” practically grew up in the bar and have nothing but great memories. After 49 years, Peggy says, “It’s been a blast” and is preparing to hand the bar over to Tick and her partner and fellow bartender, Michelle.



Michelle was a godsend from the first minute – chock full of info on Juliaetta’s history and the regulars, she was my in. With Michelle regaling us with everything from how Juliaetta got it's name (it was founded by some rich grain guy with two daughters: Julia and Etta) to who they used to who used to deliver the mail on horseback, all was going swimmingly. Until we met Sam.

Sam was hilarious. 26 years old with 4 kids - we say: "you must really like kids." He says: "No, I just like to hump." Well, apparently! Anyway, Sam knows Darin's brother, and before we know it, we're off on a wild adventure with Sam and his wife, Rachel, that involves going .... somewhere. We jump in Sam's car and head first to Sam's cousin's house just up the street -- home to cousin Sam, his wife Amanda, and Bailey, who holds up 3 fingers when you ask how old she is. I must have known something was amiss because I had the presence of mind to take my wallet and cell phone out of my purse before jumping out at this little stopover. Well, after lots of rambunctious playing with Bailey and 2 separate tours of her pink princess bedroom, it was finally time to go, only Sam had taken off without us and unknowingly *with* my bag with my car keys in it. 2 out of 3 ain't bad, but keys are pretty critical when you're 30 miles from nowhere.



Chaos ensues. Sam has no cell phone (and even if he did, it wouldn't work out here). We implore the poor Danny-Amanda-Bailey family we don't know to help us try to find Sam. Calls follow to Sam's mom -- they're on the way to Elk River (40 minutes away). They try calling the Chevron station on the way to Elk River. No luck. But, as luck would have it we're in a small town! Darin's brother's ex-wife, Karen, happens to live up here and happens to drive by just as we're trying to problem solve in the driveway. Karen kindly agrees to drive us the 1 hour back to where we're staying in Orofino. But then I recall that I have an extra key in the back of my car. So we all hustle back to my car and try to open it with a coat hanger. Then Danny drives up and says someone called the house, and said Sam is at Dave's. Who's Dave? Darin's brother's friend who happens to be staying at Darin's brother's house, which also happens to be in Juliaetta. Are you confused yet? So am I. Darin and Danny hop in Danny's car and race to Dave's to try to intercept Sam. No luck. They return, and the coat hanger antics continue until Karen remembers that her friend -- Ed -- has a slim Jim.

Ed appears in no time, but by this point I'd reverted to my citified comfort zone of calling my roadside service number from the Bottom's Up's portable phone. The operator keeps coming on and off the line saying -- I'm sorry, we're *still* trying to find someone in your service area (the town is apparently not in any service area whatsoever ... I guess that's what happens when a town is barely on the map) But, finally, just as the nice Geico lady came on to say we finally found someone 30 miles away, my car alarm pierces the night -- Ed was in. Hallelujah! With the car alarm blaring and the anti-theft system locking down the hatchback where my key was (great), we drag the contents of my homeless life out of the car into the street, fold down the seat to burrow into the hatchback, find the key, and -- whew -- all is well. Until we get pulled over by a cop and return to find all our camping stuff soaked from a crazy summer storm earlier that day. But I won't even go into that, as I've had enough for one day, and I'm sure you have too!

Idaho

Sometimes in life, a dream you've held for a long time wiggles it's way to the surface of your mind, and a voice inside says -- do it now. Well, this is one of those times.

Thirteen years ago (scary!), as a bartender at Scooter McQuade's in Portland, Oregon, I became inspired by my regulars who would regale me weekly with their stories, hurts, hopes, and philosophies on everything from death and dying to where to take a "lady friend" for the weekend. I think it was a friend from college who first suggested that I write character sketches of these folks. And in the labrynth of my mind, that idea eventually evolved into a vision for an entire coffee table book that celebrates the wisdom that such "barflies" -- not in Portland, but in America's smallest towns -- have to offer.

Finally deciding that it's now or never, I left Portland yesterday to drive to Orifino, Idaho (population 3,247) to kick off my latest adventure -- 5 days, 3 states (Idaho, Washington, Montana), and a river of Busch and Bud Light until I have enough fodder for 3 sample chapters to shop to agents by summer's end.

My friend, Darin, who hails from Idaho, has kindly agreed to escort me on this scouting mission. According to Darin, all we have to do is buy these guys beers (here's where the river of Busch and Bud Light comes in) and talk to them about fishing and hunting, and we're in. Step 1: Give Patti a crash course in hunting and fishing. Did you know that to attract a buck when deer hunting, you rattle antlers together so the buck thinks two males are fighting over a female and the buck runs over trying to get in on the action? Then when he shows up he get's shot. Brilliant! Just like the human world.

With the hunting lesson down and cash enough for plentiful rounds of $1.00 Bud Lights (yes - $1! Can you believe it? It's better than Argentina here!), we were ready for action. First stop -- The Oasis, Orifino's finest. Guns & Roses was on the jukebox, the regulars were lined up at the bar yacking through the smoky haze, and I .... well, I had come home.

The crowd did not dissapoint. Vern is completing his truckers certification and was about to embark on a 48 day long haul across the U.S. His family has lived in Orifino for generations. At one point a female barfly at the corner of the bar says -- "hey, Vern, you still staying at granny's? Can I get a lift home?" Yes, everyone really does know everyone. Newly divorced, Vern calls himself a "he whore" (now there's a new one!) and cautions me about the downsides to picking someone up in a bar. (His last bar score was attractive enough until he awoke in the morning to find her taking antipsychotics. Yikes! Gotta run - think I have an 8am conference call.)

Brian works in natural gas drilling in Wyoming and travels 6 hours each way back to Orifino to see his 12 yr. old daughter as often as he can. I find that eye opening. And humbling. Life is hard, and not just for the barflies. Dan is the bartender, and as he says - he gets off work so he can go to work again. When he's not schlepping drinks, Dan is a bounty hunter and something else I can't recall (I was too mesmerized by the whole bounty hunter thing -- I've never met a real live bounty hunter!). Aside from the time when he had to duct tape someone and have his partner sit on them for a 120 mile drive, Dan says that in most cases, people are pretty much relieved to finally get caught. I guess that's pretty universal -- when you just can't face the music yourself, sometimes you just need it to face you so you can move on.

This is just the first small glimpse into the Pandora's box we've cracked open. No telling what lies down the road tonight, but if you want to find out, just stay tuned .....