The super-secret bar…

Montrose is no stranger to hidden gems such as civil war hideouts, underground strip clubs, and my recent discovery of The Bar with No Name. I came across this strange place one night when I was walking through the woods behind Riverbottom park, the super-secret short-cut to my house; not at all an unusual route for me during the summer months. The moon was just a fingernail in the sky when I noticed faint moving light coming deep within some tangled trees in the distance. I proceeded with caution considering there might be a possibility that it was some hoodlums having a fire, getting all liquored up–kids these days. As I got closer I noticed the lights were all different colors, hanging from the trees was a disco ball lit by a single beam of light on top of a little barn wood shack. I pushed my way through the thickness of trees, and then came into a clearing. How had I missed this before?

I didn’t get but three feet in before I was confronted by a man, a very old man. He told me to have a seat, I was about to question him before he started telling me the drink special, it was a “Swedish Sandbox.” In no way did it sound appealing, but this was not the time to be rude, “one of those please.” And do you happen to have helicopter flavored potato chips?” I asked. He ignored me and started to make my drink. I wasn’t sure if his old ears were failing him or if he didn’t understand the question. I watched as he poured what looked to be iced tea (without the ice) into a dirty mug, then reached high up and grabbed an unlabeled bottle from the top shelf and filled the rest of the glass. “Only top shelf for you my friend.”  I didn’t repeat my question, or refuse the drink, I slammed it–he was not impressed by my dedication.

Over a concoction he called a beer (moon shine and yep, iced tea), I was able to ask him a few questions. His name is Bob, short for Bobert and he had been in the spot for almost forty years, working seven days a week. When I asked him why he picked this location for the bar he simply said, “Because I want to.” I stopped the questions there; I could tell there were no secrets to this man, just a simple man that stood in front of me, open, truthful and spontaneous. “I like it here, and there are people out there that depend on me.” I didn’t believe him. I turned around to a rustle in the trees, then a rabbi, a priest and a panda walk into the bar.

I pushed in my plastic chair, it was time for me to leave, I thanked him for the drink and the hospitality and turned to walk back into the real world, “wait,” he said. “About the potato chips, I only have plain.”


Filed Under: Fractured Opinion

RSSComments (0)

Trackback URL

Comments are closed.