July 17, 2006
Life In the Bar-Bar World
 

Bar-bar.  Most likely the term originated with the Beancounter.  He’s a member in good standing of our Geezer bike group.  Last Friday the 2206 tour wrapped up in Hurley, Wisconsin after pedaling from the Canada/ Minnesota border around Lake Superior.  My other tour mates, Big Gear Bob, the Evil Twin, Blackwater Jack (he’s in charge of the motor home), the Doc and the Judge are men who have long witnessed the Beancounter’s ability to consume the frothy beverage of his choice at a rate that must keep an entire brewery in production 24/7.  And at all times the Beancounter remains as sober as a judge.  (The Judge, on the other hand, tends to imbibe like a typical Bean Counter, especially when someone else is buying)

In the Beancounter world there are “bar’s”, places one must endure when thirst approaches the critical stage, but “bars” are a strange and foreign land infested with ferns, big screen TV’s and loud-mouthed yuppie pound scum. 

Ah but a “bar-bar”.  A “bar-bar” is the Beancounter’s all-inclusive description of ambiance personified in a drinking establishment.  The kind of place where one can enjoy a beer or four while carrying on social conversations devoid of thoughts on politics or for that matter avoiding any subject requiring deep thought such as the impact of round-abouts on Grand Junction or society as a whole.   

What the Beancounter demands in a watering hole, besides a Pabst Blue Ribbon or six, is a building that should have been condemned a quarter of a century ago with an interior featuring the ambient temperature of a meat locker combined with a light level preferred by bats and raccoons.  In a “bar-bar”, besides PBR on tap, one finds a pool table or shuffleboard, maybe a boiled egg or beer nuts (old “bar bar” joke, the difference between beer nuts and deer nuts is beer nuts cost a $1.75 but deer nuts are under a buck) and on-going conversations with friendly folks just met for the first time.  These visits, featuring questions like “What are the winters like around here?” and during the ten a.m. Bloody Mary stop “What’d you do before you retired?”  followed by, “And how many acres did you farm?” must be un-interrupted by either the TV or a jukebox playing any song recorded after 1975. 

Most likely “bar-bar” is shortened from the cell phone world where 4 bars constitutes the best in signals. Calling an outstanding beer joint a “bar-bar-bar-bar” is way complicated so “bar-bar” became the Readers Digest version of a must stop. 

You can’t imagine the Beancounters delight when last Friday we rolled into Hurley and its three block Silver Street hosting 32 “bar-bars”.  Wandering from the “BaDaBing Club” to the “Krash Inn”, “Larry’s Good Time Saloon” to “Freddies Old Time Saloon” he was determined quaff a brew in each and every Hurley “bar-bar”.  Did he make it?  We’ll never know, as somewhere east of midnight his became a solitary journey.  But one doesn’t become a legend stopping short of the goal.

Later this summer the Beancounter is scheduled to make a return Midwest trip.  He’s trying to figure out a way to convince his wife they should make a slight detour, about 700 miles, to re-visit Hurley.  “700 miles is a small price for another visit to “bar-bar” heaven,” he mused.   Sounds reasonable to we geezers.  Chances of selling the idea to his wife?  Somewhere between slim and none.