tattooed, and leather-dressed people that I might find inside. The instant the door cracked open and revealed colorful lights, an ornately-carved wooden bar, average happy hour-goer-type people, and the live guitarist playing and singing in the corner, I knew that this wasn’t really an old western biker bar, or at least not one like I had imagined from movies.

I had my choice of sitting at the bar, a high-top table, or a regular-height table, so I chose a 2-seater regular-height table right in the middle of the room because I wanted to be able to take in all of my surroundings. As I pulled out a

chair and laid down my multiple bags and purses of camera equipment, the friendly gentlemen at the high-top table next to me asked me if I needed more chairs. Through briefly talking with him, I found out that he thought I was carrying bags for other people who would be joining me!

I ended up ordering a buffalo burger and substituted the french fries for onion rings because the waitress said they were known for their beer-battered, thick-cut onion rings that they make from scratch on the premises daily. I have been told similar tales by waitresses