Yesterday was a long day of driving. I completed my South Dakota residency and got my drivers license. I worked for a few hours and then I hit the road. Mist and rain fell almost the entire time. The BV (as named by number two son for “Big Van”) has its share of problems as any vehicle creeping up on three hundred thousand miles will have. One of those problems is I don’t have high beams. Or, I should say, I have them but they are one way in operation. Once I hit the switch for the brights they are stuck that way until I turn off the ignition. Even using them is risky. I am told by my mechanic it is a known defect in older Chevy Express vans. She told me it is also possible, when I hit the high beams, I can lose all lights and be coasting because the main controller board fries. This is an eight hundred dollar part that is difficult and expensive to have installed. So for this reason I am also very leery of pushing any button or switch I don’t use regularly. …Especially at night.
With no high beams, traveling in the rain on thin, unfamiliar Nebraska roads, I was doing what I often do. I allow someone around me and then stick to them like glue. This is what I did for over an hour. Trailing along behind a pickup truck with nice bright lights. Being very tired yet realizing I was making really good time. Over and over I said “Ok, that’s it. I am going to stop at the next town.” Only to be replaced with, “maybe one more”. I was becoming more firm in my resolve to stop. The argument was academic once I reached Holdrege. The torch I was following pulled down a side street just inside the city limits and I was on my own. Issue decided, I was going to stop.
When I arrive in a new town my goal is to find a side street just off the business district. It is in those areas my van will blend in the best. The people in houses assume the van is associated with one of the businesses and I plan on being on the road again before the business opens. No one will alert the authorities to a suspicious vehicle. Perfect.
But Holdrege proved difficult in this respect. All of the downtown streets were no parking after 2am. What I did find however was a large parking lot located behind the dry cleaners with a number of cars parked in it. It was after nine PM and I didn’t see any temporary places the owners of these cars could be. I suspected they were the cars of the people living in the area and they wouldn’t be leaving until morning. Still, due diligence is what has kept me from complications in the past. I wasn’t taking any chances. I parked the van, got out and took a walk around. I checked every entrance to the parking lot for signs listing restrictions. Nothing. I walked around to the front of the dry cleaners to see if there were any businesses open and these were customer cars. Nothing was open. It doesn’t happen often but I found the rarest of hens’ teeth, off street, free, overnight parking. I think it was this good fortune that sealed the destiny of the rest of the night. To celebrate, rather than crawling in and sleeping I pulled out my phone and searched “bars near me”.
I knew there was a pretty good chance I would get nothing. Some parts of the country (as mind boggling as this is to a former Wisconsin resident) are dry. No liquor available. I wasn’t going to fire up the BV again. It already had a long day. I needed someplace close enough to walk in the misty/rain. Happily Google found two options, my first choice, a brew pub, was closed. But then the second, named "The Drive", seemed perfect for my circumstances. I didn’t know it referred to golf, I had a chuckle and setoff.
I learned a lot about Holdrege just walking in the door. Every head in the place swiveled toward me. Ah… Got it. Small town. For the briefest of instants I was able to read minds. Every person in there thought “Who’s that guy?”. I ordered a local IPA and settled into a table away from the bar and people. I figured I would drink my beer, play some Pokemon and watch the locals. My plan went off track in less than five minutes.
A tall stocky fellow, beer in hand, approached my table. “Who’r you?” For a moment I wondered if there was a chance this could go poorly? I have heard stories of hippies ending up in jail but I thought that was the Deep South, not smack dab in the middle. My worries were unfounded. It was just a case of beer induced brevity.
The guy was very friendly and curious. I laid out the Cliff Notes version of my life right now. An act I repeated for almost an hour. I am not homeless, I am houseless. Lost virtually everything in a divorce and now I live the van life. I work online and travel to where the weather is nice. My new friend was amazed. “Oh my god, there’s a guy you gotta meet!” and he rushed off. It turned out to be Eric, one of the owners.
A kindred soul, Eric lives much the same life I do, just the high class version. He owns a financial investment firm and travels all around the country. He uses jet planes and hotels instead of rubber wheels and dark parking lots, otherwise we are very similar. But Eric was only the first of a string of additional visitors to my table. He was soon followed by nearly every person in the place. I met his wife, Beth, co-owner of the bar. She is a Boston native who wanted to bring a classy city bar to the breadbasket. (She succeeded!) I met a local restaurateur who I was told makes the best steak in the entire country. —A claim nearly good enough to draw me back. I met Eric’s mother who he attributes his wanderlust to. She often travels Italy so we hand a brief conversation about our favorite spots. I joined the whole bar in a complementary, very tall, shot of Fireball to celebrate someone’s birthday. I heard dozen’s of encapsulated life stories and loved every one of them.
It was a fun night. I had a really great time. Eric complained Holdrege was a town of 5,000 with only 500 who would consent to be seen drinking in public. He said, “I just want to go into their houses and shake them! They could be having so much more fun if they would just come out and be social!”. If those people ever do, The Drive Bar would be the perfect place for them to visit. By the power invested in me by the Society of the Rubber Tramp I designate The Drive to be the friendliest bar in the world. Someday I hope to return.
Walking down the darkened street after leaving, the amused cynic in me did think, “I wonder if they treat all homeless people like this?”
If I was to voice a complaint, (those of you who know me would doubt if this is the real thing if I didn’t) I wish they would do a little work on the acoustics. The bar is all hard surfaces and everyone in the place was shouting. The music wasn’t even that loud. It was just all that sound bouncing around. They have only been open a little over a year so maybe that is in the plan.
