So, there was a home UW hockey game Friday night and my pal Mike and I both happened to be able to sneak out of work early (in Milwaukee), and we were on State Street by about 5:30. Add to this that the hockey game was a late start (8 pm), and we ended up having a few more drinks than usual.
We started at BW3 for old time's sake and something to eat. (We used to go there every Tuesday back in the dark ages when it was only 20-cent wing night.) They had their happy hour going, and we warmed things up with 4 rounds of 23 oz. beers. Then, we strolled down to Brats and had a couple Rose Bowls. On the way to the Kohl, we had another drink (whiskey) at Wando's. So, we get to the game with about 8 minutes left in the first period. At the break, we went up to the concourse to talk to some other friends at the game. We were still hanging out on the concourse well into the 2nd period and we were getting very, very thirsty.
I knew I had to be up early Saturday morning for, of all things, a meeting at church at 9 a.m. I don't know how I got roped into that, but the pastor had called our home personally and asked me to participate. So, I knew I wanted to keep drinking but I also knew I had to get progressively closer to home. Well, you put enough genius UW grads in a circle and you come up with bright ideas. Keep drinking... get closer to home... hmmmm... wait, I think I just had an idea. No, maybe not. Wait, yes I did. It was an idea!
For reasons not entirely clear to me, Mike agreed to stop drinking and to become my designated driver on my quest to stop and have a drink - at least a shot - at every bar on Highway 18 between Madison and my home in Waukesha. (I've taken 18 to Madison for Badger games a few times when there is heavy traffic on 94, such as the first football game on Labor Day weekend, etc., and this has been in the back of my mind since seeing all of those little dives.) We left the Kohl at about 9:30, and stopped at Wando's again out of sheer thirst and I had another whiskey to get me ready to ride.
The plan was to start the crawl as soon as we were west of 90 on 18. The first two places, well we just missed the fucking frontage roads and said fuck it. We didn't want to get bogged down with exits and frontage roads, we were looking for roadside bars. This is what I remember. I know I am missing a couple places where we did stop, and I know that we passed up several open places for various reasons which I cannot fully recall today.
The first place we landed was a cozy little place in Deerfield called Liberty Corner Tavern. We walked in to find a nice old gal behind the bar and a hammered couple in front of it. With us, the crowd grew to 5. I pounded a can of Lite and a shot of jack, made some small talk, explained to the locals what my plan was, received some well wishes and got back on the road.
There were some bars on 12 near the curve at Cambridge, but although we could see them, they weren't technically "on highway 18." Keep rollin'. The second stop was a really classy joint in Cambridge by the name of Daytona North. It really didn't look like Spring Break inside, so I assume it was a NASCAR reference. There were a few more people in this joint, including one surprisingly attractive woman near the foosball table which we, along with a dozen or so mouth-breathing, knuckledraggers at the bar, stared at for our entire visit. I had a whiskey and water and was really rolling at this point. (Have I mentioned that I haven't been drinking much the past few weeks, trying to drop a few pounds?)
In Jefferson, none of the bars were actually "on highway 18." A total bust. We could see several places on Hwy 26 as we passed by - out of bounds. On the way out of town, we came to Rue's Premiere Lanes. There was a beer sign in the window so we stopped. We walked in to find about 15 teenagers bowling, and no real bar action. Without a word, we turned around and walked out. It was worth the stop because we overheard some 15-year old punk say as we left, "Those guys didn't want any part of us!" So true.
Up the road a piece, we stopped in a fairly big country bar. To be sure, I can't remember where this was, could be anywhere from Jeff-town to Sullivan to Golden Lake. I don't remember much about it except there was a flirty, but-her-face bartender who carded me. I said as I handed her my ID, "You've got to be shitting me. What, do I look 19?" It wasn't her first rodeo, and she smirked and stared down at my ID for a few seconds, then looked me in the eye and said, "Maybe I just wanted to know your name." I mentioned that I give women a fake name if I have to give them one at all, ordered a shot of Jack, tipped her a couple bucks and walked out. Mike doesn't remember much about that place either because he was in the back taking a piss while I was having a shot at the bar, and then we were gone.
We stopped in a place called Wingin' It in Helenville - they fancy themselves a legendary wingery. It looked like a promising spot. More cars in the parking lot than any other bar on the run, yet the snowmobiles outnumbered the cars 2 to 1. A full house. We ordered up a couple taps of Lite and pounded them in the crowded back room watching some locals shoot pool. We made small talk with some hefty chicks in snowmobile suits, until we wore out our welcome with their snowmo-driving boyfriends. Outnumbered as we were, we took a piss and left town.
Down the road a piece in Sullivan, we stopped for a shot of Jack in a place called Pour Man's Pub. Great name, if you ask me. Go ahead. Ask me. Yup, great name. There was another place just before or after that place where I briefly explained to the bartender my mission, pounded a shot, and ran out. I don't recall the name or location of that bar, but I did appreciate the moral support and encouragement they offered. That place was crowded and probably would have been a good spot to relax a while, but I was getting tunnel vision and was nervous about finishing the trip.
By the time we were approaching Wales, the adventure part of it was over, I was back in familiar territory, and I knew there were two more stops on the horizon. Saxe's is more of a supper club, but the bar is open late. Then there is a little pub right by Kettle Moraine High called Finn's. At this point, it was approaching 1 a.m. and I was approaching shitfaced. Of course, with several shots downed in the past 30 minutes, I was getting drunker just sitting there. Given my holy appointment in the morning - and given the fact that my wife was expecting me home from the hockey game at least 90 minutes ago - I pulled the plug on it and had Mike drop me at home, leaving my car at the park and ride by the freeway.
However, it wasn't half-bad for a cobbled together after-thought of a plan, and it did lay the groundwork for an absolutely ridiculous return roadie on the way home from one of the Badgers early-fall, 11 a.m. football games. A tri-county onslaught in the making. Leave the football game about 2:30 on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Hit every single bar this time. Grab some bar food for dinner and ride the wave all the way to Finn's. God help them if we make it all the way to downtown Waukesha. Bitches, I hope you know.
By the way, we are looking for a responsible, sober driver for that trip. There's a free football ticket, bar dinner, and all you can handle soft drinks in it for you.
Granted, Live Music Friday has been off-line for months, mainly because nobody gives a shit anyway. However, this morning I find cause to throw out a brief resurrection.
