A January Trip to a Wisconsin Biker Bar

A few days ago, Bill, my down the street neighbor and motorcycle buddy asked if I was up for some chicken wings and a beer at a biker bar about an hour east of us. Not having seen him in a couple months, I was all in. Late the next morning we hopped into his pick-up and were on our way.

We drove through fresh slush past countless farm fields and a couple semi-frozen lakes. Typically, by mid-December in southern Wisconsin, those lakes are dotted with dozens of locals and out-of-towners vying for crappies, perch and other panfish. Further north and in the larger lakes, adventurers will be spearfishing for monstrous sturgeons up to six feet long and two hundred pounds - but I digress.

When we got there a little after eleven, we were greeted by a Harley right inside the entrance. I’m guessing it met some bare-bones criteria for a biker bar somewhere - thus my alluring title. On this particular Saturday, even though it was packed and quite rowdy, the motorcycle took a back seat to the small-town pool tournament.

Looking around I saw not even vestiges of our fairly robust Wisconsin bike culture other than that polished Sportster at the entryway. There were no Harley “uniforms,” political hats or profanity-laced leather vests anywhere to be had. We fit right in, including a toned-down Bill.

He didn’t even have the pistol he typically carries since he was planning on doing some bonding with “Jack.” One beer is our limit when riding, so he considers it a safe bet to “carry” then - just in case we run into some intransigent crazies. We’ve had one discussion on the matter and as Bill’s a very levelheaded guy, we’ve rolled past that one. Somehow, we’re fairly adept at avoiding other issues that are prone to generate heat.

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We found two seats at the large oval-shaped bar with a big screen TV and fishing clips staring us down. The well-tattooed waitress in her fifties brought a local IPA for me and a “Jack Daniels and Coke” for Bill. And we two peas from different pods continued the conversation we’d started on the way there. We actually dug deeper than usual since we weren’t in a hurry to hop back onto the saddles. Think gas station - fuel stops, and pee breaks.

We talked about his wife’s and his blended family with four guys. And we talked about my two kids and grandkids. Then there were the parenting challenges - mainly our kids’ making decisions that to us looked more like learning opportunities than good choices. And we washed those thoughts down with another round, him ditching the Coke portion because all of a sudden, he’d become a purist. He chased his with chicken wings and I took in my first beef paddy of the year. My wife’s almost a vegetarian, so in a good week we’ll share a dozen shrimp. I was celebrating the New Year.

And it sounded like our bar stool neighbors to the left were doing the same. Lots of drinking and the dice cups were pounding - “Ship Captain, Mate and Crew” was the game Bill thought they were playing. The guy to my immediate left had at least two Benjamins and a stack of twenties when I first noticed him and the other three players.

About an hour and a half later, after the other three had left, I turned around and asked him, “so how did you do?” His response was - I have no idea. So, I in turn responded - “You don’t know whether you're up or down compared to when you started?” He then offered me my factoid for the day - “It doesn’t matter, they’re all my friends.” And here I was wondering if I had enough in my discretionary fund for another beer.

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I remember reading way back in a 2022 poll that about 15% of Americans identified themselves as conservative and very concerned about political issues. The flip side was also true for liberals. Nobody in that bar was trying to save the world this past Saturday. My hunch is that the majority of them were in the seventy percent between the two extremes. It was a refreshing break to saddle up within that herd. I just don’t think it’s where I would choose to camp out.