Location: Greeley, Colorado
January 21, 2010
Adventure #2
One of the greatest blessings of my life was meeting my best friend Jennifer when I was a mere one-year old. My serendipitous day-care placement at her mother’s house was the springboard for many grand adventures throughout my life. Of our many traditions, one has been ongoing for at least a decade: head to closest cowboy bar and go line dancing! Another tradition of ours started after we both studied abroad in Ireland: finding the best fish and chips on American soil.
The other night I drove up to Greeley (fondly called cowtown for its ample bovine residents and for its inescapable stench) to see her and combine our two hobbies in a delirium of Americana. First stop was Randy’s Diner, which makes a mean batch of fish and chips. The restaurant is in a converted truck wash, ( it doesn't get more down home than that ...) and its décor includes big-screen televisions, aluminum siding, and countless framed photos of celebrities (the majority of whom have not visited Randys). We perched on picnic table benches and downed an impressive spread of fried delicacies, including fries, fish, chicken wings, and even some Rocky Mountain Oysters (eating those could have been an adventure in and of itself).
Next, we headed to a country bar called the Cactus Canyon where the clientele of seemingly incompatible gangsters and cowboys seek communion over $1 beers. We ignored these bar mates and headed to the dance floor where we exhausted our known line dances – from the Cowboy Cha Cha to the Boot Scootin' Boogie. There is something therapeutic about stomping the floor and releasing undirected rage to songs like "Cottonhead Road" and twirling around the floor to "Neon Moon" – an act I’m sure we did in a less formalized manner when we were younger. It's always a comfort to know that no matter how far away I travel, when Jen and I hit the dance floor, we always remember the steps.
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