Up Snake Road

As the final strains of the Appalachian String Festival echoed across the hollers of good and evil I turned off the highway on to Snake Road. I thought my boyfriend was kidding when he said that's what a sign had said, commenting that something called that would be one windy ass, slippery slope. Lo and behold it unfurled before me.

I hoped I wouldn't have to turn around.

As I rounded the twists of the fiercely coiled snake, a little sorry I'd gotten us into all this, I realized that, since it was Sunday, everything in the town we were eventually going to find at the head of old snake here to was probably going to be closed.

It seemed that way at first. When we finally got into town we parked by the river and I now realize completely forgotthe meters that were somewhat surprisingly there. As we walked past one closed store after another I was really becoming sorry we'd come. I mean, it was great to be out of the car and all but the place was was utterly deserted. We saw maybe 4 people. Up and down the mountainsides houses were somewhat precariously perched but no one was outside. It was like nothing so much as a ghost town.

Appropriately, we found a saloon.

As we crossed a street I thought I saw a door open and a corner of red light flash, as though something around here was open after all. As we walked up to it I saw that it was really pretty cool looking, with a second story porch across it 1880s style. As we swung open the door voices lurched into the sidewalk, "...because you're going to kill your damn self, that's why." a woman cried in alarm, the unheard response followed by her final word, "it's that moonshine."

Small groups of people, mostly fairly rough looking but very polite men, (in spite of the moonshine comments, some banging of empty glasses on tables and a few other isms everyone was far, far more together than they are at bars in any city I've been to), filled the place. It was as alive with energy as the streets outside were devoid of it. A woman beside me talked hillariously about her pill-peddilng, unfaithful (ex) husband, (who had since re-married. His new wife, she said, "Had a baby a month after they got married. I told him, it took me 9 months to have every one of mine, how did she do that?")

This was all pretty damn diverting, so it took a while to notice the bar itself appeared to be mahogony cir. 1880ish itself. When I asked about it the bartender said it had been brought over from the West in a wagon. I remarked on the apparant strength of whatever horses pulled that one, it was massive. I wish I'd asked how many bullet holes it had in it. I imagine there were at least a few...

To Be Continued...