Iowa Pt. 1

Dubuque, Iowa is a beautiful town. Nestled in the northeast corner of Iowa, right on the Mississippi river, Dubuque has an historic old town filled with ancient diners, dirty little dive bars and its very own cable car. It being playoffs season when Jack and I rolled into Dubuque, one of my main goals was finding a way to watch the games while not breaking the bank. The night of what would end up being my beloved Twinnies last game in the ’08 MLB Playoffs we were in search of not just televisions but also beer and pool tables. We struck out at the first two bars, beer and TVs but no pool. So, being the experienced travelers that we are we decided to ask the local folk for recommendations. A trio of grizzled townies sitting in a pool of fading sunlight in a bar that was roughly the size of a motor-home (I call these doublewide bars as they generally bear a striking structural resemblance to an abode usually found in a trailer park and also contain a similar cast of characters) seemed to be our best bet.

“Breezers, oh ya gotta go ta Breezers,” said the man farthest from me. Breezers sounded like an alright place to me, besides it was nearing time for the first pitch, “How do we get to Breezers?” I asked. Apparently living in Dubuque, IA for your entire life and very obviously belonging to the barfly community does not guarantee any ability to give directions because Old Drunk #1 stared at me with a perplexed yet blank expression, slowly drawling out “Uhhhhhh…” Old drunk #2 who was sitting closest to us had a vague idea of where Breezers was, which he explained “as the crow flys” was “thataway” motioning with a tomahawk-esque motion. The next three minutes was replete with flagrant cusswords, more tomahawk chops and “as the crow flies it’s thataway”s. The discussion took place entirely between Old Drunk#1 and Old Drunk#2 with Old Drunk#3 standing stolidly drinking his beer. Old Drunk#1 and Old Drunk#2 became frustrated with each other’s inability to explain where Breezers was. Finally, Old Drunk#1, in a fit of exasperation, asked Old Drunk#3 to explain where Breezers was. Old Drunk#3’s laconic reply was a simple nod in the same direction that Old Drunk#s1 and 2 had been pointing.

Realizing we were not going to get any more out of them, we decided to venture forth into the wilds of Dubuque, in search of the elusive Breezers.

More on the Breezers adventure tomorrow. As for now, I am listening to Floor and drinking LoneStar. Hoo-rah!