I recently took off a little time and it didn’t take long before I was belly up at the Shamrock Saloon in nowhere Wyoming.
This roadhouse is a shabby, wooden home turned glorified bar so when I say you feel at home… it’s because you’re literally in a home.
It’s everything you’d expect in an oasis off the highway.
There was one bartender: an older woman with a youthful demeanor, who – you guessed it- owned it, too. On weekends she makes a home cooked meal for the folks. That night was beef stew.
I demolished a couple bowls of supper and washed it down with a few Busch Lattes. Soon after, I begrudgingly decided to break the seal.
I got off my mix-matched bar stool and searched for the throne.
Tucked behind a corner just past a bulletin board littered with at least 2 dozen printed pictures, I discovered it’s Pepto Bismol walls.
But first, I had to stop and take a gander at the shrine of regulars.
Every picture was an inside joke that I clearly will never understand but it made me chuckle anyway. They were mostly dressed in crazy costumes and partaking in some game night frenzy. Probably Halloween.
As if this bar couldn’t get any better, I saw him.
Within the women’s bathroom, a Tim McGraw poster hangs near the toilet. He watches over you like the country angel he is.
I came to when I realized I hadn’t turned down the volume of my phone so whoever was on the outside of the door surely heard multiple shutter sounds.
“What could she be taking pictures of?”
It didn’t matter anymore. I was in too deep.
And there I was, his Shotgun Rider, riding the porcelain train into an alcohol-infused tunnel.