I have a fantasy.

Actually, I have several, but I want to share with you the one I had while riding my bike back from dropping Blue Ranger off at the dealer for an oil change and all-around tummy rub. Yes, I made it back without landing in the canal.

The fantasy I want to share is good and right and happy and there is a toast and a cheer and applause.

My headphones were on and Gordon Lightfoot came on. I uploaded four of his songs onto my phone and every once in a while, I play him when I want something other than sheep-dipping music.

I get some of my most creative juices going when I am riding or walking or driving. Naming the Fists of Steel ‘Wanda and Giuseppe’ in Looking for Indianola was created driving to Los Angeles. If you haven’t read that novel, you need to. It has one of the greatest kissing scenes ever put to paper.

     There is a bar….

Back to the fantasy. There is a bar called the Silver Eagle Saloon in the same town Looking was staged in for a chunk of the book. A small Colorado town in the corner of Colorado. A town I try to go to every year because it is beautiful and peaceful and the people living there are worth dying for.  Years ago, before there were smoking ordinances, you could find two or three people in the saloon at night, hunched over their random low-ball with two or three ice cubes in it, looking deep into the glass for answers as to where they made the wrong turn in their life which put them there, on that stool. They took a sip with the same hand they were holding a lit Pal-Mal after lighting it with the one they were smoking before.

Today, it’s a tourist spot. The whole town is now being overrun by fleeing Californians who took their money and fled, most of whom don’t wear socks. But this is my fantasy and mine, usually, always have a happy ending.

In the bar, at night, tucked in the corner, is Gordon. There was a four-piece group who frequented the bar for tips and beer, but one of the group recognized the five guys who walked in, four of them following an old, wrinkled man they remembered from years before. The lead singer approached him as he ordered and was leaning against the bar. They just wanting to get a beer, head back to the bus parked outside, and move on to their concert in Montrose. The two talked for a bit and in order to stop the begging, Gordon and his group said they would play a set. Then they asked if the band would like to join them.

     The lead singer….

The lead singer thought he was going to have kittens right there on the floor.

The boys went to the bus, retrieved their own instruments and in minutes, the band was playing. As always, the old, wrinkled man started, as he use to with all his concerts with ‘let me introduce myself and the band.’ Then, they shook hands with each other. The small bar broke into a cheer and hoisted their classes of whatever they were drinking.   It was like a walk through a dream. The bar door was open and music filled the street, even over-taking the music coming from some of the other bars.

I’m in the back, allowing the locals to enjoy what I have enjoyed. I found my spot against the back side of the bar, where it turns back to meet the wall. Almost all were locals, finding the music and the bar a good place for a night out. The beer was cold and the nachos used two types of real cheese. I can smile because I can see faces change as the music played. I can see bodies relax and maybe for the first time that week. That body enjoying that moment in their otherwise tiresome road.

     …God is subtly there….

Sometimes, I think most of the time, God is subtly there, in the corner, watching what He made happen. Sometimes, it is just to give pause to the world and allow us to enjoy, quietly or with raised cold beer, His work. It is all His work.

Then, the perfect song for the perfect place, at the perfect time rolled out. I don’t know why that is how the fantasy ended. I have heard that song starting decades ago. It gives a picture of life, a good life, at a good time, and doesn’t ignore the pain of that life. The song is only a song—played at the right time. Then, it all went away and life entered, filled with its highs and lows; truths and lies. It made people smile who might not have smiled in a long time. It seemed perfect for a group of people, sitting in a Rocky Mountain bar drinking beer so cold it has ice on top and a platter of nachos for the table; all listening to an old man who wasn’t old when he played.

And we were not old while we listened.

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