Thursday, September 09, 2004
It's a long cold winter up there in Wisconsin. So you gotta be a real fan if you're willing to sell your snowmobile.
It's unforgettable, only Waynie can't remember it
by Kit Kiefer
People who drive to Backtracks Bar say it's off the beaten path, which it is for those that drive. But the thing about it is to not drive to the place, and then it's not off the beaten path at all.
Backtracks is down County Trunk J to another county trunk, called CJ on account of it crossing C and J at different points on its way through,
and then down Five Mile Road to Woarstell Road, and there's no better way to get there with a car.
If you're on a snowmobile, now, that's another story. The main snowmobile trail between Stevens Point and Green Bay runs right past Backtracks, and it's at about a spot where if you're running from Waupaca to Shawano, or all the way from Point to Green Bay - not that that happens much, even when sleds go 60 and get away with it - you're likely to need a little bit of thirst-quenching or hand-warming, or a combination of the two. Backtracks is an old country bar that sticks around because of the snowmobile trade and a couple of horseshoe pits for the summertime crowd.
The thing with a bar like this in the summertime is you always know who you're going to find inside and in the wintertime you never know who you're going to find inside except for the guys you find inside in the summertime, too.
So in the wintertime at Backtracks you got the guys who curl up cozy in the corner, close to the restroom and the dart machine and far away from the door, and those that come stomping in with a big swirl of cold air and snowflakes behind them, looking like their heads are gonna brush the ceiling and shouting, 'cause they just got off their snowmobiles and took off their helmets and forgot they can hear now. All they want to do is get refreshed, play "Free Bird" on the jukebox, slam their shots of peppermint schnapps and then take off right away. Ships that pass in the night, they are. Sleds that pass in the night. No one fights or shouts between the two groups, but the year-'round crowd does stick to their own and talk about their own, no matter what roisterers in black jumpsuits are being boisterous at the other end.
This particular night was in February, just on the wintertime side of Valentine's Day, with about three or four weeks of midnight shouting and carrying on before they melt for the winter. Boomer, who is one of the most regular of regulars on account of owning the farm next door and supplying the land for the horseshoe pits, is at the bar working his way through a Miller Lite and fishing for things to talk about with Buddha, who's a good listener but not the best at starting conversations, especially when it's after midnight and he's been at the Budweiser for a couple hours.
"Seen Waynie at all tonight?", Boomer asks, though he knows very well that Buddha hasn't seen Waynie because Boomer hasn't seen Waynie, and Buddha gets around less than Boomer, if that's possible.
"Na," says Buddha. Buddha has a real name of Gary, but he gets this name because he's a softball pitcher in the summertime on account of he's fat and can't run but he can hit some, and if you're a fat and can hit some you're a pitcher, and if you're a fat pitcher you're called "Buddha."
"Haven't seen Waynie since he got back from the Super Bowl - have
you?"
"Na," Buddha says again, with no more conviction than the first time.
"Well you know there's a reason - good reason. You heard what happened to him down there and what he had to do to get down there and all that, didn't you?"
"Na," Buddha says for the third time. Maybe he heard about Waynie and maybe he didn't, but right this minute he didn't.
"Okay, well, you know that the Packers went to the Super Bowl, right, everyone knows that, okay. Okay, but back when the Packers are just the winners of the division and they're going into their first playoff, it's Waynie saying, 'Tell you: If the Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin'. Don't care what it takes for me to get there, I'm goin.”
And we figure with Waynie it's probably just talk. Geez, I mean there's no doubt Waynie loves the Packers, loved 'em all his life, listened to the games, y'know, lived and died and talked this stuff until you want him to shut the hell up, but I don't know he's ever seen one, not in person, because when it comes to goin' anywhere Waynie's lucky if he's been to Bonduel.
"So it gets to be that first playoff game and the Packers win, right? The Packers win - you remember that. In the rain against San Francisco, with Desmond Howard returning that kick and everything. Waynie's here the whole time, not cheering much or swearing or anything, just smoking and drinking beers like he always does, and a time or two saying, 'If the Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin'. Not going to miss this. I'm goin',' and we're thinking it's just Waynie, 'cause you know Waynie likes to talk like that.
"Gets to be the first playoff game and the Packers win, and then it gets to be the second playoff game, the second playoff game, and you remember that one, Packers and Carolina, Packers just run over them and win. Same thing - Waynie down here at the bar, smoking, drinking beers, not even the look on his face changes, like he's playing poker with this football game and he's gonna win, dammit. He just says once or twice, 'Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin',' not even caring if we're paying attention or we believe him or anything. He's just saying it for himself, like he's trying to psych himself up or something, or maybe like he can't believe it.
"Maybe now this is turning into something serious after this game, because next night Waynie comes into the bar with a couple of sheets of paper and a staple gun, staples this ad right up on the wall, right into the paneling, with a staple gun. Geez, half-inch staples, too. God, you can guess how that made Kootch feel" - and now Boomer leans back over the bar and rolls his head back so that he's looking at Kootch upside down - "so how'd that make you feel, Kootch?"
Kootch doesn't stop tossing the night's broken glasses, says, "Pissed me off - shit, but it was just Waynie," and starts in on the bottles.
"The ad's for his snowmobile, and you know Waynie, doncha Buddha? I mean, Waynie worked for that snowmobile - really worked, not just worked the way Waynie usually picks at working. Made pallets, worked Hillshire -- on the killing floor, yet, with the cold and the blood, the one job around here you really don't want you got a choice - worked hard, made enough to buy that snowmobile so then he doesn't have to work so hard anymore. Way he figures it, you got a snowmobile and a little bit of money to spend, wood to throw on the fire there, what more you need? Know he paid seven thousand easy for that snowmobile, took damn good care of it and staples this ad to the wall saying he'll take twenty-five hundred for it."
"Guess he's serious then," says Buddha. He's surprised he said something so he takes another big gulp of the Budweiser.
"Guess he's serious then," Boomer says back. "Sled like that at that price in a bar like this goes fast, so Waynie has his twenty-five hundred. All he's needing is the ticket, and there's lots of places spring up to sell him a ticket.
"He actually get a ticket?"
"Yeah, he gets one. Real one, doesn't get taken like lots of these guys. Gets a seat on a plane going out. Doesn't know if he has a place to stay, but he's not too worried. Place to stay, that's not a big thing with Waynie. Never did find out when he landed on that one.
"Anyhow, he said he was goin' and he went. Give him all the credit in the world, guy who never traveled like that going all the way to New Orleans for the Super Bowl, first football game in person if you don't count Manawa, which you shouldn't. This ain't no Manawa game he's going to, not even homecoming. Hell, he must have been like a baby in a candy store, all they got down there, Bourbon Street. He says before he goes, 'They name a street after booze, shit, you know that's my kind of place.' Guess that doesn't explain everything happened down there, but maybe some."
"So what happened?", Buddha says. Kootch doesn't ask. He knows already.
"What happens is he gets down there on a Thursday and the game's on Friday and he's got a ticket to the Super Bowl and more than enough drinking money, even for New Orleans, not that he needs all of it, because soon as he gets down there he finds some old softball buddy from Big Falls and he's not buying drinks 'til Saturday at least. Waynie can take a lot, so that's not some small deal. He's soaking it all up, and I mean he's soaking up whatever he's seeing and whatever they're pouring. Wakes up Sunday knows he's got to straighten out a little, on account of the game being on Sunday and everything, so he gives it up through Sunday morning about 11, maybe about noon, until he thinks it's about time to head towards the stadium from wherever he was that morning, this softball buddy's camp trailer, maybe. Well, you go maybe three miles to the stadium, and every 50 feet there's another bunch of Packer fans parked in an alley or a parking lot grilling brats, drinking beers, shouting and hollering about how the Packers are going to kick the Patriots' asses. Wish you could hear him tell it, how Patriot fans are so goddamn serious walkin' to the stadium, and Packer fans are just lettin' 'er snap, like they never left Lambeau. God, Waynie's gone and died to Heaven - I mean, you know what I mean - when he sees like 20 blocks of tailgate party, and he's slapping high fives with everyone, and they give him beers and brats, and he takes the beers and downs 'em in a gulp, and the brats, he takes maybe a bite and then throws it in the trash can end of the block, where there's another beer and another brat. Waynie, he's never been much on solid food.
Trip to the stadium maybe takes 45 minutes, an hour if you walk there, it takes Waynie three hours. Gets in the stadium about 15 minutes before kickoff, finds his seat, grabs a beer in there, which you gotta do if you're at the Super Bowl, and besides, Waynie's got all his spending money for the week because everyone's been buying him drinks, grabs maybe one or two more, and it's second quarter and the Packers are having themselves a ball game. Now he starts getting into it, really trying to concentrate on watching it, and it happens."
Buddha's big, unmoving face stirs up a little. "What happens?"
"He passes out. Out cold. Says he can remember the Packers being behind and then the fireworks at the end of the game woke him up some, but then he went out again until postgame was just about over. Someone nudges him as they walk out and wake him up. Twenty-five hundred bucks to get down to New Orleans to watch a game he passes out at not even halfway through."
Buddha moves his head from side to side like a kid shaking a piggy bank. "He say it's worth it?"
"Hell yeah. He says he'd do it tomorrow. Says it's unforgettable, only he can't remember it. 'Screw the game,' he says. 'I got the goddamn game on videotape and I can watch it any damn time I please. But what I got down there they can't never put on videotape.' And I guess I can't argue with that.
"Funniest thing, though, is that when he's up here Waynie never could get anywhere with women. Did everything he could in this town to meet women: bowled twice a week, reffed volleyball, even was a greeter at Wal-Mart couple weeks. Shoulda seen that. And not that Waynie isn't good-looking or nice to women. He is, sorta, lot more than you'd think. Just never worked out up here for whatever reason. But he goes down there, passes out in the middle of the biggest football game in history, and when he wakes up and heads out of the place meets this lady from Menomonee Falls, takes him back to her motor home she drives down there specially for a game, gives him a ride all the way back up here, doesn't even use his plane ticket back and now he's down there, supposedly going to get a job managing these thirty rentals she's got. Just the job for Waynie: Drive around Milwaukee all day looking inside apartments. That's why you haven't seen Waynie. Waynie is gone."
"Goes to show what I always said about drinking: you gotta pick your spots," Buddha says, and he's thinking for the first time all night. Wait 'til next year, he's thinking. Then it'll be my turn.
It's unforgettable, only Waynie can't remember it
by Kit Kiefer
People who drive to Backtracks Bar say it's off the beaten path, which it is for those that drive. But the thing about it is to not drive to the place, and then it's not off the beaten path at all.
Backtracks is down County Trunk J to another county trunk, called CJ on account of it crossing C and J at different points on its way through,
and then down Five Mile Road to Woarstell Road, and there's no better way to get there with a car.
If you're on a snowmobile, now, that's another story. The main snowmobile trail between Stevens Point and Green Bay runs right past Backtracks, and it's at about a spot where if you're running from Waupaca to Shawano, or all the way from Point to Green Bay - not that that happens much, even when sleds go 60 and get away with it - you're likely to need a little bit of thirst-quenching or hand-warming, or a combination of the two. Backtracks is an old country bar that sticks around because of the snowmobile trade and a couple of horseshoe pits for the summertime crowd.
The thing with a bar like this in the summertime is you always know who you're going to find inside and in the wintertime you never know who you're going to find inside except for the guys you find inside in the summertime, too.
So in the wintertime at Backtracks you got the guys who curl up cozy in the corner, close to the restroom and the dart machine and far away from the door, and those that come stomping in with a big swirl of cold air and snowflakes behind them, looking like their heads are gonna brush the ceiling and shouting, 'cause they just got off their snowmobiles and took off their helmets and forgot they can hear now. All they want to do is get refreshed, play "Free Bird" on the jukebox, slam their shots of peppermint schnapps and then take off right away. Ships that pass in the night, they are. Sleds that pass in the night. No one fights or shouts between the two groups, but the year-'round crowd does stick to their own and talk about their own, no matter what roisterers in black jumpsuits are being boisterous at the other end.
This particular night was in February, just on the wintertime side of Valentine's Day, with about three or four weeks of midnight shouting and carrying on before they melt for the winter. Boomer, who is one of the most regular of regulars on account of owning the farm next door and supplying the land for the horseshoe pits, is at the bar working his way through a Miller Lite and fishing for things to talk about with Buddha, who's a good listener but not the best at starting conversations, especially when it's after midnight and he's been at the Budweiser for a couple hours.
"Seen Waynie at all tonight?", Boomer asks, though he knows very well that Buddha hasn't seen Waynie because Boomer hasn't seen Waynie, and Buddha gets around less than Boomer, if that's possible.
"Na," says Buddha. Buddha has a real name of Gary, but he gets this name because he's a softball pitcher in the summertime on account of he's fat and can't run but he can hit some, and if you're a fat and can hit some you're a pitcher, and if you're a fat pitcher you're called "Buddha."
"Haven't seen Waynie since he got back from the Super Bowl - have
you?"
"Na," Buddha says again, with no more conviction than the first time.
"Well you know there's a reason - good reason. You heard what happened to him down there and what he had to do to get down there and all that, didn't you?"
"Na," Buddha says for the third time. Maybe he heard about Waynie and maybe he didn't, but right this minute he didn't.
"Okay, well, you know that the Packers went to the Super Bowl, right, everyone knows that, okay. Okay, but back when the Packers are just the winners of the division and they're going into their first playoff, it's Waynie saying, 'Tell you: If the Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin'. Don't care what it takes for me to get there, I'm goin.”
And we figure with Waynie it's probably just talk. Geez, I mean there's no doubt Waynie loves the Packers, loved 'em all his life, listened to the games, y'know, lived and died and talked this stuff until you want him to shut the hell up, but I don't know he's ever seen one, not in person, because when it comes to goin' anywhere Waynie's lucky if he's been to Bonduel.
"So it gets to be that first playoff game and the Packers win, right? The Packers win - you remember that. In the rain against San Francisco, with Desmond Howard returning that kick and everything. Waynie's here the whole time, not cheering much or swearing or anything, just smoking and drinking beers like he always does, and a time or two saying, 'If the Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin'. Not going to miss this. I'm goin',' and we're thinking it's just Waynie, 'cause you know Waynie likes to talk like that.
"Gets to be the first playoff game and the Packers win, and then it gets to be the second playoff game, the second playoff game, and you remember that one, Packers and Carolina, Packers just run over them and win. Same thing - Waynie down here at the bar, smoking, drinking beers, not even the look on his face changes, like he's playing poker with this football game and he's gonna win, dammit. He just says once or twice, 'Packers go to the Super Bowl I'm goin',' not even caring if we're paying attention or we believe him or anything. He's just saying it for himself, like he's trying to psych himself up or something, or maybe like he can't believe it.
"Maybe now this is turning into something serious after this game, because next night Waynie comes into the bar with a couple of sheets of paper and a staple gun, staples this ad right up on the wall, right into the paneling, with a staple gun. Geez, half-inch staples, too. God, you can guess how that made Kootch feel" - and now Boomer leans back over the bar and rolls his head back so that he's looking at Kootch upside down - "so how'd that make you feel, Kootch?"
Kootch doesn't stop tossing the night's broken glasses, says, "Pissed me off - shit, but it was just Waynie," and starts in on the bottles.
"The ad's for his snowmobile, and you know Waynie, doncha Buddha? I mean, Waynie worked for that snowmobile - really worked, not just worked the way Waynie usually picks at working. Made pallets, worked Hillshire -- on the killing floor, yet, with the cold and the blood, the one job around here you really don't want you got a choice - worked hard, made enough to buy that snowmobile so then he doesn't have to work so hard anymore. Way he figures it, you got a snowmobile and a little bit of money to spend, wood to throw on the fire there, what more you need? Know he paid seven thousand easy for that snowmobile, took damn good care of it and staples this ad to the wall saying he'll take twenty-five hundred for it."
"Guess he's serious then," says Buddha. He's surprised he said something so he takes another big gulp of the Budweiser.
"Guess he's serious then," Boomer says back. "Sled like that at that price in a bar like this goes fast, so Waynie has his twenty-five hundred. All he's needing is the ticket, and there's lots of places spring up to sell him a ticket.
"He actually get a ticket?"
"Yeah, he gets one. Real one, doesn't get taken like lots of these guys. Gets a seat on a plane going out. Doesn't know if he has a place to stay, but he's not too worried. Place to stay, that's not a big thing with Waynie. Never did find out when he landed on that one.
"Anyhow, he said he was goin' and he went. Give him all the credit in the world, guy who never traveled like that going all the way to New Orleans for the Super Bowl, first football game in person if you don't count Manawa, which you shouldn't. This ain't no Manawa game he's going to, not even homecoming. Hell, he must have been like a baby in a candy store, all they got down there, Bourbon Street. He says before he goes, 'They name a street after booze, shit, you know that's my kind of place.' Guess that doesn't explain everything happened down there, but maybe some."
"So what happened?", Buddha says. Kootch doesn't ask. He knows already.
"What happens is he gets down there on a Thursday and the game's on Friday and he's got a ticket to the Super Bowl and more than enough drinking money, even for New Orleans, not that he needs all of it, because soon as he gets down there he finds some old softball buddy from Big Falls and he's not buying drinks 'til Saturday at least. Waynie can take a lot, so that's not some small deal. He's soaking it all up, and I mean he's soaking up whatever he's seeing and whatever they're pouring. Wakes up Sunday knows he's got to straighten out a little, on account of the game being on Sunday and everything, so he gives it up through Sunday morning about 11, maybe about noon, until he thinks it's about time to head towards the stadium from wherever he was that morning, this softball buddy's camp trailer, maybe. Well, you go maybe three miles to the stadium, and every 50 feet there's another bunch of Packer fans parked in an alley or a parking lot grilling brats, drinking beers, shouting and hollering about how the Packers are going to kick the Patriots' asses. Wish you could hear him tell it, how Patriot fans are so goddamn serious walkin' to the stadium, and Packer fans are just lettin' 'er snap, like they never left Lambeau. God, Waynie's gone and died to Heaven - I mean, you know what I mean - when he sees like 20 blocks of tailgate party, and he's slapping high fives with everyone, and they give him beers and brats, and he takes the beers and downs 'em in a gulp, and the brats, he takes maybe a bite and then throws it in the trash can end of the block, where there's another beer and another brat. Waynie, he's never been much on solid food.
Trip to the stadium maybe takes 45 minutes, an hour if you walk there, it takes Waynie three hours. Gets in the stadium about 15 minutes before kickoff, finds his seat, grabs a beer in there, which you gotta do if you're at the Super Bowl, and besides, Waynie's got all his spending money for the week because everyone's been buying him drinks, grabs maybe one or two more, and it's second quarter and the Packers are having themselves a ball game. Now he starts getting into it, really trying to concentrate on watching it, and it happens."
Buddha's big, unmoving face stirs up a little. "What happens?"
"He passes out. Out cold. Says he can remember the Packers being behind and then the fireworks at the end of the game woke him up some, but then he went out again until postgame was just about over. Someone nudges him as they walk out and wake him up. Twenty-five hundred bucks to get down to New Orleans to watch a game he passes out at not even halfway through."
Buddha moves his head from side to side like a kid shaking a piggy bank. "He say it's worth it?"
"Hell yeah. He says he'd do it tomorrow. Says it's unforgettable, only he can't remember it. 'Screw the game,' he says. 'I got the goddamn game on videotape and I can watch it any damn time I please. But what I got down there they can't never put on videotape.' And I guess I can't argue with that.
"Funniest thing, though, is that when he's up here Waynie never could get anywhere with women. Did everything he could in this town to meet women: bowled twice a week, reffed volleyball, even was a greeter at Wal-Mart couple weeks. Shoulda seen that. And not that Waynie isn't good-looking or nice to women. He is, sorta, lot more than you'd think. Just never worked out up here for whatever reason. But he goes down there, passes out in the middle of the biggest football game in history, and when he wakes up and heads out of the place meets this lady from Menomonee Falls, takes him back to her motor home she drives down there specially for a game, gives him a ride all the way back up here, doesn't even use his plane ticket back and now he's down there, supposedly going to get a job managing these thirty rentals she's got. Just the job for Waynie: Drive around Milwaukee all day looking inside apartments. That's why you haven't seen Waynie. Waynie is gone."
"Goes to show what I always said about drinking: you gotta pick your spots," Buddha says, and he's thinking for the first time all night. Wait 'til next year, he's thinking. Then it'll be my turn.
