Bailey Days

For 27 years our little hamlet in the foothills of the Rockies has held an annual "Bailey Day"; a festival of fun with music, vendors, great food, a fun run and more. This year my dear friend Scarymarysasserfrass asked me to compose an article for the official Bailey Day Book.

For those of you unfortunate enough not to live here, or those too tightfisted to fork over the $2 for the book; here it is in its entirety.

Welcome to Bailey

I looks in the rear view mirror and sees my eyes starin' back at me like two cherries in a bowl of buttermilk. I'd been on the road for nearly 12 hour straight; ever since two wise-guys in a Vegas back-alley persuaded me to scram out of town. I was anxious to avoid a certain party in Idaho Springs to whom I owed a sum of money so I takes what I thinks is a shortcut and finds myself on some back road called 285. Not only does the altitude nearly set my nose to start bleedin' again, I think I'm gonna run into some grizzly bears or somethin'. I never seen so many trees in my life.

Denver was someplace up ahead so I keep pushin' my old jalopy along the road till I comes to this wide place in the road. "Welcome to Bailey" says the sign. "Yeah right" I thinks. "Bet they don't welcome the likes of me." Next thing I know, I almost drives straight off the road. I looks to my right and sees a giant hot dog starin' back at me. So help me God, a giant hot dog! I been on the road so long I'm whaddyacallit - hallucinatin'. I need coffee and start lookin' around. I wonder if they even have java up here, figurin' maybe the water wouldn't boil or somethin'.

Next thing I sees is steam comin' out from under the hood. Even more than a giant hot dog, steam from the hood is somethin' you never want to see when you're miles from nowhere, trust me on this.

I coast a few hundred yards and rolls into the parkin' lot of this diner on main street. "The Cuthroat Café" they calls it. "Whaddyaknow?" I thinks. "Somebody here must be in the same line of work as me." They even had pictures of fish up on the walls. Ya know, kind of a 'Godfather' reference. "Luca Brasi swims wid da fishes." Nice touch.

I ease my achin' back out of the seat and drags myself inside. The waitress is cute and sassy, just how I like my waitresses. The coffee is hot and strong, which is also how I like my waitresses. I sighs in satisfaction. "If you like coffee, you might also try Mount Bailey Coffee Shack - they make good stuff too." Says this number sittin' next to me.

"I need someone to work on my wheels" I tell him. "Someone who won't get wise and try to pull a fast one 'cause they know I'm not from round these parts. You got any auto mechanics in this town?"

"Well, sure we do." he tells me. "We got Rory & Lynn at Platte River, they'll fix you right up. This was good news so I decided I could take the time for some eats. I slides my behind onto the chair and groan as I feel the bruises under my sharkskin. A souvenir of Vegas.

"You look like you could use a little bodywork there." says this dame at the counter. "You should head up and see Doc Braun at the top of Crow Hill." I'm not sure I fancy some small town saw-bones workin' me over and say so. "No, this guy's good" says my new friend. "You could even get a massage while you're there."

"Bailey has a massage parlor?" I asks with eyebrows raised.
"Massage therapy" she says, settin' me straight. Cecilia works out of Doc Braun's office.
Her or the folks at Bailey Massage and Fitness." Pipes up some character to my left. This sounded promisin'.
"Suppose I wanted to chill here for a couple days" I says, "Is there a roomin' house or anythin', could put me up?"
"Bailey Lodge or Glen Isle" says someone.

I was startin' to like this town.

"What line of business you in, friend?" Asks this hombre wearin' a cowboy hat. I was used to dodgin' this question.
"Insurance" I tells him. I always say insurance - it sounds better than 'protection'. "Know anybody hirin'?"
"Well. We got James and Carrie at Crow Hill Insurance. You might try talkin' to them."
Two different outfits workin' one small town. Who knew there would be that much business. I could see I had a lot to learn. I walked over to the newsstand to pick up a local fishwrap; thinkin' I could get a feel for who the trouble boys in town might be. Turned out there was three papers. High Timber Times, Mountain Connection and The Flume. For a small town there must be a lot of action to keep that many newshawks employed.

Maybe I should stick around. I've a bit of rhino put by; perhaps I can make a go of it here. Now I'm no boozehound you understand, but some things in life are important.
"Any hooch stores around here" I asks no-one in particular.
"Bailey liquor, right across the street." Answers this skirt from across the room. I did a double-take. Now that's what I call a babe.
"Any other hash houses in these parts?"
"There's good eatin' at Crossroads, El Rio, Plantation House and Platte Canyon Grill too."
"I'm thinking I'm in heaven." I says.
"Well cyberspace maybe," she says back. "You can check your e-mail at the Knotty Pine."
Yeah, e-mail, me!
"You goin' to be in town long?" she asks me.
"I think so," I tell her. It sounds like there's a lot goin' on here."
"Oh honey," she says handin' me a copy of the Platte Canyon Chamber Directory, "you haven't even gotten started".

I smiled, and ordered myself another cup of Joe.

"Welcome to Bailey."
Indeed.