"The Rattlesnake Saloon!" my sister Lori hollered, practically driving off the road. "That's where we're going next, Mom!"
Mom started to protest, as if dragging her to a freakin' graveyard for dogs in Deliveranceville wasn't proof enough of her good sportsmanship. But we all know one of the benefits of getting older is that you reach a point when finally, finally you become the boss of your parents, so all she could do was silently pray we'd forget about it after we checked out the cemetery.
No such luck (for her).
As (our) luck would have it, there were two other women (who arrived separately) checking out the coon dogs' final resting place. We struck up a conversation with one of them, named Pam, and somehow she and Lori got to talking about the Rattlesnake Saloon.
"I've always wanted to go," Pam said. "My girlfriend's been there. She said they take you down a hill to the saloon in a pick-up."
Mom started to blanch, but that's all Lori needed to hear.
"Follow us!" Lori told her after we'd paid our respects to the departed canines. And so began a two-car caravan to the Rattlesnake Saloon.
We found it no problem, but alas, the sign said the place was closed. Mom breathed a sigh of relief, but Lori, our new friend Pam, and I were bummed. Then a minute later, the owner, a big, beefy Alabama hunk of manliness named Danny Foster, drove up and offered us a private tour.
"Get in my truck!" he bellowed. "I'll take you down."
The three of us climbed in. Danny Foster drove us down a steep incline, and there at the bottom was the Rattlesnake Saloon. Check this out. The saloon itself is built into a cave. (Believe me, pictures don't do the place justice.)
It's really nice on the inside, don't you think?
Isn't this sign funny?
This is where the band plays. You can't really tell, but it's kind of in a cave, too. So cool.
There's also a couple of outside bars and a giant deck that overlooks a pond.
Danny Foster was so awesome; we were so appreciative to get a private tour. Mom thought it was fantastic--and oh, how we wished it were open. You could tell it would be a swinging place to party.
And how about our new friend Pam? How cool is she for going to the Coon Dog Cemetery all by herself on her day off and then following a family of Yankee women to a biker-friendly bar?
Man, those people down south are nice.
Jeez, I should be a tour guide. As I always tell my mother, "I take you to the best places."