We loved it here! It felt just like home, as if I'd stepped back into small-town Missouri. Â Cheap coors light, pool tables, and country music that took me back to the early nineties again. Â Such a great time! Â Some folks warned us that it was a 'biker bar' but we were welcomed without issue, and were chatted up by the bartender a bit just like we belonged.
Review Source:Great Dive Bar - plenty of bar seating, pool tables - all kinds of cool games to play in the middle room and well poured drinks.
Kat or Cat is always working when I go there - so I don't know the other bartenders. She cool, pours a great drink (no happy hour is needed here for the normal prices), and she always engaging - not to just the regulars, but to everyone.
I've been here twice when she brought in cake for someone and she gives everyone a piece - no cliques here. I always meet interesting people. Yesterday there was this couple and Kat wanted them to bring their little dog in from the heat - a real cutie and good sat on the guys lap. We all had fun with her. His wife was 10 sheets to the wind, so very entertaining! VERY! she kept talking about having barley and hops in a bag with her twinkie and getting busted because the cops will think it's weed. It was a good time - you just have to roll with it when someone is that plastered.
Sure it's a dive - but I like to call it a neighborhood bar or a local bar. A Cool Spot.
Straight-forward dive bar. Â Cheap drinks, heavy generous pours, dead animal heads on the wall, local drunks, and plenty of games to play. Â They have pool tables, video games (including PacMan!!!), and shuffleboard. Â The bartenders are friendly and you will always meet an interesting character or two sitting at the bar.
Review Source:Super nice proprietor with a mean accent and interesting clientele here! Â Stopped by on a quick trip to the area a little while ago and have to say it's a nice spot. Â It's divey, but pretty spacious and has two pinball machines as well as pool, etc. Â Off the main drag so it's more a locals vibe (not that SR gets super touristy or anything...)
Review Source:Being a recent transplant to the Bay Area my boyfriend and I were lucky to be instantly introduced to this gem by my parents.
If you like a low-key, lowly lit, dive bar experience complete with the rougher and more eccentric character types-- then you will fall in love with this place just as quickly as we did. Â The bar is run by the owners Mark during the day and Rob during the night. Kat switches off with them and covers some shifts during the week as well. She makes an insane Long Island! All of them are prime for great conversation. And they're dog people! Rob will get down on his hands and knees and feed beef jerky to your dog if you decide to bring them by as well!
Almost every time I've been in there some sort of delicious cuisine was being served up and offered free of charge from Mark, who is quite an excellent cook. The very first night we came Rob ordered up giant pizzas loaded with toppings and handed them out to all of us. The patrons frequently participate in potlucks and parties sharing heaping plates of delicious food with everyone. They'll even send you home with some! On top of all this appetizing generosity they pour EXTREMELY strong drinks! Guaranteed nothing better for your money.
In addition to their fully stocked juke box, they hold weekly pool tournaments and also have a shuffle board team. I've played good luck charm to El Presidente and drank shots with other fabulous biker's-- and I'm a 22 year old blonde with blue eyes and bows in my hair. While I may look out of place, I feel right at home.
So if you aren't looking for that college-bar-frat-kid party scene and if you want a stiff drink with some good classic rock-n-roll-- this is the best bar around!
It was only 7 o'clock. Â The bar was full, but one couple had already had their fill. Â The man nudged his woman's elbow and looked up at me and my girl with a sideways head and jutting chin, "You can have our chairs!" Â Are you sure, I asked. Â "Uh huh!", he blurted with firewater burning in his eyes. Â We took the bar stools as the couple skated out of the bar. Â Through the open backdoor of the bar, I could see kids riding their bikes in circles with empty plastic water bottles jammed in the forks to produce motorcycle sounds. Â
Inside, I ordered a pint and couldn't help to stare, couldn't help to check it out. Â ..Baseball trophies on the walls. Â ..Memorial stickers on the tall cooler doors behind the counter: "In loving memory of Rod." "RIP Luke." "We'll always remember you, Troy." Â And of course some words of wisdom: "It is better to spend money like there's no tomorrow than to spend tonight like there's no money." Â
There was an autographed poster of Willie Nelson. Â I was about to ask the bartender if Willie really signed it, but she was too busy with the whiskey-drenched fuckwit punching the ATM machine. Â Who could hear Tom Petty with this crybaby jerkoff punching and howling irritably? Â Who here was now able to enjoy their early evening buzz? Â He slammed the ATM machine again and the woman behind the counter marched him into the bathroom. Â She tried her hardest to lock him in there. Â He now presented the dichotomy of resisting getting trapped in crapper confinement and the threatening of committing suicide. Â Three tight-bellied men scurried from their bar stools to the bathroom to assist in locking him in. Â "Nyaaarr!" the drunk bastard uttered, but there was no point in arguing at this point. Â One of the tight-bellied men punched him on the nose and returned to his place at the bar to watch the ball game. Â Eventually, the nuisance's mom was called and she came to pick him up. Â
The bartender was by then in the back sniffing around; she came back suddenly quite jazzed to serve more beers. Â Things were getting back to normal, but the Hells Angels were stopping by for a soda pop. Â Upon hearing this news, the local motorcycle gang shuffled out the backdoor and raced away on their bikes. Â One guy slammed his beer on the bar and announced: "I'm getting out of here before the cops arrive!" Â Shit was about to go down. Â The clean-cut Angels came in and ordered up a round of soda pop and hot dogs. Â Apparently, a dyslexic native had it all wrong. Â These bikers were not the Hells Angels. Â They were the Hells Angles: A group of motorbiking mathematicians looking to wet their beaks before heading off to the Pink Flamingo for a seminar the next day on "Re-inventing the Circle: The New Round-About Way to Geometry". Â
Tonight's drama now seemed to be over and Tom Petty was again in charge of the airwaves. Â I now found it suitable to ask about the Willie Nelson poster, but the bartender zipped off to the back room once more. Â She came back re-charged yet again, but a little disoriented. Â She took a drink from her water bottle, mumbled something to it, and marched off to bus tables. Â It was another night of about one hundred thousand million nights at the Wagon Wheel.
The Wagon Wheel is one of my all-time favorite bars. Â
For starters, the juke box is extraordinary. Â You do not go into a bar like this looking to hear the latest tunes you just downloaded onto your iPod; you want "A Boy Named Sue" and you want "Angel from Montgomery", and you wil have them both. Â
Next, pool tables with sufficient peripheral space for spaztic uncoordinated drink-mongers like myself to actually attempt to learn how to play without incurring personal liability to other patrons. Â Plus, no one is sober enough to scorn or ridicule you, so you (read: I) do not feel the overriding humiliation that generally prevents you (read: me) from picking up a cue.
Finally, a porn vending machine. Â No, I am not kidding. Â There is a vending machine, in the bar, that sells all sorts of pornographic crap. It is the proverbial candy store for the adult version of those innocent lolipop-gripping children we once were.
Oh wait, I forgot to mention the bartenders. Fantastic. I dare you to order a pina colada, or anything that typically involves a blender, any kind fruit item, or even ice. Â Just take the bourbon neat, get yerself some porny-stuff, knock around a few balls on the pool table, and sing King of the Road at the top of your lungs with the rest of the patrons of this fine establishment, and try to tell me you did not just have the best night in recent memory.
A real bar, for real people with real problems.
It's nothing special, but that's what a dive should be. Beware of some of the patrons who sit at the bar and look like the bar was built around them. A few are veterans who, quite literally, FREAK OUT if you stand too close behind them... and they do this without warning. I suggest not standing behind anyone seated as a precaution.
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