We’ve lived in Asheville for a little more than four months and have passed by the Root Bar every time we leave the house, we live a mile and a half up a mountain and the Root Bar is at the bottom. We knew the name of the bar came from a game called Root Ball invented by the previous owner in 1999. It is a combination of Bacci Ball and horseshoes played in a sand court. In the many publications around town listing musical events the Root Bar is almost always listed with the performing bands.

Two of our very good friends, Lori and Karen, were on business in Raleigh and created a reason to drive to visit with us for the weekend. Since our good friend Michele was nearing the end of her stay in Asheville we thought it would be a good idea to see what the Root Bar is like.

The Root Bar is a small building covering about 1000 square feet. It shares a dirt and gravel parking lot with a small flea market operating during the day. The bars namesake is painted on a sheet of plywood attached to two wooden legs displayed prominently in the parking lot close to Tunnel Road. There is also a professionally made plastic tarp with the word “Bar” on it attached at the top of the plywood. On a windy day the tarp sign blows over to the other side of the sign covering the bar name on one side.

On this night the front set of double doors are open. As you walk in immediately to the left is a pool table with four small tables with chairs surrounding it. Against the wall is a 1980’s Galaga video game with the two restrooms taking up the remaining space on that wall. To the right of the entrance are an eclectic assortment of couches and chairs that have been put to very good use. All the sitting area faces a small stage with black drapes completely covering the windows surrounding what could have been at one time a breakfast area. As you walk the five steps between the sitting area and pool table you come to a bar. There are nine taps for the draft beer and two large refrigerators for the bottled beer, one oversized shelf dedicated to Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. On the bar is a book listing the many beers served at the Root Bar. There is also a dry erase board indicating the new brews. This night the featured beers were Sweet Water Blue for $3, Nut Brown Ale for $6 and Mad Hat #9 for $4. When you walk a few more steps you exit the building and enter the Root Ball yard. There is a cement walkway running the length of the building extending 12 feet. There is a table and chairs at each end of the walkway and there are three Root Ball courts.

Michele, Barbara and I met Lori and Karen at the Root Bar in the early evening. We no sooner walked in and Karen met us midway to the bar shaking her head and telling us we had to hear what happened. When they arrived they went directly to the bar and asked the bartender, Norton, if they could have a Captain Morgan and diet coke. He told her we only serve beer and water. They asked if they could have wine but he repeated the same line. They must have appeared disappointed because Norton asked, “When you drink beer what do you want it to taste like?” They replied, “a light brew with a mild nutty taste.” Norton said he had the perfect brew, Hoftstras Lager. He whirled around in an instant opening a refrigerator door removing a dark brown bottle and setting it quietly on the bar in front of them. Before they realized what was happening he had two small plastic cups on the bar and he was explaining an abridged version of the beers history including some of it’s recent accolades. He then lifted the wire snap holding the cork cap in place and poured a little in each cup saying, “if you like the taste I have plenty for you, if not I’ll get you another to try. On the house!” They tasted the beer and Lori reluctantly said it was stronger than she cared for. Without discouragement he got two more cups with a taste of the local brew, Summer Ale. Lori asked why a brew called summer was still available in mid October. His reply was, “it is an Endless summer”. They both smiled and after tasting the beer said they would take two. Karen was amazed Norton would allow them to taste an expensive beer for nothing. I got to the bar and ordered three more Summer ales and the night had begun.

He was the only person working there except for a guy at the door that would collect the $5 cover when the bands starts up a little later. There were about a half dozen people in the bar listening to the juke box and most of them were drinking PBR, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It was a beautiful night with temperatures in the low 60’s so we went out back to see the Root ball courts. Each one was occupied so we sat at chairs situated in a circular fashion. As we talked people sat in the open chairs and joined in the conversation. One guy Ronnie had a ponytail and was explaining he had a job in Denver as a waiter. The job was good until one particular difficult day when he approached a customer with a seemingly jovial greeting of “What can I get you buddy?” was met with “A glass of champagne and I am not your buddy! Thank you!” His response was not well received so that was his last day there. Another young guy showed up telling us he was a chef in town that worked with under privileged children. The conversation drifted from local music, to obscure 70’ trivia, to politics to Root Ball rules. Lori notice a court opened and she challenged Barb and me with Karen as her unwitting partner. Michele was perfectly agreeable to stay where she was talking and drinking with the assortment of people sitting near her. As we started toward the court a young photographer for the Associated Press having just returned from Iraq had joined the discussion group.

After the game of Root ball concluded we went inside to catch the second of the four bands. Barb and I sat on the end of the bar in the pathway from the entrance to the rootball courts. It was the optimal location with a great view of the bands, immediate access to the bartender and cavalcade of patrons moving back and forth, usually stopping by to watch and listen.

Barb was thoroughly enjoying the bands. She is a music aficionado and has empathy for their struggle. We did a quick calculation on the number of people in the bar and the cover charge, guessing at their tips, not subtracting the bands bar tab, and deciding each band made $50. In Asheville we are fortunate to have live music in many locations around town and it is common to have musicians on the street with open instrument case in clear view. They depend on the charity of tourists and hospitality of locals to scratch out a living just to share their craft with those of us interested in listening. It is a rare occurrence Barb will pass by a musician without giving a donation. So the night at the root bar she made more trips to the donation box then I did to the restroom. I listened to the sounds and occasionally enjoyed the bands enthusiasm but most of the time I watched the people around me. There was an older woman, greater than 48 years old, enjoying the local brew quite frequently and extending her friendship to several of the patrons. Another guy, Henry, in his early 20’s maintained a perpetual smile, widening as the night went on and the PBR’s went down. He was there when we arrived and outpaced me with respect to finishing beers. At one point he politely excused himself saying, “Mr. Bartender, there has been a slight beer accident. Do you have a towel I could borrow?” I saw a small puddle that could have been the result of a negligent Bison Frise owner miscalculated the time since it’s last obligatory walk. Henry meandered toward the puddle and as though balancing himself on a beam leaned over to dab the towel on the carpet. In a few minutes he was returning the towel and requesting another PBR.

By the time the second band began playing the temperature seemed to have dropped quite a bit. As I looked over to Barb she was thoroughly into the evening entertainment. Michele is the most resistant to cold, probably from living through two Toronto winters. Lori was feeling no pain and Karen, usually averse to cold didn’t give any indication she was bothered. It was about this time I saw Lori behind the bar as Norton was making a typical round cleaning up empty cans, bottle and cups. It seems the extrovert in our group befriended Norton and was assisting him with some of his duties. He even gave Lori a free bottle of water.

Michele was enjoying the music but seemed to be talking to any person sitting next to her.

As the music wafted through the room I caught a glimpse of an elderly woman at the threshold of the double doors. She tentatively approached the bar with both her hands held in front of her tightly clutching some dollar bills. She stood just behind me to the left so I could see her without conspicuously watching her. Her face was slightly wrinkled and her clothes slightly baggy and she appeared to lean forward slightly. I felt embarrassed for her coming to the bar probably to buy a few PBR’s with the last dollars she had. It was sad almost pathetic this old woman talking her way through paying the cover charge to spend the money she had on a alcoholic beverage. I looked away so as not to embarrass her any more then I expected she already was. Then I heard her tell the bartender, “Could I have some quarters so I can do my laundry?” He closed his eyes and the corners of his mouth raised slightly and gently nodded. At that very moment I looked toward her, instinctively, as if to apologize for my erroneous thoughts. While Norton was counting out the 12 quarters she said, “I have been on the road for one and a half weeks and don’t have any clean underwear.”  I must have had somewhat of an astonished look on my face because she gave me a confident little smirk, to reassure of the humor. I smiled in return and reflexively motioned for another PBR wondering how many inaccurate observations I have made without any justification.

I think the third band was playing as I got up to go to the restroom and stopped by Michele to make sure she was enjoying herself. She told me she loved talking to the people they were very interesting and was amazed the guy in her neighborhood that observes local wildlife was there to talk to. She talked a little more with Ronnie, the familiar Denver waiter, and learned, with difficulty, why PBR is so popular. Michele was keeping pace with me except she enjoyed the Summer ale at $4 a piece. She asked Ronnie why he drank PBR instead of the local brews, that Barb and I insisted she drink, instead of our usual national brands. He told her because they were $1 each. She said she felt like an elitist as she drank her beer costing 400% more than his and knowing she has a Mercedes outside and as he was trying to secure a ride home since he didn’t have a car.

By the time I got to Lori and Karen they were on the couch just in front of the band. The couch was the same distance from the stage as a TV might be in a living room. Lori was talking to the lead singer each time there was a break in between songs. Karen had her fill of beer but Lori was trying to name brands that might change her mind, Budwesier, Miller Light, Corona, Gaelic Ale, Summer Ale…. Karen had hit the beer wall and could drink no more.

I left them and after the restroom stopped and picked up my beer making sure Barb was ok because the temperature seemed to be still dropping. I went outside next to the smokers and I wondered how much of the smoke was from the cigarettes exhalations and from me. I saw Henry wobbling from the side parking lot toward the bar entrance. There as a woman within a few feet of him and at one point he turned toward her but as he did he inadvertently walked into a fern hanging from the overhang on the building. She started giggling and Henry put both of his hands on the fern and his head under the pot. The plant easily slipped off its anchor and he continued into the bar wearing the fern on his head like a wig. The woman was laughing now but someone inside gave him a look and he headed back outside and tried unsuccessfully to put the plant back in its place. I quietly slipped the plant from his hands saying you are the creative one so allow me to be the efficient one and placed the plant on the hook.

I went back in the bar knowing all my friends were either immersed in the entertainment, conversation, receiving energy from others or content to be in the moment so I found my bar stool and listened to the band. I think this band was the headliner and final band because his voice was very good and we had been there quite awhile. As I looked around I noticed almost everyone was listening to the band and most of the people were the band members that had entertained earlier. This meant the calculation we had done earlier was greatly inflated because band members don’t pay a cover charge. Watching some of the band members it seemed they were able to absorb more of the musical intent than people like me. They tapped their feet rhythmically while nodding their heads almost imperceptibly yet in perfect time to the music. Their facial expressions carried as much respect and understanding as it did enjoyment.

By this time it was very cold to me but I would not have suggested leaving because those moments are ones memories are designed for. I had thoughts of the warmth of the house and how we might light the fireplace to help reassure me the cold was worth the discomfort because I was in the only place I wanted to be, Asheville, North Carolina, in the Root Bar with three of my best friends, and the best friend anyone could have, drinking PBR’s listening to that band with those people.