Out and About: The Kon Tiki car show

"Out and About" is a an ongoing project I throw out there now and then to document some of the unique, quirky and/or totally fabulous aspects of living in the fair city of Bermtopia.

Oh. And I should mention I don't get paid to write about these joints. (Does this blog look like it gets paid to write about anything?)

It's just me, sharing my profoundly deep knowledge of all things Bermtopian with the world.

You're welcome.

The Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show was about the last place on earth I thought I'd be at 10:45 a.m. on a Saturday morning in August. . . the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki being one of Bermtopia's more celebrated strip clubs. I will spare you the link. If you're really curious, there's always Google.

But hey. We were in the neighborhood.

REALLY.

You see, my great niece (my, how that makes one sound ancient) had an 8 a.m. soccer game in the Valley and my co-worker, The Videographer's, band, The BBBBandits, had an 11 a.m. set at the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show at State Line, a evocative no-man's-land of dive bars on the Idaho side of the Washington-Idaho border. Anytime I can catch the BBBBandits surf rock sound on the south side of 6 p.m. -- my bedtime -- I'm all over it.

There was this kind of red thing going on.

Back in the 70s, when we were in college, the Kon Tiki, El Patio, Saddle Sore Saloon and Last Chance Tavern (we didn't know there was a First Chance) were dive bars dance clubs where the drinking age was a shade more generous than Washington (19 vs. 21) and you could actually dance to live bands. Good times, good times.

Today, well, let's just say, State Line is a shadow of its former self. As we all are.

But the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show was nothing short of A.W.E.S.O.M.E. It was just as advertised: Beer, Burgers, Babes and Bands. Not to mention some sweet rides, colorful characters and wonderfully weird vignettes.

No matter WHAT you read on the Internet, the mullet is
alive and well in North Idaho.

A public apology to the Number 1 and 2 Sons:
I'm sorry we didn't have an airbrushed family portrait on the
back of the mini-van when you were growing up.
Please don't be scarred for life.
Love,
Mom.

There were many Manly Men. And, oh, how the Manly Men love their cars -- polishing and buffing  bumpers and hood ornaments till they couldn't shine any more brightly, beaming like proud school boys when asked about their restoration projects.

Chrome, steel and burnished leather shimmered like hot jewels in the late morning sun.

And finally, The REAL Show Girls! made their appearance, slowly ambling into the crowd, posing next to cars and chatting up spectators and exibitors. I didn't take any pictures, but I can report they wear glasses for nearsightedness and suffer from the condition known as Muffin Top just like the rest of us mere mortals. . . except with a few more tattoos.

Thirty minutes later, as the final chords of The BBBBandits riffed across the black topped parking lot, we turned to go. Sadly, we would miss the The REAL Show Girls! Twister game and wet T-shirt contest, but other equally sybaritic pursuits called to us -- making plum jam, the Olympics and PGA Championship. 

The Videographer better have a full report at work on Monday -- with charts and graphs.