Skepticism at the worthiness of Klamath Falls is quickly receding. It is unquestionably a local’s town and as such, it was not immediately apparent where the places to go were. Luckily for our appreciation of the town (though unluckily for our bank accounts), when the weather turned nasty we turned to the bars. Or I should say bar, singular. Yelp informed us that the only worthwhile – or perhaps just the only – bar was Waldo’s. Not much to look at but with fifteen beers on tap (most of them local and/or micro) and beer-battered french fries, it was at least somewhere we could kill a few hours out of the sleet.
Now, if you’ve ever spent much time in small towns, you’ll know that outsiders stick out like a sore thumb: that would be us. From the hours of about six until nine, every person – other than the two of us – that walked in was greeted by name and with a pint glass of their preferred liquid refreshment. As the hours passed and the malt was drank and the Trivial Pursuit cards were relegated to the back of the deck, we were slowly welcomed into the fold as honorary Klamath Falls locals. We got to hear the life story of a 24-year-old with two daughters by two different women (honestly, not as horrifying a story as it sounds) and the romantic history of our bartender and her boyfriend (involving a high school fling and a ten-year-old love letter) and got to share our own recent history of wandering.
As we stood up to leave, vindication.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your names?”
“I’m Dan.” “And I’m Audrey.”
“Well, if you guys find yourselves back in Klamath Falls, we’ll be here.”