On the fringes of the cupidity of Aspen lies the town of Woody Creek - the down and dirty bastion of independent thinkers, artists, and caustic tongues ... all in good humor. The characters that inhabit the Wood Creek Tavern are colorful, charismatic, humorous and laid-back ... think Key West of the Rockies and you've got the picture ... they call themselves "Woody Creatures".

As I enter the patio area of the tavern a wooden woman, with wooden, rounded breasts, (might they be coconut halves?) dressed in a long red dress, holds a sign that says, "Wait here, hostess will seat you". Ok. Is this for real or just a way to make me look stupid, standing here in the middle of the patio with everyone looking at me? Soon one of the servers asks if I'd like to sit outside or in. It's for real. "If you're looking to sit inside, just go in and find a place", she says. Maybe it IS just for grins.

The walls of the Woody Creek Tavern are covered in Polaroid photos of celebrities and locals alike. Or are those locals turned celebrities? Perhaps Hunter Thompson made celebrities out of everyone here by his mere presence for so many years. Signs and posters and license plates adorn the walls. One poster depicts a graphic of a raised fist that says "Thompson for President". Hmmmm .... That's an intriguing concept. Then there's the sign on the fridge behind the bar that says, "It's still not weird enough for me", the famous Thompson quote. There's a license plate that simply says "DRINK". It's from Illinois. Then there's the license plate from WashingtonD.C. that says, "FLYFISH". I'd love to know the story behind that one.

There are t-shirts (for sale of course) that the servers are wearing. The front says Woody Creek Tavern, the back says, "What happens at the Woody Creek Tavern never stays at the Woody Creek Tavern." So I guess you need to be careful what you say and do while you're visiting or you might end up in someone's book ... or local gossip group.

I wanted to see ... to be ... where Hunter Thompson hung out. Perhaps grab a little bit of his energy - as bizarre as it was. Personalities like his intrigue me and I find myself wishing I had the gumption to be like that and hold my ground when challenged. While I manage, from time to time, to expound on my open-mindedness as well as deep-seated opinions, I can still be corralled into submission. But, with age, I'm getting more adept at steadfastness. Perhaps Thompson's spirit will instill in me an increased sense of stubbornness.

The Woody Creek Tavern is the kind of place I imagine Ernest Hemingway might have liked and frequented had he lived in Colorado. Can't you just imagine him and Thompson, hunkered down at a corner table, chatting away, drinking, and looking woefully pained at society's misdeeds? I imagine them "holding court", with locals, and perhaps a tourist or two, who happen upon them on any given night. I can hear Hunter muttering about something that he feels is deficient in our society, and Ernest nodding in agreement, hanging his head and smirking. Ok, I know it's a stretch since they were born 38 years apart, but it's an intriguing image.

Perhaps Hunter sat at the bar, elbows resting on the rough-hewn wood, engaged in banter with the bartender, and expounding on the disparities in American politics. No matter where he may have taken up residence in the tavern, I can feel his spirit roaming throughout, smell his cigarette, and hear him mumbling his disapproval of something.

Christmas lights adorn the interior of the tavern all along the circumference where the ceiling meets the walls; not the little white lights that most of us put on our trees and houses during the holiday, but the big, honking colored lights that were more popular when most of us boomers were kids. They lend a perfect ambiance to the straightforward, in-your-face, attitude of everyone who works there ... like the bartender.

He is of an age where you can tell he's seen it all, heard it all, done it all, and is willing to do anything, anywhere, anytime, anyone ... all with an easy smile and devilish twinkle in his eye. He's got a friendly, easy way about him while reciting his mantra, "No credit cards, cash only, ATM by the toilet at the back". Shocked tourists stand there, eyes wide, credit card in hand, frozen in the moment, thinking to themselves, "You're kidding, right?" Reminds me of the first time I visited El Chapultapec in Lodo with only a credit card in my purse and drinks already on the table. They should post a sign out front, I thought to myself. Or, maybe, they actually enjoy taunting unsuspecting tourists.

Mr. Bartender (no, I didn't get his name) is smart, funny, brash, energetic, cordial and friendly in an almost too familiar way. I'm glad I'm sitting at a table instead of at the bar, it would've been way too easy to have too many margaritas and banter with him the rest of the night. Yet, a part of me regretted the lost opportunity. Had there been a motel within walking distance, I'd have been more inclined to quaff a few more margaritas, but I had to drive back to Glenwood Springs. Next time I go, I'll bring a designated driver with me ... or take the bus from Glenwood Springs or Aspen.

My server, Julia, has a lilting accent that makes me think she's from Australia. She's a diminutive woman who's been around the block a few times; short blond hair, a quick wit, and genuine caring attitude. I think she thinks I needed sympathy because she looks at me inquisitively and gently touches my arm several times while calling me "Hon". But she is also a take-no-crap kind of woman; I admire that. She probably thinks it's odd that I'm dining alone, while at the same time wondering about the notes I'm taking for this article - some of which I can't read now because of the two margaritas I've had while writing them.

The Woody Creek Tavern is a great place to people-watch. I expect to see tony Aspenites, but mostly there are people in shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops, downing beer and inhaling the burgers the joint is famous for. Oh, sure, there was the occasional salad-eater (me) but for the most part everyone was enjoying a decadent array of meat and Mexican delights. Oh yes ... the margaritas! They are the best I've had ... and the most potent. They're served over ice in a small beer mug, with a straw, no less, but their potency is beyond what you'd expect. The ice never seems to deplete the alcohol ... that might be because the margarita is downed before the ice can even melt. At $7.50 a piece, this could add up fast.

There's a man with long grey hair and a Hawaiian shirt sitting at a table on the patio with several other people. He works the art gallery attached to the tavern; another must-see if you go. The gallery has photos of the area from many decades ago, jewelry from local artisans, and, of course, a book about Hunter Thompson;
" The Kitchen Readings - Untold Stories of Hunter S. Thompson", written by two of his best friends, Michael Cleverly and Bob Braudis. And yes, I buy a copy. The grey-haired, bespectacled man is a perfect attendant for the gallery, spouting wry commentary about the book and the photos, but not in a pushy salesman sort of way ... just in a you're-stupid-not-to-buy sort of way.

As I finish up my smoked salmon atop a bed of organic greens with a light balsamic vinaigrette dressing, another man, donning a long grey ponytail and wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and a straw cowboy hat (what a dichotomy THAT is!), comes strolling in and props himself up at the bar. He's definitely a regular because the bartender hands him a beer without even asking him what he wants. He begins to talk loudly, and nonstop, to another guy at the bar. The other guy orders a beer and just continues to smile and nod. It's become apparent another WoodyCreature has just entered the tavern. I catch the bartender's eye as I glance toward the bar and he smiles and winks, and I know he's saying to me, "Great place, eh?"

I hesitantly toy with the idea of ordering dessert when I smell the unmistakable scent of chocolate brownies wafting through the tavern. I grab a small card on the table listing the desserts and see the brownie is served with a scoop of Breyer's ice cream topped with whipped cream and drizzled with Hershey's chocolate syrup ... mmmmmm.

But wait, there's also "The Biff", Bailey's Irish Cream with a floater of Irish whiskey on top, served in a shot glass. Oh, THIS has to be the stuff of legends! But, my bill arrives and I see I've racked up $44 in expenses for two margs, a salad, and chips with salsa and quac, so I opt out of dessert and just order a cup of joe ... for another $3.

So, if you go, and I hope you do, take plenty of cash and indulge your senses. Check out the specials of the day, too. This day the offerings included grilled teriyaki salmon, spinach enchiladas, homemade cream of butternut squash soup, and Mexican veggie burgers. Don't forget the margaritas. And the homemade chips with guacamole and salsa ... to go with the margs, of course!

If you happen into the Woody Creek Tavern and a famous Hollywood type strolls in, don't worry, you won't even notice. They'll be treated just like everyone else in the place ... with respectable irreverence, a pat on the arm, and "What can I getcha, hon?" While you're there, see if you can feel the spirit if Hunter Thompson roaming the Woody Creek Tavern.

For an excellent impression of Wood Creek and it's resident creatures, go to http://www.myspace.com/woodycreekcolorado ... enjoy!