Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part II: Going tourist.

The Wagon Wheel: Long ago and lately

Sept. 14, 1984

Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part II: 

Going tourist.

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XXIV: In the distance, the mist drifted skyward from one of the wonders of the universe as the Third Lost Expedition rocketed over the North Grand Island Bridge. What lay before them this Saturday night, however, promised to be even more fantastic and incredible.

        On the first leg of their mission to life a libation in every licensed establishment on fabled federal Route 62 from Niagara Falls, N.Y., to El Paso, Texas (or as close to El Paso as they could get), they’d transported among the quiet neighborhood bars in the old residential part of the city. What lay before them now was a garish tourist-oriented commercial strip lined with enough flashing signs to rival Las Vegas.

        Best staging area, the Captain surmised, might be a landmark familiar to generations of galactic travelers, a classic, orange-roofed Howard Johnson’s at 6503 Niagara Falls Blvd. and the exit from I-190. Here the crew, which numbered an even dozen, could lay in some provisions to ease the rigors of the trail ahead.

        But familiarity with HoJo’s bred contempt among the expeditioners. One glance at the menu and they abandoned their table, adjourning to the Lamplighter Lounge. A dark, woodsy cocktail cove, it featured MTV on the tube, a digital pinball machine and a small clot of adult couples lined up in front of a barmaid who served $1.45 bottled beers and $1.65 mixed drinks.

        One round and the need for nourishment became more apparent. An even more traditional roadside artifact would provide their cuisine of choice. Backtracking a mile or so to the west, they threaded their way among the 18-wheelers parked outside Junior’s Truck Stop, 5627 Niagara Falls Blvd.

        Junior’s was just what a truck stop ought to be. Its restaurant was lined with paintings of tractor-trailers, some enhanced with digital clocks. Charge-a-call phones lined one wall. Behind the cash register counter was everything a long-distance hauler would need, from western Union to Rolaids to handsomely printed T-shirts. The Neon Knight lit onto the shirts and brightened even more at the price – a mere $4.

        The troupe pushed together a trio of blue, Formica-topped tables and puzzled over the do-it-yourself menu slips. While he considered the list of $2-and-under sandwiches and the three choices of potatoes (French fries, home fries, hash browns), the waitress, a class ring hanging on a chain around her neck, brought out $1 bottles of Molson’s Golden with glasses on top of them, four at a time, without a tray.

        “Are you supporting truck stops?” a sign by the door asked. “Did you register for a motel room here?” One freshly-showered trucker emerged from the hallway leading to the motel and cocktail lounge. The trekkers, however, found their after-dinner amusement in the room adjacent to the restaurant, which was filled with pinball machines and video games.

        From there, they set their co-ordinates again for the bright lights. The first they homed in on beyond HoJo’s was the Water Wheel Inn at 6615 Niagara Falls Blvd., a motel with a lounge and restaurant attached.

        “No, you won’t need a bartender tonight,” the waitress behind the bar remarked archly to her boss as the troupe filed in and ordered $1 drinks. There wasn’t room for all of them in the bar, so they fell back to the dining room tables, admiring the bright diorama of the American Falls shimmering on the back wall of the restaurant and gazing across the street to marvel at an outstanding display of ‘60s kitsch – a pair of turquoise seahorses adorning the sign for the Holiday Motel.

        Temporarily closed was the Bull Pen at 7001 Falls Blvd., so the expeditioners sailed straight on to the Alibi Lounge at 7121, where there seemed to be plenty of life forms, including a five-man rock band called “Niagara Falls, U.S.A” that played a lot of ‘60s hits.

        Happily, there was no cover charge to get into the Alibi’s two large, darkened rooms. Instead, the place paid for the band out of the bar receipts, which meant that Old Vienna fetched $1.60 a bottle and mixed drinks ran $1.75. The small crowd that greeted the band’s first set soon swelled to several dozen and dancers ventured onto the floor.

        The crew settled quickly upon their passions. At the pool table in the back of the barroom, the Billiards Technician and the Chief Science Officer shut down a regular who proposed to play them for $1 a ball.

        Next stop, the Wagon Wheel at 7201 Niagara Falls Blvd., proved even livelier. A country band in red shirts and tall hats held sway in the elevated rear lounge, pumping out good-natured renditions of such faves as “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” and Chuck Berry’s “Memphis” for a loud and lusty adult crowd, many of whom also were decked out in Western shirts, belts and hats.

        The expeditioners found places in the forced intimacy of the bar area, which was crowned by a shingled façade, ordered themselves a round (Old Vienna was $1.35 here), took over the video games and gawked at the cowboy artifacts dangling from the ceiling, including a pair of boots which danced crazily in the airstream of an electric fan.

        When the band went on break, the jukebox took over, playing not country songs, but rather Ray Parker Jr.’s hit, “Ghostbusters,” three times in a row. Several trekkers ventured up to the lounge and were rewarded by discovering there two enormous birthday cakes – one white, one chocolate – set out for the patrons.

        Feeling particularly festive at this point, the safari slipped across 73rd Street to the Showbiz ‘50s Lounge at 7301 Falls Blvd., which was relatively unpopulated. In the middle of serving $1 beers and $1.50 mixed drinks, Liz the barmaid introduced her mother, Pat, on the other side of the bar. The doorman from the Wagon Wheel stopped in to check receipts. Both places are under the same management.

        The Captain surveyed the jukebox and found it divided between current hits and oldies. After resolving the machine’s bad habit of swallowing quarters and dollar bills, he punched up a gang of ‘50s doo-wop records. Half the troupe joined in singing the goofy vocal lines, rather loudly at that, while a row of regulars at the far end of the bar stared incredulously.

        The other half of the group surrounded the pool table in the side room, but by this time the weight of their travels was unraveling their game. Ultimately, it was uncertain who was partners with whom, a development which riled their competitors. “You can have the table,” one of them grumped after the Chief Science Officer scratched the eight-ball. Amazing, the Captain reflected as the sober drivers were summoned for trip back to home base. Only one night on the Falls Boulevard commercial strip and already the crew was behaving just like the tourists.