As the last post involved Sacramento, it seems appropriate to share a story about a previous night out there that ended with a legit car chase.
We’d flown up from Los Angeles to spend Thanksgiving with Alyssa’s family, and as it was my first visit to Sacramento, I was itching to see the local bar scene. Holidays are some of the best times to visit a bar as generally the only people slumped over the rail are diehard regulars (respectable citizens being home with their families or traveling) and the overall vibe in the room is typically mellow and friendly. Sometimes you even get lucky and there’s a spread of once edible food sitting under a heat lamp on a folding table just in case you need a quick nosh…and aren’t all together too concerned about the cleanliness of the kitchen it came from.
We’d flown up from Los Angeles to spend Thanksgiving with Alyssa’s family, and as it was my first visit to Sacramento, I was itching to see the local bar scene. Holidays are some of the best times to visit a bar as generally the only people slumped over the rail are diehard regulars (respectable citizens being home with their families or traveling) and the overall vibe in the room is typically mellow and friendly. Sometimes you even get lucky and there’s a spread of once edible food sitting under a heat lamp on a folding table just in case you need a quick nosh…and aren’t all together too concerned about the cleanliness of the kitchen it came from.
After a giant meal and some time with the family, we bum a ride to Club Raven in east Sac around 10 o’clock. A handful of reviews I’ve read online state this place is pretty cracking on some nights, but we were lucky enough to find it dim, chill and not so crowded. Affectionately referred to as “The Dirty Bird” by regulars, it’s a long, narrow space with ample bar seating; a handful of TVs over the bar and an internet jukebox -- very clean and borderline classy. The neon sign out front is a real standout.
We plug the juke and settle in for a whiskey and beer. Of the ten or so people in the place, the only oddity was a well-dressed man with an Indian accent drinking Jameson rocks at the end of the bar nearest the front door. He had a tremendous amount of nervous energy, giving the impression of a man who understands the dangers of remaining idle in a tight space; an ingrained fear of being cornered with no chance of escape. He would take a few sips, run outside to spend a few moments with his garish yellow Ferrari, return to order another, and repeat for the duration of our time there. I suppose we all have demons we’re attempting to outrun but I got the feeling that his were rapidly closing in.
We plug the juke and settle in for a whiskey and beer. Of the ten or so people in the place, the only oddity was a well-dressed man with an Indian accent drinking Jameson rocks at the end of the bar nearest the front door. He had a tremendous amount of nervous energy, giving the impression of a man who understands the dangers of remaining idle in a tight space; an ingrained fear of being cornered with no chance of escape. He would take a few sips, run outside to spend a few moments with his garish yellow Ferrari, return to order another, and repeat for the duration of our time there. I suppose we all have demons we’re attempting to outrun but I got the feeling that his were rapidly closing in.
Satisfied at The Raven, we stepped out onto J Street and made it about 2 blocks before needing to make a stop to thaw out. Neither of us had taken into consideration that it’s considerably colder in northern California than what we’re accustomed to in LA and hadn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. The closest establishment with a light on was the appropriately named Limelight Cardroom on Alhambra Blvd. We swung the door open and were blasted by the dry warmth of a fully functional heater. We were also the only patrons. Let it be known, I have no problem with this. The bartender poured a handful of rounds and I think we left spending less than 20 bucks. Word is, they have a stellar food menu (not available over the holiday as everybody took a nice long weekend, not that I could have shoved food in my face anyway). On a trip to the bathroom I noticed gaming tables in the backroom. Apparently you can pop into the Limelight Cardroom and satisfy your need to play competitive poker or Baccarat. I can’t presume to gauge the legality of this setup, but if they offered blackjack, chances are you’d find me here on a regular basis.
Warmed from the inside by vodka, we saunter back out onto J Street and head towards Folsom Blvd. End goal: a nightcap at Cheaters.
Warmed from the inside by vodka, we saunter back out onto J Street and head towards Folsom Blvd. End goal: a nightcap at Cheaters.
I liked this place at first sight. I mean, Jesus…their sign looks like an angry wet dust ball drunkenly swinging a Manhattan and the name implies a whole host of lascivious behavior just beyond the door. I found myself wondering if this is where weary Sacramento housewives come for kicks and if, perhaps, there was a chance that Joey Greco would bust through the door with a camera crew and we’d get a show for the price of a cocktail. Yelp’s Json H. sums up this joint perfectly by saying “this isn’t a place to be seen or hook up…”. Yes, quite true, Json H. This is a straightforward musty dive and the risk of having your dick fall off is so not worth it. However, the drinks were cheap, the room was mellow, and I greatly enjoyed my time here.
Being as responsible as possible, we wave down a cab and head for home.
This poor cab had certainly seen better days. The combined weight of two passengers in the back seat was too much for the suspension to handle. I could hear the tires rubbing on the wheel wells with every bump. The heater was blasting to fight the night chill and as a bonus was circulating an aromatic blend of exhaust, burnt rubber, scorched wiring and something that smelled oddly of charred flesh. Perhaps some small creature had cozied up under the hood recently to stay warm and was now one with the engine block. I’ve seen this happen. The cabbie, a gregarious gentleman of Middle Eastern descent, was wise enough to keep the speed under 30 to avoid shaking loose the few bolts keeping the vehicle street legal.
This poor cab had certainly seen better days. The combined weight of two passengers in the back seat was too much for the suspension to handle. I could hear the tires rubbing on the wheel wells with every bump. The heater was blasting to fight the night chill and as a bonus was circulating an aromatic blend of exhaust, burnt rubber, scorched wiring and something that smelled oddly of charred flesh. Perhaps some small creature had cozied up under the hood recently to stay warm and was now one with the engine block. I’ve seen this happen. The cabbie, a gregarious gentleman of Middle Eastern descent, was wise enough to keep the speed under 30 to avoid shaking loose the few bolts keeping the vehicle street legal.
We came to a stop at a light at Fair Oaks Blvd. and Howe Ave. and are chatting about how slow the driver’s evening has been when our heads are jolted back by a vehicle hitting us from the rear. The car then turns slightly into the left turn lane and proceeds to, incredibly slowly, grind its way up the entire driver’s side of the cab, making that tooth vibrating metal on metal sound until eventually ripping the side view mirror off the cab and then sits, patiently waiting for the light to turn green; the driver facing forward as if nothing had happened. The three of us sit there for a moment slack-jawed and completely flummoxed as to how someone could casually hit the only vehicle on the road within a five-mile radius and then completely ignore it. I look over at the car two inches away and notice two small children in the backseat -- their mother (?) at the wheel. The cabbie rolls down the window and starts shouting as the light turns green and she swings a screeching left.
“I’m sorry, I have to follow her,” he says.
“No problem. Let’s go!”
As earlier mentioned, this cab is in no way race worthy. Within the first minute of the chase the interior is filled with enough noxious fumes to kill us and I was genuinely concerned that the tires didn’t stand a chance. There was a strong possibility of a blowout and roll and the busted side mirror was tapping against the window like a telltale heart.
“Get her license plate number!” the driver shouted over his shoulder.
“You bet. Get a little closer! You gotta speed up a bit. Stay on her!” I think by this point I was taken up by the excitement, had removed my seatbelt and was leaning over the front seat egging him on, cell phone in hand.
Within five minutes, we’d reached a more populated part of town with considerably more vehicles on the road. Our adversary had no problem swerving and cutting traffic to dodge us even with a couple of kids in the backseat. The cabbie, more civic-minded, pulled back and drove safely while Alyssa and I tracked her moves and called her turns to our driver. I’m fairly certain that after a few dodgy maneuvers she thought she’d shaken us and was home free but we eventually caught up with her, horn blazing.
“I’m sorry, I have to follow her,” he says.
“No problem. Let’s go!”
As earlier mentioned, this cab is in no way race worthy. Within the first minute of the chase the interior is filled with enough noxious fumes to kill us and I was genuinely concerned that the tires didn’t stand a chance. There was a strong possibility of a blowout and roll and the busted side mirror was tapping against the window like a telltale heart.
“Get her license plate number!” the driver shouted over his shoulder.
“You bet. Get a little closer! You gotta speed up a bit. Stay on her!” I think by this point I was taken up by the excitement, had removed my seatbelt and was leaning over the front seat egging him on, cell phone in hand.
Within five minutes, we’d reached a more populated part of town with considerably more vehicles on the road. Our adversary had no problem swerving and cutting traffic to dodge us even with a couple of kids in the backseat. The cabbie, more civic-minded, pulled back and drove safely while Alyssa and I tracked her moves and called her turns to our driver. I’m fairly certain that after a few dodgy maneuvers she thought she’d shaken us and was home free but we eventually caught up with her, horn blazing.
After another high-speed stretch she finally pulled into the parking lot of a minimarket, convinced that she wouldn’t lose us. By the time we pulled in next to her, radiator steaming, she was already out of the car nonchalantly enquiring what our problem was. “There’s no damage,” she says pointing towards the dented and scraped cab with its dangling mirror.
The cabbie is literally on fire and shaking so Alyssa and I excuse ourselves, go to the minimarket for cash, some Pringles and something to drink and come back out to watch the show. Finally the cabbie asks for some help because he doesn’t know what information to take from this lady’s insurance card. I point out the pertinent information and also the fact that her insurance expired six months ago and he should probably call the cops (she mutters something under her breath), toss him some cash for the ride and give him my phone number incase he or the cab company need to reach me about this fiasco.
Oddly enough, all the twists and turns end up dropping us very near to our final destination. A lot of the time, life plays out and there’s no sense in fighting it.
The next day I receive this voicemail:
The cabbie is literally on fire and shaking so Alyssa and I excuse ourselves, go to the minimarket for cash, some Pringles and something to drink and come back out to watch the show. Finally the cabbie asks for some help because he doesn’t know what information to take from this lady’s insurance card. I point out the pertinent information and also the fact that her insurance expired six months ago and he should probably call the cops (she mutters something under her breath), toss him some cash for the ride and give him my phone number incase he or the cab company need to reach me about this fiasco.
Oddly enough, all the twists and turns end up dropping us very near to our final destination. A lot of the time, life plays out and there’s no sense in fighting it.
The next day I receive this voicemail:
It’s not every day that you’re wished a merry Christmas and a happy new year in November. Fucking classic.
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