After spending two hours driving up from Portland while listening to the deliciously corny Combustible Edison, I got the urge to be in a deliciously corny bar. I got the urge to go to The Little Red Barn.

Located just off Interstate 5 in Rochester, The Little Red Barn is a cheesy country dive specializing in cheap drinks for undiscriminating tastes. Like anyone else whose clothing wasn’t purchased using Marlboro Miles, I had never been to The Little Red Barn. But it had to happen sooner or later.

Before I could even get myself a drink, I met the quintessential group of Red Barn patrons. Joe and Gina converged onto my tiny table.  He a banged-up 77-year-old rodeo veteran who could kick my ass; both fond of mules. Really fond.  Two hours of stories fond.

Taking the advice of the bartender, I ordered what she serves most — Killer Koolaid. In a country dive bar?  Yup.  It was all right for a sweet drink: grape vodka, sweet and sour, cranberry and 7-up. However, when I saw a skinny guy on a corner bar stool clenching a tall, creamy Smith and Kerns mumbling “Packin’ cragga pluck bong cragga prack” to his equal next to him, I knew what I’d be drinking for the rest of the night.

In the back of the bar was an empty dance floor, where the walls screamed country bar, or tool shed — you pick. A DJ hosts karaoke Thursdays and Sundays with country bands Friday and Saturday nights.

Everyone goes to The Little Red Barn for one reason: to get finished. It doesn’t take long to get finished there. That scares me.  For once in my life, I actually left a bar before last call.

[The Little Red Barn, 6222 197th Ave. S.W., Rochester, 253.273.5439]