Upon entering The Viking, I immediately notice the place is more neighborhood bar than energetic downtown club. There is a single pool table and a small seating section. Neon beer signs decorate the walls. Commercial-grade carpeting absorbs the ketchup from spilled tater-tots. The age range of clientele varies, starting in the mid-20s and running all the way up to the late 60s. Faded Wrangler jeans and camo baseball hats are the standard wear. I spot barbed wire-style tattoos, country music tour T-shirts and individuals chewing tobacco. There is no dance floor.

Yet two factors separate The Viking from the dive bars of the area. First, The Viking has nightly karaoke. Second, The Viking is packed on the weekends. By 11 p.m. on this particular Friday, I can hardly elbow my way to the bar. Tall, muscular dudes (some looking like they just returned from a hunting trip) jostle me for position. The Viking's few single ladies are chatted up. A middle-aged man sings a rousing rendition of Afroman's "Because I Got High," his low-pitched crooning reverberating from wall to wall.