Jimbob always looked like a caged tiger behind the bar at the Denver ChopHouse. It was clear to everyone that while he was a good -- no, a great -- bartender, these were not his people. As polite and teddy-bearish as he was, you could tell that Jimbob was a tough motherfucker who loved his annual trip to Sturgis, and though bartending at the ChopHouse paid the bills, he would have preferred to be at a biker bar or a roadhouse where the men wore leather motorcycle jackets and had tattoos that really meant something, not the trendy barbed-wire and tribal tattoos that grace the arms of so many ChopHouse customers. So when I ventured into Lincoln's Road House and spotted Jimbob behind the bar, it was like seeing a tiger returned to the wild. This was where he belonged: at Denver's most classic roadhouse. And, as at every real roadhouse, every time I've gone to Lincoln's, I've gotten a great story. On one trip, a friend who works as a jail doctor came out of the bathroom looking shaken and explained that while he was in a terribly vulnerable position (his hands were otherwise occupied), he'd been approached by a former inmate who'd asked if he remembered him and then talked about how the doctor hadn't treated him nicely enough. On a Friday night, when a live band was resurrecting "Whipping Post," I was asked to dance by a man who seemed to be the reincarnation of Buffalo Bill, complete with black cowboy boots, nostalgic facial hair and moves suited to days gone by. That same evening, I discovered Jose Cuervo's new line of flavored tequilas -- Oranjo, Citrico and Tropiña. I went with Jose Cuervo Oranjo, orange juice and club soda ($4.50) -- and pretty soon had a swing in my step and a tiger in my tank.
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