Wyoming & Virgin Karaoke

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I could have spent weeks in Wyoming alone, hiking, exploring, floating down rivers in a kayak, or just lying on the edge of a mountain with grass between my teeth begging for an answer to why I was moving to another city.


Heavily weighted Hamilton slowly made the Route 14 pass through the Big Horn Mountains. Leaving Sheridan, the views were spectacular, so much so, I had to pinch myself, especially when I couldn’t come up with a good answer to the above question.


So peaceful and breathtaking, we took our time through the mountain pass. We stopped at the biker/trucker Alamo Hotel on Main Street in Sheridan. After we checked in, I announced to Paul that I should overcome my negative association with Karaoke given that it was a popular pastime in Dallas and Paul professed to be a pro. When in Rome……and hell, it’s not as if it was hard to find a Karaoke bar in a small Wyoming town.

Through the hotel owner, we found our way to LBM – “Little Big Man” on the opposite side of the town. The DJ was the first black-skinned face since we left Montreal and the only black-skinned face in the bar. I had to pull him aside and ask him “how on earth did you end up in Sheridan Wyoming?” Originally from Los Angeles, he just wanted a change from his hectic city lifestyle. “Isn’t there always something there to remind me?”

I wouldn’t call LBM a biker bar – it was more of a hangout for cowboys and groups of 20 something year olds who didn’t have another place to go. Paul started ordering mini-drafts suggesting that I would need something to gently break me into the culture of Karaoke.

Since country music was among our widest selection, I searched for anything low key enough to avoid high pitching cracks that would potentially get us thrown out of the bar. I eventually coaxed Paul into doing a duet of “I Got You Babe” before my solo number – “Cabaret,” which I added dance movements to in front of my audience of 50 or so cowboy types.


There was no doubt in my mind by the stares that our audience was thinking “They ain’t from around here.” I wanted to make sure a NY imprint was left on the place, so requested a bit of Frank Sinatra and grabbed the LA DJ for a bit of West Coast Swing.

It didn’t even come close to my Red Lodge Montana biker bar experience with Ray Lewis in 2000, but at least I left “Little Big Man” a non-virgin Karaoke singer and was now ready for a big time bar in Missoula or Bozeman.

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