Vagabond Mixologist On A Quest

Oprah said get off the couch and go live out your dreams.

So Bartender Pat said adios to friends in Big River, Calif., and set off last month on a two-year quest to sling drinks in all 50 states.

“I’m hoping to get in the Guinness Book of World Records,” says the 51-year-old divorcee, whose real name is Pat Winning. “I checked with them. Nobody’s ever done this before.”

This isn’t a goal. It’s a Garth Brooks song.

The vagabond barmaid slipped into Spokane the other day to work at the Village Squire Pub & Grill, a Valley saloon. On Friday, she crossed the Spud State off her tourstop checklist by pulling a shift in Coeur d’Alene.

Then she aimed her 30-foot motorhome with “Bartender Pat” printed on the spare tire cover for Polson, Mont.

The Rocky Mountain Highball circuit.

I’ve been amazed at all the road weirdos out jogging or biking across America on behalf of group hugs or some disease of the week.

Last month it was Alan Gay. The Denver financial planner claimed he was running cross-country to promote the absolute silliest cause I’ve ever heard: Positive radio.

It’s too bad Bartender Pat wasn’t around. She could have brought Mr. Positive Radio back to planet Earth with a couple of stiff drinks.

The nice thing about Bartender Pat is that she doesn’t take herself too seriously.

The veteran barkeep says she dreamed up this alcohol odyssey about five years ago but didn’t have the guts to actually hit the road.

Then one day she turned on Oprah. The gravitationally challenged chat host was spouting one of those motivational “get out and do it” themes.

Bartender Pat started planning her trip.

Oprah must be stopped. I think she has some kind of creepy mind control hold over our nation’s women.

Since May 19, when she left home, Bartender Pat has worked her way to Washington through watering holes in California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah and Oregon.

She gets a bartending job in each state. The wages she makes about covers the gas bill for her guzzling bronto-barge. “I think Scotch is cheaper than gasoline these days,” she says, adding that tips and savings pay for everything else.

Bartender Pat’s stops range from small neighborhood saloons to the 1,500-capacity Westerner Club near Provo, Utah.

Do the Mormons know about this?

Everywhere she goes, Bartender Pat says she has to sign autographs and fend off propositions.

“You know what you need?” one coot in Spokane asked her. “You need a dirty old man to come with you.”

Bartender Pat told the geezer she had no dirty old men on her Santa’s wish list. “I’ve been happily divorced 12 years.”

There’s nothing like a tavern to bring out the eccentrics.

During my interview with Bartender Pat at the Village Squire, a shaggy-haired guy asks the bar’s owner for a loan. “I’ve gotta go bail out my dog,” he says.

Here’s the shocker: Sarah Van Epps gave him 100 bucks.

“He’s a regular,” she explains. “He’s good for it.”

Every bartender has a zillion stories.

Sandra Somers, one of the Squire’s mixologists, tells a tale of a fellow bartender who decided a certain customer had had enough to drink.

She cut her off. The tipsy woman stood up and pointed an indignant finger at the back of the room.

“How come yer pickin’ on me and not that guy back there,” she said.

The bartender looked to see a drunk swinging a hatchet at one of the customers.

No wonder Bartender Pat intends to write a book when her adventure is over.

“My brother tells me I’m going to be famous, but I don’t look at it that way,” says the itinerant barmaid. “This is better than sitting in a rut job. Sometimes you’ve gotta reach out and go after your dream.”