Dear Editor,
I would like to comment on yesterdays article by Matt King
regarding the Quail Canyon Inn. I am especially bothered by his
comment :
Dear Editor,
I would like to comment on yesterdays article by Matt King regarding the Quail Canyon Inn. I am especially bothered by his comment :
“The fire fed the Quail’s notoriety as a dangerous place, a reputation that has grown in the 13 years the Jeffers owned the inn. To many people, the Quail was a bar full of bikers and other rowdies, drinkin’, cussin’ and fightin’.
I guess “danger” is everywhere. There is danger at the Quail as well. I have seen people stung by bees, I once saw a small boy get covered by poison oak after climbing the hill from the lake to use the porta potty in the parking lot. I saw a woman burn her tongue while sampling some fresh grilled tuna offered to her at one of our Friday night cook-outs. I saw an elderly man pull a muscle lifting a large box of toys being donated to charity one December.
The Quail is usually full of “bikers,” at least in the summer. Some even have as many tattoos as Brittany Spears and beards and earings and everything. They wear more leather than Paris Hilton and I swear I saw someone go fishing without a license once.
In the other seasons it might be full of “truckers” or “tractor-ers” or “Corvette’ers” or “Lexus’ers” or horse’ers or even goaters. Yes they (we) drink. Beer or wine – no hard stuff like in the fancy “city bars.” Some times we cus. But not as bad as what your kids hear on HBO or Showtime or even the rap songs they listen to every day.
We don’t fight much though, I can’t really remember any fights in my six years. Maybe that’s because not many people get drunk up there. See, ya tend to be pretty careful when you are riding a $20K bike up in the hills. And then the Quail is usually closed by 10pm in the summers, closer to 7pm in the winter
Mostly Matt, what you will see up there are friends. Good friends. Rather than writing what you have heard, have been told, you oughta come up sometime and see for your self.
Like the song says, it’s the kind of place where everybody knows your name. Of course, after your recent article I don’t know if that’s such a good thing in your case.
Frank Krupecki, Morgan Hill
