Popination Predation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Rayback Collective
I went down to the Rayback to meet up with my parents for a quick pint on my way back home from running Boulder errands. My mom is fully on board with this popinations series and is enthusiastic about joining me in some, whenever I’m in town. We picked Rayback together because she’s been a fan of going there in the past and I actually was too, back when I lived at the Birdhouse still, and was still on speaking and even friendly terms with my ex, with whom I’d go to Rayback for a beverage once in a while (buttered coffee: him; local IPA: me). But the last time I’d been there was at my 30th highschool reunion party, so it had been a while.
Normally the big draw for Rayback is the large outdoor picnicky area, replete with cornhole and between 2-3 food trucks. Sometimes more. They’ve got tented areas much like what we all experienced back in the pandemic that are cool in the summer, and heated in winter, but on a coldish day like the other day when I met up with my parents, there was nobody outside, the food trucks were shuttered, and the cavernous indoor area looked eerily empty—barely a server or barista, and those that were there looked half asleep, even though it was happy hour. A very few hipsters were sprinkled across the warehousey cavern, laptops plugged in to their workstations, with one mansplaining something about his creative process to a glassy eyed young woman on a leather couch and plant arrangement that looked like a set for ‘Between Two Ferns.’
When my folks arrived, the mansplainer and hanger-on had gone, so we sat on the leather couch and adjacent plush armchairs and sipped on Chardonnay (Mom), hoppy IPA (Dad), and a happy-hour priced old fashioned (me). They made a decent old fashioned, actually, at a ridiculously low price for happy hour, and I was well pleased.
I used to walk past Rayback when it was a junkyard (or was it an appliance repair place? No research, remember), all the time when I was a kid. It was on my way to the 7/11 where I’d stop off and get my cola slurpees as I neared the halfway mark to both my bff’s houses, the one on Repplier Ave, and the one on Grape St.
Back then we’d be allowed to go walking or biking all over town by ourselves, as soon as we reached a certain age (I think in my case I was 9 or 10). I’d walk past Rayback or be riding my fuchsia bike with the banana seat, past the big gated entryway that was chained and padlocked closed like the set of an ‘80s action detective movie. I seem to remember a scary junkyard dog that was thankfully always fenced in, a Dobermann I think. Dobermanns are scary looking dogs to begin with, but they made me particularly uncomfortable, as once when my little brother was 3, I watched a family friend’s Dobermann chomp him on the side of his golden haired head. He healed up just fine, and the pet was duly punished, as I recall (we of course ceased our family visits to that friend’s house ever after). But there’s something about just watching those big jaws slowly opening and then closing at a leisurely pace on the side of my tiny brother’s head, and how the red blood looked bright against his cornsilk-colored hair. Even though he bounced back perfectly whole (if slightly scarred), I still am not super comfortable around dogs in general, and I cannot abide Dobermanns. Not the dogs’ fault.
Rayback looks both very different and kind of the same today: on the outside, that pale orange brick is still there, as are the gravel lots outside. Now those lots house the outside seating and food trucks, instead of junked large appliances and a menacing dog, but it’s the same place, you can tell. Sort of.
I can’t speak to inside, as of course I had never been inside it when it was Rayback appliance repair/junk. But now it’s your classic cavernous cement-floored, exposed-bulb-lit, exposed-piping ceilinged warehousey gray open space of modern hipsterdom, as you’ll see commonly in new breweries and urban taphouses from the 2010s. Rayback, as is in its name, is not just one bar, but a collective, another modern hip thing to do—the contemporary food hall or shared-company space. There’s usually at least one coffee bar, one bar for kombucha, and one bar that has both cocktails made with local spirits and a row of local taps.
There’s also lots of work-friendly seats with outlets aplenty, and free wifi, so hence the hipster population and the weworkish vibe. Though today when I met with my parents, it was a bit echoey in its emptiness.
As you’ll know from my previous popinations, I normally don’t do research at all. It’s a rule, don’t ask me why (if pressed, I’d tell you that I want to keep these centered on my own personal experiences with these places. But. Some info was dropped in my lap as pertains to Rayback and its previous owners and current regular population, and I would be remiss if I ignored this terrible truth about the place. I had to look further into it with a little light research, which it seems was all I needed.
Now, I knew that Rayback hosted a church group on Sundays; what I didn’t know was that said church wasn’t what I would call a church but a misogynist, homophobic cult, dangerous to me and those I love. It’s a coven of hate called The Well.
(From article linked above): “The Well’s teachings stand in stark contrast to the casual settings, and Boulder’s liberal reputation. From the pulpit and on social media, The Well’s pastors have preached subservience of women, the sinfulness of homosexuality and gender nonconformity, and the desire to meld Christian values with politics and government — beliefs that have led some Boulderties [sic] to label the church as homophobic, misogynistic and Christian nationalist, and question why Rayback would host them.”
*
Sigh.
Fuckers.
So I will needless to say never go to the Rayback Collective again. Nor should you. It’s too bad—it was a Boulder institution and became a popular place to go for a working popination amongst Boulderites for a while there. It could be still. The thing is: it’s actually award-winning—it won Best Outdoor Bar, Best Bar, and Best Place to Take a First Date several years in a row in the Boulder Weekly Best of Boulder awards.
Who voted for Rayback? The cult, or the clueless? Honestly, I myself was clueless about their Well connection until pretty recently, so maybe it’s just a blithe Boulder ignorance thing. Anyway.
My Dad did mention he’d thought the vibe was off. He’d know—he’s a tough guy from way back. He did know.
Well. Nice knowing you, Rayback. Sort of.
(That image of the snarling dog in the Rayback yard echoes for some reason. Know what I mean?)
