Best of the Burbs: 24 hours in Folsom

Johnny Cash was here. That’s the reductive take on Folsom, where the Man in Black’s prison concert decades ago has been curated into its own subeconomy. But scratch deeper and your fingernail will turn up both dirt and gold. That’s as it should be in a city forged by its mining and railroad operations. Along with the high-performing schools, persnickety homeowners associations and dad bods in cycling onesies, there’s some Chinatown-quality strange happening here. Perhaps the best thing that can be said of any suburb is that it’s cultivated character along with its tax revenue. Let’s go find some.

Friday night, 9 p.m. Running (from) the table

The cowboys have loaded the pool table with quarters and the jukebox with country tunes that all sound like “Subterranean Homesick Blues.” Even though the felt is thick, the cues are bowed and the table leans. Sutter Club Sports Bar (720 Sutter Street, (916) 351-1070) is where the local aces chalk it up.

The silent cowboy with the woolly chin is Harley. He and his tall, chatty friend are CMT’s answer to Penn & Teller. Other billiard regulars, like “El Heffe” and “Taylor Swift,” come with Bukowski-ready nicknames and back stories, as well. Her husband waiting on a game, a 40ish platinum blonde in a teal sun dress wanders over. She’s quite tipsy.

“See that scar in the back of his head?” she says, pointing out her husband. “[It’s] from a hair transplant.”

She pauses. “He likes fat chicks.” She gestures at herself. “But I’m OK, right?”

Friday, 10:15 p.m. Pick your poison

The FLB Entertainment Center (511 East Bidwell Street, (916) 983-4411) is like a Russian nesting doll of WTF treasures. There’s a poker room adjacent to the dance floor within the bar that’s inside the bowling alley that also houses a barbershop. That randomness has bled into the mohawked deejay’s set, jackknifing club bangers with bluegrass remixes. Five quick blackjack hands later, I enter the room where they’ve isolated the Texas Hold ’em tables and lay $30 worth of chips on the counter. “Hundreds please,” I say. The cashier almost smirks. I’ll take it.

Our biggest victory of the night: We successfully negotiate the $5 door fee into a lower group rate and enter the Folsom Hotel Saloon (703 Sutter Street (916) 985-2530). Brimming with confidence, I dance badly to the cover band on stage. The lead singer looks like Macho Man Randy Savage. A woman that reminds me of my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Badgley, hip-checks me. We’re the last ones on the floor.

Saturday morning, 11:30 a.m. Race the drought

The car rumbles down the short access road toward Negro Bar, where the plan is to recreate in shimmering Lake Natoma (7806 Folsom-Auburn Road) while it’s still there, drought-gods permitting. The Folsom Chamber of Commerce describes the lake’s stillness as a prime canvas for “passive water sport enthusiasts.” For this foursome, that means slapping the shallow murk and playing “bumper kayaks” while shouting at each other like drunken Bostonians. Paddling over rocks isn’t as easy as it looks in the cartoons. About 15 minutes in, my shoulders burn from both sun and exertion. Enough exercise. Time to rehydrate.

Saturday, dusk. Masters of all we survey

Parking in the Leidesdorff Street lot near the bottom of historic Folsom may have been a mistake. It’s two-and-a-half steep flights before I summit at Lockdown Brewing Co.’s (718 Sutter Street, (916) 358-9645) outdoor patio. As the orange summer sun splashes across the shops and people down below, a writer friend and I sip frosty blonde ales and survey the city as if it belongs to us. Two tables over, a trio of co-workers does the same. Whose dream is this, anyway?