(1) Wet dirt. Sand, gravel and assorted gunk in a stream bed.
It lies sort of parallel to the current. Sometimes it's exposed only at times of low water.
A bar forms when moving water slows and can no longer push along the sediment it's carrying. The sediment piles up and the water continues on its merry way as if nothing had happened.
(2) A stinky dark hole where beer is consumed, where you find yourself suddenly surrounded by someone named "Gladys" who is larger than you, uglier than anything you've ever seen before, and seems to have cornered the market on freckles and upper arm fat. And is quite a bit more drunk than you ever imagined that anything remotely human could be.
And that's about the point of it: remotely human.
Which is how you begin to feel when you look around and discover that most everyone else in the place, either male or female or whatever is a variation on this Gladys theme, and a very constricted variation on it, as though they all originated from the same litter.
And there you are, halfway through a long backpacking trip, hoping to spend the weekend in this little town called Dry Hole, at first delighted to discover that it was there at all (which was an immense surprise since it appears on no map), and has a grocery, and a place to stay, and a bar, which is where you are.
But now, as time goes by and Gladys oozes toward you in an unsteady sort of amoebic predatory way, you begin to realize that at least one of the other creatures in the place has assumed ownership of her, or it, or whatever, and that you are not welcome, at all, anymore, stranger, and then very quickly you begin to envy the beer that has passed through you and slipped away down the drain, leaving you behind like a dark forgotten accumulation of reeking sediment that is too clumsy to get away and therefore has to remain behind, come what may, like all that jumbled crude gunk in all those anonymous stream beds you have stepped over.
The end.