[itinerary | lodging] History and memory make an unnatural — yet remarkably impactful — marriage. Complicate that with facsimiles of facsimiles over decades, and it becomes difficult to uncouple fantasy from the truth. Ask anyone about the most iconic American duos, and inevitably the same names are repeated, varying from one generation to the next. But there are a few infamous ones that pass the test of time.

Walt and Jesse

Desperate times call for desperate measures, in real life and in fiction. Walter White resorted to cooking crystal with Jesse Pinkman to cover his medical bills. Today they’re hawking popcorn snacks so good, they make Tuco Salamanca shout “Tight! Tight! Tight!” It’s easy to write off this chicanery as a primary side-effect of the media business, but the premise of the original AMC television drama came from a real place, namely the exorbitant cost of American healthcare.

Scene from the hit TV show, “Breaking Bad.” (AMC, 2009).

Bonnie and Clyde

So, too, did the Great Depression push Average Jane and Joe to their extremes. An unnatural marriage between Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow led to a warpath of mischief, murder, and robbery so notorious, the young couple did the 1930s version of going viral. From newspaper headlines to live radio broadcasts, Bonnie and Clyde must have appeared like the original influencers, posing with a rifle for Instagram and participating in the Tik Tok Rob-a-Bank Challenge. “Why did bank robbers in the ’30s always brag about robbing the bank?” quips comedian John Mulaney, adding in that old-timey carnival barker voice: “‘If they ask whodunit, tell ’em it was Golden Joe and the Suggins Gang!’” (Suggins proceeds to comically shoot his name into the side of the building in bullets.)

Bonnie and Clyde in Technicolor. (Warner Bros., 1967).

Your best memory of Bonnie and Clyde is the 1967 film, of course. You remember them as a beautiful, carefree couple, head-over-heels in love and living the dream on the road and on the run. They were the original Natural Born Killers; they were Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette in True Romance. When you drive on your adventures, you picture yourself and your travel companion like Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway. Partners in crime, just without the crime part. As the highwaymen chased Bonnie and Clyde around Texas, you fantasize of countless followers liking and sharing your stuff. Bonnie and Clyde aren’t criminals in your head-canon; they’re movie stars.

Bunnie and Claude: “We rob carrot patches.” (Warner Bros., 1968).

Whereas Bonnie and Clyde’s rush came from robbing banks, yours comes from the road itself. You live for the mountains and lake views; the canyons of forests and skyscrapers alike; the cozy lounges off the beaten path. You enjoy the company and conversation of strangers. You’re ready to form new relationships and social networks again. The freedom and inspiration of your new Lake Life is like Bonnie’s love for Clyde — worth risking everything.

But pop culture is louder than history. Bonnie’s own words live on in a song made famous by Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot. While her poem describes the deadly consequences of those who dared stand in their way, the French-translated lyrics mask its true nature, resembling a romantic tête-à-tête while a beatnik howls in the background over psychedelic guitar strums. A soundtrack for an Andy Warhol pajama party, not a Dust Bowl bread line. A generation later, Bonnie and Clyde are hep cats, not desperate thieves.

Comfortable with this interpretation, you and your partner flee down the highway toward the next big score. And you find yourselves in Ellicottville, a hidden valley among ski slopes deep in the Allegany Mountains of Western New York. The village is bustling with foot traffic and activity as hundreds of skiers rush down the towering slopes about the center square. You observe rows of artisan craft stores and pro shops, upscale bistros and cafes, libraries and well-maintained civic buildings. The snow and cold are not enough to keep the crowds away– if anything, it encourages them in this ski resort town.

The Banq Cocktails and Lounge

After a few rounds of circling the block, you observe an historic bank building on the corner of the main square, its tall Doric columns daring you to cross their threshold. Large picture windows open to a dark setting inside, and something tells you this is your scene. A handful of patrons shuffle in and out while you look for parking, but by the time you set foot inside, the place is empty save for the Prohibition-era jazz on the radio. As you and your companion creep closer to the bar, the bartender emerges from behind a curtain, a strong, towering fellow with a lumberjack shirt and a calm but inviting presence. He welcomes you to the Banq Cocktails and Lounge and hands you the menus.

Scenes from The Banq Cocktails and Lounge, Ellicottville, NY.

You order a honey bourbon drink and soak in the scene: original tin ceilings, warm sputnik chandeliers, and colorful paintings of women in various period dress. You compliment the decor as the bartender, who introduces himself as Sean, fills you in on the artwork. “All by the same artist,” he says. “The owners found these at garage sales for fifty cents apiece.”

“And how did they find you?” your companion asks, sipping her dirty martini.

Sean replies matter-of-factly: “From social media.” He tells you more of his backstory, his time in other states and meeting different people. You ask him about Ellicottville, about skiing. You tell him about your newfound life in the Finger Lakes.

Sean then tips his head toward the back of the lounge, behind the bar. “This used to be a savings bank,” he says. “The vault’s still there.” And here it finally dawns on you, as you hadn’t noticed it since you sat down. The giant metal vault swings open, revealing the barred entrance to the individual safes within. Pristine, brushed steel a foot thick, left over from Bonnie and Clyde’s time no doubt. Sean offers to snap a few photos of you and your companion “robbing” the vault. The irony is not lost on you.

The Banq Vault

You ultimately spend the rest of the afternoon at the bar, shooting the breeze with Sean until a new couple of patrons come in. You figure you have taken enough attention for now and bid him farewell for the night. Days are short, and you must be moving on. You saunter on down the highway back toward the Lake.

Bonnie and Clyde met their fate on the side of the highway, in the most brutal way imaginable. The film captures their end quite abruptly, just like Easy Rider, cutting immediately to the credits with hardly a denouement. Regardless, the final shot — the image that lingers after the movie ends — is not of Bonnie and Clyde’s victims, but of Bonnie’s limp arm hanging from the car. Bonnie and Clyde live on in pop culture to this day. So you might romanticize them. You might even idolize them. You identify with the cartoon rabbit Bonnie and Clyde, the French psychedelic Bonnie and Clyde, the charismatic Hollywood Bonnie and Clyde. You would rather be in it not for robbing banks, but for the laughter, the food, the experiences, and endless road trips next to your companion, your partner in crime without the crime. You are not fated to ride with the real Bonnie and Clyde.

Ready to explore? Click below for lodging options around the Finger Lakes.