I had taken the local bus towards Anchorage, which is in Alaska, if you didn’t know that by now? – waiting for that simple fact of the matter to seep in before continuing with my story-
I’d been arguing with my beard while the bus driver shook his head in dismay, hoping that we weren’t going to get hijacked by yet another crazy who argued with his beard while on his/her way to the Fur Rendezvous in Anchorage. “Gesundheit!” said the woman next to me, when I said “Rendezvous”, in such a way that she looked at me as if I were a traveling Canadian with a bad cold?
“Don’t you have enough people to irritate in Canada, without taking your foreign ways over the border to tease and temp us friendly, yet suspicious Alaskans, who really can’t wait for you to use your currency then travel home again!” and with that she changed seats to show her disgust and dismay, then promptly raised the local newspaper, The Homer Times, up over her eyes, but I knew she was reading between the lines all the same!
Anywho. It wouldn’t cooperate, and I said,”Look you. We are on this journey together, so if you don’t want to go with the flow and make me proud of my face, then I’d advise you to…
-but suddenly, the bus driver pulled over to the side of the road at that instant, motioning to the two of us to exit the bus, and not upset the other passengers anymore with our wanton ways!
There we were, somewhere between Soldotna, Alaska and the city of Anchorage, while we still couldn’t agree on, well just about anything it seemed. I tried hitch-hiking to the north, while he wanted to go south, which showed you how difficult it was going to be making it to the Fur Rendezvous in Anchorage Alaska, before the festival ended in….”What? What do you mean, I don’t need to keep saying, Alaska?”
A local woman sporting any number of interesting tattoos pulled her motorcycle over to the side of the road and asked which Mental Institution, we’d escaped from?
I was certain it was in Soldotna, while my Beard insisted it was in Homer, that is Homer Alaska! It looked as if she felt sorry for at least one of us, but hesitated in offering us a lift to the next town. She suggested we walk a bit to the next intersection, one called Caribou Crossings, and ask the woman and her friend living just off the road for help. “Don’t worry about the signs, “Trespassers will be shot” because it is less likely that will happen as long as the winter continues like it is”. And with that she took off down the road in a most poetic way, that I almost wanted to tell her that….but my beard just said, “You are not in her league, you know?” Which was probably true, but I didn’t want to say he was correct in his thinking, just because!
We had just reached the crossing when a fellow came outside of his house, waving us over to the front door. “Do you fellows happen to possess a few ice-cubes for a man, who is down on his luck?” a question, which really made me feel for the guy, but couldn’t understand why he needed ice-cubes what with the snow still being several feet deep, and icicles hanging off the roof just over his head? I suggested that he journey with us to the Fur Rendezvous in Anchorage, where he could…but he only said “Gesundheit and patted me on the back as if I had something stuck in my throat!”
“Sorry fellows, but I didn’t realize you came from Canada? We do get foreigners around here especially in the summertime, but not everyone takes a liking to your sort, for some reason or another!”
I started to tell him about the festival in Anchorage, but my beard just took me to one side saying, “These Kenaians are a strange lot, aren’t they?” I nodded and smiled at our new found friend, but didn’t want to upset him, or his “Shooting Trespassers” sign any more than necessary!
“Fine figure of a beard you have there Mister” he said to me, and my friend, but I still wasn’t satisfied with the progress of sporting a fine beard, at that that most prestigious event the Fur Ren….My beard interrupted me in mid-sentence saying, “No more of that French-business, OK? We don’t know how he really feels about Canadians, so….
The darned thing was, I was not Canadian, but everyone seemed hell-bent to call me a foreigner, and worse than that, a Canadian! I was just a regular guy from Alaska, who was on his way to an event that he never even had heard of before he Googled “Alaska in the Winter”.
Lola just rolled over in her sleep saying, “Now you know how all those poor Canadians felt when you mentioned them constantly in your blogs before now! The Foreign Shoe is on the other foot, now isn’t it?”
As she drifted off into dreamland once again, my beard said,”You should listen to her. She’s a looker all right and you’d be lucky, if you let your beard decide its own fate and treat her like any red-blooded Alaskan would have done in your place!”
-I just held the razor behind my back while he spoke, waiting for the right moment to, to……