North to Alaska ​Day 8

Since this is big news, I thought I'd start with a reminder that the latest Ted Higuera thriller is now available at an Amazon near you. Click here to buy the book.
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At the Salty Dawg Saloon

I kind of got sidetracked during the holidays and dropped off my Alaska Adventure story. Now we're back on track. There are two more episodes coming after this.
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We planned to stay two nights in Homer. Buddy made the reservations at a commercial RV park. She made the reservation for one day, then decided to stay an extra day. As a result, we were in a different site on day two.

​Since we had to move anyway, we decided to take the RV on a tour of Homer. There’s not much to see, folks. We drove through town (population about five thousand people) but the campsite was on a long spit that hangs below the city.

The spit was tourist’s delight. Bars, restaurants, all sorts of little shops. Of course, the spit is narrow, so there are little alcoves of commercial activity at the wide spots. In some places you just have water on either side of the road.

The big attraction in Homer is fishing. There are dozens of charter boats eager to grab a tourist dollar. There were always people fishing from the beaches. Halibut is the big thing here.

Buddy had to take me to the Salty Dawg saloon for more duck farts. The Salty Dawg is in an old light house and has been serving drinks since the last Ice Age (1957 actually). The décor is definitely rural Alaska. Every flat surface is covered in dollar bills.

The tradition started with commercial fishermen. They stopped in for a drink, but their buddies were out fishing. They wanted to buy their buddies a drink, so they left dollar bills pinned to the wall with their buddy’s name on them.

The tradition stuck. Now everybody with a buck has to leave their mark. There is not a blank space on the walls. I don’t know how many thousands of dollar bills are on the walls, and I can’t tell you what color the walls were painted.

The place was packed but we grabbed a couple of empty spots at the bar as the former patrons left. The bartender was busy and ignored us for a long time, then she came and got our order. “Two duck farts, please.”

When she caught up, she came over to talk to us and turned out to be a really nice person. She gave me more information about duck farts.

They are a shooting drink. I have been sipping. As a matter of fact, I can’t ever remember shooting a drink in my life. They are layered so that the biting liquor hits you first. (In this case it was Crown Royal, but all the others were Vodka.) Then the smoother, sweeter liqueurs come next, to sooth the throat and leave you with a sweet taste in your mouth.

After the Salty Dawg we moved into our new campsite for dinner and a rousing game of rummy.

Before cooking dinner, I decided to take a shower. I undressed in the bedroom and threw my clothes on the bed. When I tossed my pants on the bed, all the change in my pocket rolled out onto the bed. No big deal, then I saw a penny roll over the side of the bed. On the narrow side.

The queen size bed is comfortable, but the space between the bed and the passenger side wall is only about six inches. I can’t navigate in such small spaces.

I leaned over the bed to recover my penny. Now, remember that I had already taken my pants off.

The penny was just out of my reach, so I leaned further. Still not enough. I tried again, this time with only one foot on the floor. My foot slipped and I went ass over tea kettle into the narrow slot between the bed and the wall. (I’m surprised my head fit in there.)
So, here I was with my head in the hole, my arms not able to get a grip anywhere and my bare bottom sticking up in the air. I had no leverage. I tried several times and couldn’t free myself. I was caught in a Penn trap, the most assiduous kind.

Finally, I screamed for help. Buddy came running. And stood there and laughed. From her point of view, my bare butt was sticking in the air. I was helpless.

“What in the world are you doing in there?” she asked.

“Just trying to pick up a penny.”

Now, I don’t know what value you put on a penny, but to me it wasn’t worth the embarrassment. I pride myself on being able to take care of myself, never getting into a situation I can’t get out of. And here I was, stuck in a position I couldn’t get out of, my bum in the air, having to call my little buddy for help.
 
When she got control of herself again, she pulled me from my trap. I was not happy. Especially about being laughed at.

I guess I should be grateful. My late wife, Connie, would have laughed too. Then she would have grabbed the camera before helping me out.