~~Breakfast in Talkeetna~~

I was tired when I finally got to Talkeetna, beaten up by the blinding blizzard. I needed warmth and food.  As I pushed through the snowy lanes, I realized that nothing was open.  Nothing.  Ugh...

I saw a pick up truck coming into town, so I followed it, thinking that he must know where to go.... He did.  He parked in front of The Roadhouse.  So did I.  I saw people in there, and I was most relieved, as I was going to get what I needed badly.

I trekked through the snow, only to find that the door was locked...ugh.... The Roadhouse would not open for another 20 minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman let me in so I could wait until they opened. <---Really?

The pick up truck driver then came in with his eleven-year-old boy.  They sat at a picnic table across the room from where I sat.

The boy made himself known, as he immediately started educating me about the people of Alaska.

He said:

All people that live in Alaska are low lives. However, there are degrees.

Wasilla low lives are the lowest, except for the drunk Eskimos.

Talkeetna low lives are higher brow low lives.

And, except for the drunk Eskimos, Anchorage low lives are top shelf.


The father was so proud of "his boy." Some parents amaze me with what they teach their children.

(By the way, they live in Wasilla.)