Message Board
Driver's Seat
Main Menu
Our House
About Us
What's New
Coffee Break
Old What's New
E-Mail us
Ralph and Mary Ann Feldt are from Michigan and have been full-timers for a couple of years. They love adventure, RVing, volunteering at state and national parks, and are excellent writers. They do a wonderful paper newsletter (similar to our old one ) for  family.
Chicken, Alaska
Ralph and Mary Ann Feldt
We are now back from Alaska, the best trip, including England, that we have ever been on. For our 35th wedding anniversary, I  took Mary Lou to the most romantic, secluded place I could find, beautiful downtown Chicken, Alaska. Chicken is on the Top of the World Highway, more than a hundred miles of the worst long distance of road we've ever been on, stretching all the way from Tok, Alaska to Dawson City, in the Yukon. The original settlers wanted to name the town Ptarmigan, after the arctic bird about the size of, and similar to a chicken. Being illiterate miners, they struggled with, and finally gave up on the spelling. The rest is history. The town consists of four contiguous buildings: a gift shop, liquor store, 
saloon, and café. Two artistically finished outhouses, tastefully providing for the needs of both sexes, completed the main structures. These were in stark contrast and clearly upscale to the one-size-fits-all we have grown used to in the arctic outback. The town also has a beat up gas pump advertising the product at $1.79/gal. However, the hand-lettered sign on the pump advises that they have no gas (yet). 

The first to greet us was the three-legged dog. He either didn't know, or didn't care, that he was unusual. We were to find out that in this town, he was not all that unusual. By the time the kid with the live squirrel on his shoulder came in, we hardly noticed. I took the squirrel in my hands and petted it. The squirrel preferred the kid. 

We were served a beer in the saloon by the owner, a truly striking woman. What strikes you first is her beard. I swear I'm not making this up. Mind you, her beard would not make a male Amish farmer jealous. Still, compared to the normally facially hirsute member of her gender, she does stand out. We both wondered if she was indeed a woman. She has long hair, goes by a female name, and reportedly has a husband. Moreover, despite an outfit appropriate to our proximity to the arctic circle, she has a figure vaguely suggestive of that of a female. In the absence of some way of getting proof positive, a 
thought too repulsive to dwell on, I am willing to conclude that she very probably is, and 
possibly always has been, female. 

We did not get to meet her husband but were informed of one of his more interesting pastimes. He has a working cannon. He loads the cannon with gun powder and fires a projectile from time to time, sometimes punching holes in the door, bar, and walls. We saw the holes. For projectiles he uses women's panties. Again I'm not making this up. The shredded remains are proudly displayed hanging from the ceiling. We saw those also, although the panty tatters are somewhat difficult to find in the company of several hundred, if not thousands of baseball caps that were contributed by customers. The walls are festooned with business cards. Ours is now among them. The next time you are in beautiful downtown Chicken, Alaska, look for it. Do I take my woman to interesting places or what?