The Alaskan Hotel and Bar
Dear Esquire Magazine,
I recently took your suggestions on two issues and found myself meeting exciting new people and experiencing richly different cultures. However I narrowly escaped from this adventure with my life.
Ive seen trouble before. I've traveled solo on a motorcycle across the deserts of Baja, dodging AK-toting banditos after an all-nighter in San Filepe. I've been thrown out of Sturgis after a city "dignatary" gained some semi-unfounded knowledge about me and his girlfriend. And I've crashed a Mormon high school reunion where I happened to be the most sober one there.
But a recent article about America's Top 20 Bars was paired with Tips on Drinking Alone, so I thought I take your advice and kill two birds with one stone and head to the Alaskan Hotel and Bar in Juneau for some Solo Drinking.
Like the article recommended, I brought a book, sat at the bar, sipped whiskey on the rocks, and kept an eye out for interesting people. By the third chapter, I had struck up a conversation with a few locals. Thirty minutes later we were doing shots. And an hour later--my memory became hazy--but I remembered being worried I wasn't going to be able to keep representing the Lower 48 proudly, but I was determined to keep trying.
I remember an invitation to go shooting. And I remember watching some extreme skier video on the guy's laptop. I remembered something about how the Lower 48 is full of pussies. Then something like, "No we're not. You are." Moments later, the liquor had caught up to me, and frankly, I don't remember much after that last shot.
The next morning, I woke up several miles outside Juneau, freezing my ass of in the back of a pick-up, with a massive hangover and a sore right shoulder, cradling a 50-calibre Hawkins with no one in sight. I admit I was a little nervous. I've been in trouble before, but for some reason, this felt different. I just couldn't put my finger on it.
I tried the truck, but it was stuck in the mud and wasn't moving. So I tossed the rifle in the cab and hoofed it down the mountain for a ten-hour hike into town.
My time in Juneau ended quickly. Crime was suddenly becoming a big issue while I was there...some sort of unexplained disappearances were going on, and I didn't want to risk being a victim so far from home. As it turns out EVERY ONE of my new drinking buddies had gone missing. I don't know what they were involved in, but I thought it would be a good idea to leave before the killer could find me. So I snuck out of Juneau without anyone knowing I had even been there.
So thanks, Esquire. I appreciate the research your staff endures so guys like me can have an adventure.
ODM
I recently took your suggestions on two issues and found myself meeting exciting new people and experiencing richly different cultures. However I narrowly escaped from this adventure with my life.
Ive seen trouble before. I've traveled solo on a motorcycle across the deserts of Baja, dodging AK-toting banditos after an all-nighter in San Filepe. I've been thrown out of Sturgis after a city "dignatary" gained some semi-unfounded knowledge about me and his girlfriend. And I've crashed a Mormon high school reunion where I happened to be the most sober one there.
But a recent article about America's Top 20 Bars was paired with Tips on Drinking Alone, so I thought I take your advice and kill two birds with one stone and head to the Alaskan Hotel and Bar in Juneau for some Solo Drinking.
Like the article recommended, I brought a book, sat at the bar, sipped whiskey on the rocks, and kept an eye out for interesting people. By the third chapter, I had struck up a conversation with a few locals. Thirty minutes later we were doing shots. And an hour later--my memory became hazy--but I remembered being worried I wasn't going to be able to keep representing the Lower 48 proudly, but I was determined to keep trying.
I remember an invitation to go shooting. And I remember watching some extreme skier video on the guy's laptop. I remembered something about how the Lower 48 is full of pussies. Then something like, "No we're not. You are." Moments later, the liquor had caught up to me, and frankly, I don't remember much after that last shot.
The next morning, I woke up several miles outside Juneau, freezing my ass of in the back of a pick-up, with a massive hangover and a sore right shoulder, cradling a 50-calibre Hawkins with no one in sight. I admit I was a little nervous. I've been in trouble before, but for some reason, this felt different. I just couldn't put my finger on it.
I tried the truck, but it was stuck in the mud and wasn't moving. So I tossed the rifle in the cab and hoofed it down the mountain for a ten-hour hike into town.
My time in Juneau ended quickly. Crime was suddenly becoming a big issue while I was there...some sort of unexplained disappearances were going on, and I didn't want to risk being a victim so far from home. As it turns out EVERY ONE of my new drinking buddies had gone missing. I don't know what they were involved in, but I thought it would be a good idea to leave before the killer could find me. So I snuck out of Juneau without anyone knowing I had even been there.
So thanks, Esquire. I appreciate the research your staff endures so guys like me can have an adventure.
ODM
posted by The Divemaster at 1:36 PM
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