If travel wasn’t interesting, it wouldn’t be fun. Keep in mind, though, that the phrase “May you have an interesting life” is both a blessing and a curse.
I mentioned yesterday that I had a blast in Athens, but all good times have to come to an end. I waved goodbye to Curator Jessica at the Athens Museum around 7 p.m., which put me right on my planned departure time of 4 p.m., as calculated in Steinhoff Standard Time.
Heading west into the setting sun can be a bit challenging at times, but it finally gave up someplace about 80 miles from my starting point. When it decided to go to sleep, it went quickly.
No No-Smoking, no sale
I had hoped to get as far as Cincinnati, so I started looking for lodging in the Florence, Ky., area, west of there. The first place I checked had only one room available and it was a smoker. No sale.
The second wanted $101. The third was even more proud of its rooms: that chain wanted $139. I didn’t have Friend Anne along this trip, so I couldn’t even pull the old “we’re newlyweds who have had a spat and need separate rooms at a discount to save our marriage” argument.
Just as I was resigned to heading west another hour or so to get to the cheap seats, I spotted a [Name withheld] Motel. It had an older look and the parking lot was filled with at least two dozen 18-wheelers, most of them car haulers. The lobby was a bit smoky. One of the guys behind the front desk sported a fair array of jailhouse tattoos. I hope that’s what they were, because if they weren’t, he overpaid the “artist.”
“How much for a non-smoking room for one person for one night?”
“$53.96.”
Is it clean?
I can overlook a lot for the difference between $139 and $53.96. “Is it clean?”
“Yep.” (I wasn’t exactly sure his standards and mine were anywhere close, but I handed over my plastic and was awarded Room 251.)
It wasn’t bad. It had extension cords running all over the place to provide enough outlets for modern travelers, but I’d rather have that than no power. The Wi-Fi was fast enough and didn’t require a password. The AC sounded like a jet taking off every time the compressor kicked in, but it did put out cool air. The bed was great.
I set the alarm for 9:45 and slept like a log. I got up, checked my mail and figured I had just enough time to jump in the shower, pack up and be out by the 11 a.m. checkout deadline.
Tub had funky uni-knob
I turned the water on in the tub. It had one of those uni-knobs where you don’t know what the setting is, so I turned it full left and got cold water. I turned it full right and got cold water. I turned on both taps in the sink and got cold water. I was beginning to detect a pattern. I called the front desk. “Does this place not have hot water or does it just take a long time to get to 251?” I asked in what I hoped was a pleasant tone.
“It’s broken,” a harried female voice said, “We have someone on the way to fix it.”
When I got to the lobby, all the trucks had pulled out and there was a zoom of motorcycle riders getting ready to leave. The woman I supposed attached to the earlier harried voice was talking with some guests who were checking out. (She must have gone to the same tattoo artist as the night guy, by the way.) I overheard her saying to a coworker, “I’m not going to have anything in my drawer by the end of the morning.”
“I guess I’m not going to make your day any better,” I said. “The last time I stayed in a hotel without hot water was in 1958. What can we do to make it right?”
“I can knock $20 off,” she said.
“Look, I’m not looking for a free room. I slept very well last night. On the other hand, I’m going to have to smell myself for another six hours. How about we split the cost of the room?”
She agreed, so I got a good night’s sleep for $28.96 instead of $139 at a fancy joint. I don’t think I’ll be going back again, though.
Rain slowed me down
When I called Mother to tell her I was rolling west this morning, she warned me that I was going to run into a bunch of rain. I paused to put on a fresh coat of Rain-X on the windshield.
Traffic was light and running smoothly for the most part. My Waffle House breakfast had scarcely settled before the first splatters of rain showed up. The splatters put their hands together and turned into heavy rain. Fortunately, that didn’t last too long. The next three or four hours were just light, steady rain.
Rain at the rest stop snagged me
It wasn’t the rainfall while driving that slowed me down. It was the rainfall when I stopped to take a short nap at an Illinois rest area. I’ve written about how I usually set my alarm for 22 minutes, then wake up refreshed enough to log another three or four hours.
This afternoon I decided I wasn’t THAT sleepy, so I set it for 17 minutes and dozed off to the sound of the rain pounding softly on the roof above me. When the alarm went off, I liked the sound well enough to tack on another 12 minutes.
Twice.
If I hadn’t needed to get moving, I think I could have dozed to that for hours.
So, I’m back in Cape for a few days. I’m afraid to turn on the hot water tap.
Friend and former Ohio University Post colleague Carol Towarnicky and I are going to do a presentation on the early days of the student rights movement to the OU History Association on October 24. It seems that stuff we covered as news has now become history. Or, as I like to say, “History is news with whiskers.”
It was appropriate (and somewhat amusing) to run across these photos from Central’s 1967 TWIRP Dance while working on the OU show. This was the era of Sadie Hawkins Day dances (where the girl asks the boy for a date) and The Woman Is Requested to Pay (TWIRP) affairs.
The story said Gary Littleton and Miss Mary Hirsch were crowned Mr. and Miss CHS at the Twirp Dance Friday night in the Central High School gymnasium.
The candidates included Miss Jane Dunklin, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Maurice Dunklin, 839 Alta Vista; Miss Mary Hale, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lemro Hale, 2209 Brookwood; Miss Georganne Penzel, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Penzel, 1844 Woodlawn; Charles McGinty, son of Dr. and Mrs. Charles McGinty, 2435 Brookwood; Larry Johnson, son of Dr. and Mrs. Earl Johnson, 1044 Henderson, and Mark Kirkpartrick, son of Mrs. Wilma Kirkpatrick, 903 Bellvue.
