Hello, My Name Is ...

It has finally cooled off a bit here in central Texas and I've managed to extricate myself from a heat-induced stupor long enough to write a few lines. 

To be honest, Ellie and I reached the point where we couldn't stand the heat anymore so we went for a little sojourn in the heartland.  We had kind of a multi-purpose trip:  We did some real vacationing, visited with relatives and picked up some memorabilia to add to the genealogy materials we have been accumulating the last several years.

I've always thought that one of the advantages of being retired is that you can vacation just about any time you want to.  That wasn't the case when we were working.  Back then it seemed that we were only able to get away for vacations when every other family in the world was on the road.  There were some advantages to that when our kids were small.  Motels are prepared to deal with families with children during that time of year and there are so many on the road that, even if your kids act up, no one really notices because they are part of a churning, ever-moving throng.

As we aged, though, we saw that there were a lot of disadvantages to being on the road during the peak vacation season.  For one thing, room rates are higher and fewer of them are available, so it is somewhat difficult to get the room you want.  Since motels tend to cater to families with kids in the prime vacation season, the front desk doesn't really want to hear that someone is jumping on the bed in the room above you (at least I think that's what was going on) or that soaking-wet kids are running up and down the hall by the indoor pool and leaving wet towels at your doorstep.  Nor are they interested when the parents let little Johnnie and Mary ( or I guess these days maybe it's Trace and Tiffany) take up space in the breakfast room at their own table for four, happily grabbing handfuls of breakfast rolls and donuts, glomming up the waffle maker and leaving trails of orange juice and Cap'n Crunch all over the chairs and tables while Mommy and Daddy read the only remaining copy of USA Today and sip the last two cups of the special roast Columbian as you try to find some uncontaminated food to take back to your room before heading out for the day.

When we retired, Ellie and I vowed never to travel during prime vacation time again.  So we joined AARP, AAA and as many motel chain loyalty clubs as we could find and began to travel during off-peak season when all the rugrats were back in school and room rates were low.  When we booked rooms using our loyalty cards we got great rates, and free stuff.  We got the best rooms available and lots of perks besides.  We were happy campers (well motel guests at least) until the first time we ran into the dreaded tour groups. 

Of course we had seen tour buses on our travels before.  They're usually parked out in front of a Cracker Barrel with the only decent restroom for 100 miles in all directions.  You never see them in front of the rest stops with pit toilets.  No, you get to use those while the umpty-seven doddering old folks on the tour bus queue up at the Cracker Barrel. 

So one morning when we looked out our motel room window before heading down to the lobby for the “free” breakfast (that we had really paid for as part of our room rent) and saw a bus labeled "Electric Blue Hair Tours" blocking the main entrance to the parking lot, we understood why, even though we are platinum members of the loyalty club, we had ended up the night before with the room at the far-r-r end of the first floor hall with the window that doesn't latch.  By the time we reached the lobby, dodging the suitcases piled in the hall all the way, the room was filled with old folks with “Hello my name is Gladys” pinned to their “Welcome to Amish Country” shirts and the last of the apricot Danish smeared across their faces.  Of course there was no coffee left by that time and the waffle maker was hopelessly mired in spilled batter.  We managed to snag the last two boxes of Cocoa Krispies (the Raisin Bran was long gone) and a couple of rubbery hard-boiled eggs in their very own child-proof (and apparently geriatric-proof) shrink wrap before casting about for a place to sit.  No luck there.  Although half the chairs had no one in them, they were filled with purses, jackets and boxes of Depends because the tour people in the breakfast room were saving seats for their new found friends.  We had noticed, however, that the motel had opened up the conference room for the overflow from the breakfast area.  So we ate there right next to a couple of tour group members from Moline who spent the whole time grousing because they weren't able to find a seat in the breakfast room.

That scene has been repeated several times during our travels.  So now one of Carl and Ellie's Rules of the Road is:  Never book a room in a tourist area during the senior tour season.

We've developed a few more rules that might help the unwary traveler to avoid situations like this.

Avoid motels if:

• there is a sign in the lobby that says: “Lock your car, dead-bolt your door and don't leave the room after dark.”
• there is a college home game within fifty miles and there are cars in the parking lot with team decals or flags, especially if they are surrounded by beer cans and there is a strong smell of urine.
• there is a tour bus in the parking lot.
• the motel shows up in the  Bedbug Registry

Ask for another room if:

• it's closer than four doors to the elevator or ice machine.
• your room is on the pool side and the pool is open past 10:00.
• the room is less than three doors from the lobby (unless you really like hearing the night clerk chattering with her friends until the wee hours of the morning.

Move to another motel if:

• your room is on the first floor and there is an ash tray on the outside window sill.
• it's evening and there is an 18-wheeler idling outside your room.

Oh yes, and run like the wind if you run into someone in the lobby who's wearing a tag that says “Hello, my name Is ...”