Last month my father-in-law and I took a small road trip from Maine to Ohio and broke up the drive into two days. We made it as far as western New York before calling it quits and decided to look for lodging. After a bit of driving around we found a strip of roads with a few options. We did a drive-by on Hotel A and decided that the parked construction equipment in the lot didn’t bode well. Our second stop was at a mid-scale national chain hotel, and we were disappointed to learn they had no vacancies. For a Wednesday night, we were surprised.
The receptionist recommended we try our luck down the road at a place that offers short- and long-term reservations targeted for business travelers. We pulled up to the ProtractedStayUSA and asked if there were any vacancies. The lad behind the desk told us there was one room available: a smoking, handicap-accessible room with two twin beds. Apprehensive about the room, but more so about the prospect of having to keep driving, we asked to see the room.
Walking the halls to the room, I felt a dizzying feeling overcome me. The monotony of the carpet patterns and the numbered rooms seemed to yawn out towards infinity ahead of us. I suddenly felt sorry for the people who spend their careers from one generic hotel room to the next. We finally came to our room, inserted the key into the lock and walked inside. Spartan came to mind, just after Marlboro Man. Rob and I looked at each other and took tentative steps forward. I can’t remember who spoke first, but one of us said not being able to open the windows was a definite deal-breaker. They did. Damn.
We then agreed it wasn’t the worst place we had ever stayed, but perhaps could be the worst place we’d stayed in this country. No, top honor among “hotel hell” goes to the Park W hotel in Niger, a place we stayed in 2004 on vacation. Committed, we opened the windows, booked the room back in the lobby, and then promptly left for dinner.
The highlight to the entire stopover in this town was an unexpected good meal in a nearby strip mall. Nestled in between confectionery and a shoe store was a French restaurant. Saved from a fate of TGIF or Olive Garden meal, we were whisked to a dark corner of the restaurant in what we felt was a way to conceal two men who looked like they’d spent all day driving. This turned out to be a boon, as they forgot to serve us our mains after the salad course, and after realizing their delay, comp’ed us desserts. Score.
Back at the ProtractedStayUSA, the two hours had only taken a slight edge off the cigarette smell, which was only restored to full potency after turning down the bed and releasing the latent smells from the linens and mattresses. And for the sin I committed next, I shall spend an eternity in eco-hell: I suggested we run the A/C and keep the windows open at the same time to make the room temperature more pleasant for sleeping.
I needn’t have bothered. Neither Rob nor I had anything that closely resembled sleep that night. In roughly two-hour blocks, we would walk the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, but never fully achieving either state. It came as no surprise that neither one of us minded getting an early start to the rest of the drive to Ohio. Rob paid the bill and I pulled the car around to the front to wait for him. As Rob got in, he said that the receptionist must be wise: He didn’t bother to ask Rob how he had slept.
Here are some photos you can file under the heading “Truth in Advertising”
The receptionist recommended we try our luck down the road at a place that offers short- and long-term reservations targeted for business travelers. We pulled up to the ProtractedStayUSA and asked if there were any vacancies. The lad behind the desk told us there was one room available: a smoking, handicap-accessible room with two twin beds. Apprehensive about the room, but more so about the prospect of having to keep driving, we asked to see the room.
Walking the halls to the room, I felt a dizzying feeling overcome me. The monotony of the carpet patterns and the numbered rooms seemed to yawn out towards infinity ahead of us. I suddenly felt sorry for the people who spend their careers from one generic hotel room to the next. We finally came to our room, inserted the key into the lock and walked inside. Spartan came to mind, just after Marlboro Man. Rob and I looked at each other and took tentative steps forward. I can’t remember who spoke first, but one of us said not being able to open the windows was a definite deal-breaker. They did. Damn.
We then agreed it wasn’t the worst place we had ever stayed, but perhaps could be the worst place we’d stayed in this country. No, top honor among “hotel hell” goes to the Park W hotel in Niger, a place we stayed in 2004 on vacation. Committed, we opened the windows, booked the room back in the lobby, and then promptly left for dinner.
The highlight to the entire stopover in this town was an unexpected good meal in a nearby strip mall. Nestled in between confectionery and a shoe store was a French restaurant. Saved from a fate of TGIF or Olive Garden meal, we were whisked to a dark corner of the restaurant in what we felt was a way to conceal two men who looked like they’d spent all day driving. This turned out to be a boon, as they forgot to serve us our mains after the salad course, and after realizing their delay, comp’ed us desserts. Score.
Back at the ProtractedStayUSA, the two hours had only taken a slight edge off the cigarette smell, which was only restored to full potency after turning down the bed and releasing the latent smells from the linens and mattresses. And for the sin I committed next, I shall spend an eternity in eco-hell: I suggested we run the A/C and keep the windows open at the same time to make the room temperature more pleasant for sleeping.
I needn’t have bothered. Neither Rob nor I had anything that closely resembled sleep that night. In roughly two-hour blocks, we would walk the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, but never fully achieving either state. It came as no surprise that neither one of us minded getting an early start to the rest of the drive to Ohio. Rob paid the bill and I pulled the car around to the front to wait for him. As Rob got in, he said that the receptionist must be wise: He didn’t bother to ask Rob how he had slept.
Here are some photos you can file under the heading “Truth in Advertising”
What they say their rooms look like:
What our room looked like:
What their kitchens look like:
What our kitchen looked like:
What was already in our coffee maker:
What happened when we tried to open the bathroom door:
2 comments:
I may be the only one, but the only thing I could think of during your retelling of this tale was "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" and that hotel room that John Candy and Steve Martin shared with one queen sized bed. I hope that helps you realize that there is always a bright side...even if it has a faint smell of cigarettes.
“Those aren’t pillows!!”
Also, your door handle action shot is priceless.
When I drive between Michigan and New England, I've taken to using the "southern tier expressway" through lower upstate NY. (If that's contradiction in terms, don't blame me!) A few miles west of Jamestown, not far from the western end of New York, is a Holiday Inn Express that I stumbled onto several years ago, and have returned to. In spite of being "mid-scale chain" I've found it very pleasant, quiet, and pretty reasonable cost. Never ran into a No Vacancy sign in the middle of summer, when I do these trips.
If you haven't tried the southern tier, you'll find it much quieter than the NY Thruway, with more interesting and varied scenery. Enjoy! 8-)>
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