Cave painting began in caves for a reason. Art originated with hairy hominids stuck inside their caves while mammoths and t-rexes prowled around screaming outside. Cavemen couldn't leave the cave, and they had nothing else to do. Bored, crazed, they were stuck in the cave only with their fantasies, so they drew them. In these hunts, they were always the winner.
Same thing has happened to me twice this past two weeks. I'd call this poor planning, but really it was a decision not to plan. Understand, I just came out of a job where I was the ultimate contingency planner. I planned everything. In my job as a program manager, I turned over mental rocks for hours at a time--what if this happens, what if that happens, what if the other thing happens, what then? Well, somewhere in all this planning, I decided I was sick of planning, which never did any good anyhow. So for this trip I did not plan. The outcome of this "project" has been a bit predictable. (I'll go into that a bit more later, but anyhow...)
I found myself last week stuck in a place called the Vistal Motel. Well, I thought I was stuck, or I sorta was. I landed in this place when I could find no other lodging near Glacier National Park. No cabin, no campsite, no posh 4 star hotel, no pedestrian chain hotel had availability. Just--the Vista Motel, self-described as the best lodging in Glacier National Park. Well, let me describe this place to you. The "gnoll" it rests above is about 20 feet from a major highway and railroad tracks. I'm surprised there was not a bus depot and a small airport with a helipad to complete the motel's ambiance, but these remain new opportunities for annoying those trying to sleep at the Vista. Rooms are bare of any amenties, except digital alarm clocks, which the cleaning staff are sure to set helpfully for 5 AM even after you've disabled it once. Rooms have no air conditioning, and of course the windows won't open. If you open your door to get some wind, you will be facing a hairy, miserable-looking guy who is sitting outside his room in his bathrobe because he, too, is hot, and his windows probably won't open either. Bathrooms are super retro--back to the days of water closets. The bed's coverlet (the bed takes up most of the entire room)looks like a vomit pattern of forest green and melon--you know the mid-90's version of decorating. For entertainment, you have thin walls, extra thin, so you can hear Cheryl and some unnamed guy have a discussion about the seriousness--or not--of their relationship. The man reassured Cheryl repeatedly that he was in a good place to make a decision, but he had not made it yet. Gods.
In any case, I tried to avoid this place, except I actually had to come back to it to sleep, and when I'd get there, sleep was well-nigh impossible. I had with me no paper, no laptop, no book. My tools of distraction included an Ipod and a cell phone. The result of my extreme discomfort is a series of cell pictures, which I called "Unsatisfacory Porn," and which, thank God, I was not able to upload as a group to Facebook because I couldn't get a good enough signal. These pictures included the following: a sorta cute picture of my face half-concealed by a pillow. Me biting the pillow (to reflect my mood). A shot of my clothed boobs wearing my "Cute but Psycho" Bunny-Rabbit T-shirt. A shot of my tattoo. A close-up of my teeth. A shot of the goddamned ceiling light, which had a bug in it. I dunno, at the time, I thought it was funny. That was night one.
Night two had me surrendering to it all. I decided to get as stoned as I completely could, to test the limits. I was successful. I then decided to dance as hard as I could to whatever struck my fancy on my IPOD for as long as I could. Faves that night were Cheap Trick, "I Want You to Want Me" and "Dream Police" and R.E.M., "I Am Superman." I kept hoping that Cheryl and that guy could hear every huff and bump as I lept around the two feet of space between the bed and any single wall, and I hoped they were wondering what the hell I was up to. Turn about is fair play after all.
Although I had booked this stupid place for three nights, night 3 did not happen because I finally fled this place at 5:30 AM the morning following my stoned dance routine. Although I had prepaid for three nights, there was no lock-box to put the key in, so I left it on the bed, along with a voicemail demanding a refund to the manager. I checked my credit card yesterday to see if they'd refunded me, and found they not only had not, but they'd charged me twice, so I've paid over 700$ total for that treat. Insult to injury, and so now I shall have to spend time straightening that out.
Having learned my lesson, I thought, two days ago I found the place I am now in. It's a Days Inn described as 16.1 KM from Jasper and listed as a Jasper-Hinton Motel. Welp, apparently 16.1 KM from Jasper means to them, the PARK rather than the town. The place is actually around 60 MILES from the town Jasper, which is where I'd planned to stay. You'd think I would have realized something was up, but my GPS seems somewhat freaked out by Canada and rather than give wrong information, coyly informs me repeatedly, "Unable to give guidance from this road." Upon arrival at this otherwise acceptable motel, I mentioned the misleading nature of their website. The nice guy behind the desk nodded and said, "Yeah, I've heard that before" and asked me if I still wanted to stay. I'd planned 2 nights here, but told him I would only take the 1. He gave me some free laundry soap in sympathy. Well, now I'm homeless.
I'm also up at 3:30 AM doing laundry and writing, while the nice guy at the front desk watches "King of the Hill." It's obvious to me now, bad motels or caves is how cave painting got its start. I've done more writing and more picture-taking since being stuck in bad motels than I have in years. Oh, the picture will look familiar to someone and is why I'm fifty miles from not-nowhere. Canadian Rockies--heartbreakingly beautiful, and I will enjoy more of them tomorrow.
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