The No-Tell Motel

We’re in some small, random town in northern Washington. Headed for Peter’s family’s place in British Columbia. We’ve driven this route plenty of times and usually stop in one of these small towns when we don’t feel like driving any more. Tonight we wanted to stop driving when we were about 40 miles north of Spokane and saw a sign for The 49er Motel.

It never is a good sign for a hotel when there are people hanging out in the parking lot. Especially when they are smoking, wearing pajama bottoms, and no shirt. And really especially if you can look into their open motel room door and see that they live there.

But being tired matters. So we checked in, even after checking the rooms.

I have to say that I may have to rethink our practice of checking the rooms before we check in. I mean, if we inspected the room here and still checked in, I’m thinking that what we find upon inspecting the room doesn’t really affect our decision whether or not to stay. “Yep, no dead body. We’re good.” We stay if we are tired, regardless of what the room looks like.



This explains Soren curled up on a rollaway cot that – I’m not kidding – has a layer of cardboard under the mattress.

This explains the “sanitized” ribbon wrapped around the toilet bowl looking like it is set up for a ribbon-cutting ceremony.

This explains that smell, the frayed carpet, the dripping A/C unit, the wood paneling...

But you know, I have to say that I love this hotel. I love that we stay here. When we stay in places like this I can pretend that we’re out exploring the world, flat broke. Back to our roots.

Sometimes I admit that it worries me that Soren has so much. So much, so easy. He’s quite comfortable in first class on the airplane, thank you very much. He likes the mints that come with turn down service. His passport pages are already filling up. He likes riding in taxis, knows how to order for himself in a restaurant, and really likes room service.



I’m so happy to be able to share with him so many of the world’s treasures and pleasures. But my experience shows me that kids with too much, too fast, turn out to be obnoxious, out-of-touch, self-centered sissies. Sigh. Not what I’m hoping to raise.

Don’t get me wrong, I like turn down service mints as much as anyone. But I kind of feel like I’ve paid my dues. Stayed in so many no-tell motels that occasionally finding myself in a nicer place won’t rot my soul. Peter and I have shared many a laugh at our worst hotel stories…the time in China where we checked in and found that our hotel room came with a bed but no mattress! It literally had a sheet of plywood over the bed frame. Or the time in expensive Hong Kong where the cheapest room we could find was so small that it fit only the bed. We had to take turns getting into the room. Peter would open the door, slide over the mattress to around behind the door. Then I’d repeat the scene. Only I had to stay on the mattress because there wasn’t enough floor space for both of us to stand at the same time.

There is certain freedom comes with staying in trashy motels. Makes you not dependent on Hampton Inn for your comfort, safety, and itinerary. Have trashy motels, will travel.

So, as I go over to cover my sleeping boy with the natty sheets on his rollaway cot, I’m actually smiling. Happy that we can show him all the treasures and pleasures the world has to offer.