A Week in Hotels

I have no long story to tell regarding one of my particularly strong personality traits (or quirks as some might judge).  Simply stated:  I hate staying in hotels.  I mean to say that I HATE staying in hotels.   I’ve spent nights in ultra-luxurious hotels associated with business travel.  I’ve stayed in very nice hotels for long-ago and far-away vacations.  And I’ve stayed in moderately priced hotels when visiting family.  Whether luxurious or cheap, all hotels have one thing in common:  I HATE staying in them.

But this past week found me staying in two different hotels, in two different cities, some 9 hours apart from each other—and neither close to the rick-man’s and my homestead.  This trip did not involve the rick-man; this trip did not involve our beloved condo-on-wheels; and this trip did not involve my binoculars or hiking boots. This trip was about my supporting a family member's move from City A to City B.  (Not to mention one dog, one U-Haul truck, two cars and three-digit temperatures.)

The news is all good.  The trip successfully moved a family member.  No one got seriously hurt; no one got extremely ill; and no one was overly ugly to one another.  The adverbs speak for themselves. 

I’ve experienced many personal moves across states and years, but this particular move gave me a new role and a new experience—helping to keep this particular Good Dog a happy traveler:

The second leg of the trip involved nine hours of travel in three-digit temperatures.  It was a classic tortoise and hare story as the U-Haul traveled at slower speeds than my car-and-dog team, but the U-Haul made fewer stops (in fact just one). The car-and-dog team stopped four times for dog walks, dog drinks and associated potty stops.   I snapped this photo of one of several times the SUV “hare” passed the U-Haul “tortoise”:

This trip found me spending six nights in hotels and seven days eating mostly fast food.  I could write a long story about the beds, the toilets, the showers, the elevators, and my associated lack of sleep and body’s reaction to all of the above.  But I’ve not yet found the humor in my live-to-tell experience.  The first night I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m.  You get the picture.  My diet was mostly hamburgers, French fries, pancakes and bacon—I hope you don’t get the picture.

A week in hotels is this RVers nightmare:

But I’m dreaming of cooler fall temperatures and wandering throughout the southwest with the rick-man, our condo-on-wheels and its luxuries of bath, kitchen, bed and rice steamer!

I’m now counting the weeks until: