Pilgrimage to Santa Barbara

My plan had been to stay in Ventura for just one night, but that turned into fifteen, because the motel was good. I was somewhat sad when I finally handed in my key (yes, an actually key instead of a card) and hit the road.

When I got on 101, I followed my plan to backtrack north along the coast up to Santa Barbara. In my mind, it was a big journey, but it was actually only twenty five miles. It was a gorgeous day, the sun shimmering on the ocean. Once the BMW warms up, it feels like a magic carpet on the highway, and those twenty five miles flew by too fast, so I just kept going past Santa Barbara for the time being, continuing up 101 for about another thirty miles until the point where it turns inland.

I was well rewarded, since that area north of Santa Barbara is one of the most beautiful stretches of coast I've ever traveled---rolling green ranches that tumble down from the coastal ranges to the sea.

After stopping to absorb the warm breeze off the water, I turned the car around and headed south again to my destination. I had important things to do. I had come to Santa Barbara for a reason. I was there to see some specific sights, having to do with my recent growing fascination for the American hospitality industry, and its glorious history.

One of my first stops on the way into town was in the suburb of Goleta, where I stopped to see the Holiday Inn. Yes, that's right, the Holiday Inn.

But it wasn't just any Holiday Inn. The one in Goleta happens to be one of the few remaining Holiday Inn motels (that is, a true motor-hotel), a relic from the days from Holiday Inn ruled the American motel industry (see this 1972 Time cover). Most Holiday Inns now are traditional hotels.

The Holiday Inn in Goleta was interesting to see, but somewhat underwhelming. Yes it was a true motel, of the old style, but there was nothing particularly interesting about it. The sign and the decor were exactly what one would see in any of the modern hotels of that flag. I knew that in advance, so I wasn't disappointed. I already knew that if you want to see one of the old "green arrow" signs from the classic era, you have to go to a museum. There are only a few examples left out of the many thousands that once existed across the country, and none are used by any existing motel.

But I knew I had to visit Goleta anyway. I got to cross it off my list and proceed to my next destination. I didn't check in and stay the night.  Maybe next time I'm in town.

Instead I headed for my real destination, the true reason I had insisted on coming to Santa Barbara, even though it was  a bit out of my way.

I followed 101 south towards downtown Santa Barbara, and exited on Milpas Street. I followed it south towards the waterfront, where I saw the ocean through the palm trees. I turned on Cabrillo Boulevard which follows the water, passing a row of nice fancy beach motels, including the gigantic Fess Parker, run by the Hilton chain.

But that's not where I was going either. I followed Cabrillo one block until I got to Corona Del Mar and turned left, away from the water. I could see my destination on the first corner, sitting there unobtrusively in view of the beach.

I pulled into the parking lot of the two story motel, next to the swimming pool. I walked into the office, and as I always do, I pulled out my drivers license and placed it on the counter in front of the clerk, stating "I have a reservation under this name."

The woman there looked up my name.

"First floor or second floor?" she asked. "Second floor," I said.

"You want the front or the back?" she asked, with a tone that indicated that she already knew the answer.

"Front," I said. Of course I wanted to see the ocean from my room.

I swiped my debit card and the paid for one night. It came to sixty-nine bucks plus tax, as well as the extra three buck charge for wi-fi.

As I waited for her to print out my receipt and give me my card key, I perused the rack on the wall. In one of the slots of the rack was a stack of large-size postcards that showed the exact motel I was currently in, but with an antiquated sign from yesteryear. There was a small plaque next to the brochures. On the plaque were the words that indicated I had come to the right place: established June 25, 1962. The fiftieth anniversary had just passed, a fact reflected in the little booklets printed by the corporation that listed all their properties.

Then just to make conversation, I asked the woman behind the counter a question to which I already knew the answer very well.

So this was really the first ever Motel 6?