I was quite pleased with my stay at the America's Best Value Inn in Springerville. The town itself had an interesting history as the site of the oldest Ford dealership west of the Mississippi, run by an early automotive enthusiast. Because of that it was supposed to be on the first transcontinental highway, but didn't make the cut. Route 66 went to the north and bypassed it.
After checking out I drove down the street to the local coffeeshop restaurant which had a prefect combination of good coffee, great Wi-Fi, and cheap bacon and eggs for breakfast. I put in a few solid hours of work, and then in early afternoon I left town and headed westward up through the foothills of the White Mountains.
The road climbed up a gradual slope into pine forests and beautiful meadows. There was still plenty of snow on the ground. It felt like a bit of Valhalla on the highway. I took a side road into the forest for about a dozen miles to the Sunrise Ski Resort, where I found a big hill with families sledding. I parked my car, took out my snowshoes, and got a good hour's hike in, all while wearing shorts.
In the mid afternoon I arrived in the summer resort town of Pinetop, right on the edge of the mountain forests. I had made reservations at the Super 8 and I checked in right at the stroke of 3pm.
I guess the trip can't be perfect. Nogales seemed to set a theme of surly Indian motel owners, and this was the worst yet. All was OK for most of the afternoon and evening. With the exception of dinner, I stayed indoors and put in a good days work using the passable Wi-Fi.
Then about 11 o'clock, it changed. I started hearing a loud thumping coming up through the floor. I sounded like a laundry machine tub out of whack in the spin cycle. I thought it would go away but a half hour later it was still going strong. I wasn't quite ready to hit the sack yet, but it was approaching bed time. I tried blasting the fan in the room, but when I lay on the bed, I could tell the noise was going to prevent me from any good night's sleep.
I went downstairs to the first floor and found indeed that the laundry room was below mine.
I went to the front desk, which was dark, and pressed the buzzer. The proprietor came out from the back room wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He looked as if I'd woken him up and he didn't seem happy. I told him about the problem.
He didn't seem to believe me about the noise. In fact, he got very defensive. "We don't do laundry at night," he said emphatically.
"Fine," I said. "I don't care. But I can't sleep with the noise."
To his credit, he didn't hesitate to offer me another room. It was less than ideal, given that I had to move all my stuff. But I knew it was the best thing. Nevertheless he seemed reluctant to let me have both keys at once, until I pointed out that I needed them both while moving my things.
When I went back to my room, I could still hear the thumping. It irked me that he had implied that I was imagining the problem. I was still curious about what the hell was going on. So I went back downstairs and put my ear to the door. I could hear the thumping loud and clear.
The proprietor had seen me come downstairs again. He followed me to the laundry and opened the door, showing me the laundry room with the machines still and silent.
"See," he said, as if to prove his point. Yet even as he showed me the quiet machines, the thumping noise was echoing through the room.
"But don't you hear the noise!?" I asked in frustration.
"Yes," he said. "But it's not the laundry. It's coming from in there." He pointed to a side room. "That's the water heater in there."
It was as if he was implying that because it wasn't the laundry machines, then it was OK. It wasn't his fault. In fact, he claimed he didn't know what was making the noise. "It's not the water heater. Maybe it's a fan," he said, as if the whole thing were a non-issue.
I couldn't believe his attitude. It was the kind of thing you see people venting their frustrations about, when they complain in online reviews about bad management. All he would have had to do to placate me was to say, 'Oh yes, that's terrible. It should be fixed." But his attitude was that someone it wasn't his problem, even though it was his motel.
I threw in the towel, realizing there was no point to the whole drama anymore. I went back upstairs and shifted my belongings down the hall. After I did my usual final room sweep of the old room, I went back downstairs and rang the bell one more time, not caring if I woke him again. I was determined to return the old key before going to bed, lest he claim I had used two rooms. It was the kind of outrageous thing I might have expected that I wanted to avoid.
Thankfully The new room was quiet and I slept well.
I wondered if I was the first person to complain about the noise. Sometimes I just don't get how the world works.
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