When I first arrived in Fresno a couple months ago, after having been away for a year, I told my friends there (both of whom are natives) about my impressions of the state upon my return.
"It feels like everything is falling apart here," I said. "Everything feels dysfunctional."
"Every interaction I've had here with people in public seems somehow off. It's as if miscommunication is built into every exchange between strangers here."
They knew what I was talking about. In a way it is the opposite of New York City. Years ago when I was living there, I wrote a blog post (on a now-defunct blog) about how New York reminded me of the Bob Dylan song "Everything is Broken."
By that I meant to imply that the physical structure of New York, and the systems of the real, physical world, seemed to antiquated, half-functioning, and falling apart. Yet society still continued to operate. The subways kept running. The cars kept moving on the highways. And moreover, the social fabric of New York seemed remarkably intact despite all this.
In California, it feels like just the opposite. On the surface, the physical systems seem just fine. The cities look very nice, much better than even a couple decades ago, and the suburbs are miraculous. Yet the social fabric seemed to be in advanced decay.
In New York, there was a feeling of social cohesion, that "we are all in this together." In California, despite the surface beauty, I can't escape a feeling that everyone here knows that it is dog-eat-dog, that it is everyone for himself or herself.
Part of it is is perhaps that this is the West Coast, and everyone here is "experimenting on themselves," as a friend of mine said who once lived in Los Angeles.
Or as my friend in Fresno said, who grew up on the East Coast, "It's like the establishment in New York and Washington D.C. is so far away and don't care about us. We're sitting in the back of the class throwing spit balls at each other."
But that doesn't explain it all. In the almost thirty years that I've been coming year, it feels as if this trend has been accelerating.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The Long Trip to California
Today marks exactly three months that I have been in California. My journeys here have taken me over much of the state, from Lake Tahoe and along the east side of the Sierra, to the high desert, the Central Valley, the Bay Area, the Central Coast, the North Coast, and now to where I am, along the beach just north of Los Angeles (more on that in another post).
It's by far the longest amount of time I've ever spent in this state, and (excepting Colorado) the longest continuous stretch outside any state since the half year I spent in Massachusetts in 2008-2009 (and even then I made regular trips to New Hampshire).
I would claim that I've begun to feel like a resident here, but I don't feel that way at all, mainly because I've been on the move the entire time, and have stayed in one place no longer than 9-10 days at a time (which is actually how long I've been in my current locale).
I've come to call this phase of my travels "The Long Trip to California" as per title. It goes with "The Loop" that I made earlier this year through through the eastern and central parts of the U.S.A.
The last three months here have been among the most interesting, inspiring, invigorating, and downright fun experiences of my entire life. I've been extremely fortunate during almost every phase of this, especially in the people I've met, both old dear friends and brand new ones.
It is probably the biggest reason that I travel---to meet people, to force myself to meet people perhaps, and I have not been let down at all. I am extremely grateful for this, most especially to those who have hosted in me in various places along the way, in particular Fresno, Arroyo Grande, Oakland, and Berkeley.
I suppose it is worth recording some of my overall impressions of the state at this point. But I'll probably do that in the next post.
For now I'm just going to relax in this very comfortable motel bed and watch some old television episodes on Netflix. I've just started watching The Rockford Files, starting with the pilot episode from 1974. Maybe that gives you a clue about where I am right now.
It's by far the longest amount of time I've ever spent in this state, and (excepting Colorado) the longest continuous stretch outside any state since the half year I spent in Massachusetts in 2008-2009 (and even then I made regular trips to New Hampshire).
I would claim that I've begun to feel like a resident here, but I don't feel that way at all, mainly because I've been on the move the entire time, and have stayed in one place no longer than 9-10 days at a time (which is actually how long I've been in my current locale).
I've come to call this phase of my travels "The Long Trip to California" as per title. It goes with "The Loop" that I made earlier this year through through the eastern and central parts of the U.S.A.
The last three months here have been among the most interesting, inspiring, invigorating, and downright fun experiences of my entire life. I've been extremely fortunate during almost every phase of this, especially in the people I've met, both old dear friends and brand new ones.
It is probably the biggest reason that I travel---to meet people, to force myself to meet people perhaps, and I have not been let down at all. I am extremely grateful for this, most especially to those who have hosted in me in various places along the way, in particular Fresno, Arroyo Grande, Oakland, and Berkeley.
I suppose it is worth recording some of my overall impressions of the state at this point. But I'll probably do that in the next post.
For now I'm just going to relax in this very comfortable motel bed and watch some old television episodes on Netflix. I've just started watching The Rockford Files, starting with the pilot episode from 1974. Maybe that gives you a clue about where I am right now.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Getting My Way Like a Pro
After a spending a pleasant night in Redding, I sprinted south on I-5, barely stopping on my way south until I was in Fresno again. By this time, Fresno had begun to feel like my real "home base" in California.
Once there I resumed my habit of motel-hopping, in search of the perfect moderately-priced motel that has my favorite cable tv channel. Alas I kept striking out in the last area. So far I've come up completely goose eggs on that score in the Big F.
I decided to explore the discount motels that were situated along Highway 99 at the west end of Olive Avenue, which affords easy access to the nearby Tower District, which is where most of Frenso's hip nightlife happens, and where I spent many evenings last fall watching my friend on stage in an amateur production Stalag 17.
I first stayed a night there at the Rodeway Inn (a Choice Hotels flag), and then hopped across Route 99 to stay a night at the Knights Inn (a Wyndham flag).
Both rooms were passable and comfortable for the discount price. I had little complaint about, other than the fact that Wi-Fi was inaccessible in my room at the Knights Inn. Ironically I could pick up the wi-fi signals from the motels across Highway 99, including the Rodeway Inn where I had just stayed (unfortunately my access had expired).
I found this out within thirty seconds of checking into my room and immediately took my laptop outside into the parking lot, looking for a signal. Another guest walked by me, and upon seeing this said nonchalantly, "yeah, you have to be in the lobby to get the signal."
The way he said this had the tone of "you just have to accept this."
Well, I don't "just have to accept this." In fact this is completely unacceptable. Within twenty seconds I was back in the lobby raising a big stink about this, and frightening the young woman behind the desk with my threats to demand a refund.
"I'm a business traveler," I told her. "I work from the road and depend on having wi-fi in my room. It's as important to me as having hot running water."
My forceful complains provoked her to act. She suggested that the room on the second floor right next to the lobby might have a good signal. She reswiped my card key. I told her I would have to go check it out before I agreed to the room.
Fortunately the signal in the new room was fine. The young woman at the desk was quite relieved when I returned with a smile and said "so far, so good." The rest of my stay there passed without incident.
After this, however, I decided to add a new question when I'm checking in. How's your wi-fi signal? If they say it's OK, then I have extra authority in case it turns out I can't get a signal. I asked, after all?
Fortunately this has been the exception rather than the rule. Usually I have no problem with the wi-fi signal wherever I've stayed.
On this score, I can particularly recommend Motel 6. Perhaps because they are all corporate-owned and standardized, the wi-fi at Motel 6s has been quite reliable (even in Eureka, where I couldn't get NBC on the tube). It reminds me of Starbucks, which as incredibly reliable wi-fi across the country.
This makes paying the three bucks extra per night for wi-fi at Motel 6 quite acceptable. It's something I don't want to have to worry about. I just need it to work. And it does.
Thunderbird Lodge, Redding
The drive up to the coast to Eureka had been utterly spectacular. It was late October, and I knew I was pushing my luck for the weather, but I got lucky that weekend. Most of the daylight hours were sunny and bright. It afforded me some incredible views standing not the cliffs and looking out to see around Mendocino and Point Arenas.
Along the way, I began to wonder what I would after Eureka. I really didn't have any set plans after that. It occurred to me that if I wanted to, I could just keep driving up the west coast all the way to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, something I've never done.
The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me, although part of me kept saying to myself that this wasn't the right time to do that, and that I really wanted to stay longer in California before leaving.
As it happened, opportunity conspired to help me make up my mind, as it often does, in some beautiful way of coincidence.
In Eureka, my friend in Fresno texted me that he had been invited to spend a long weekend in Berkeley with someone that we had both met the month before in Arroyo Grande. Was I interested? Could I give him a ride?
It took me about ten seconds to decide, partly because I've learned that "surfing the opportunity" like this usually leads to good things happening.
So after Eureka, I ditched the "follow the coast" idea and headed inland, taking a long afternoon to wind through the rugged mountains to Redding, where I had booked a night at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown.
Redding is a town I like. I have pleasant memories of being there, from the old days of college, and also from the year before, when I landed my current job over the phone while walking around the parking lot of the downtown Starbucks there.
The Thunderbird Lodge is an independent motel--no "flag" (i.e. brand), as they say in the hospitality industry.
As this guy might say, I don't always stay in independent motels, but when I do, it is almost always because it has exceptionally good reviews online at Booking.com or some other site.
The Thunderbird Lodge didn't disappoint me. The rooms were very nice---roomy, modern, clean, and comfortable. All of this and very affordable as well. It's a very well run place. I recommend it if you ever find yourself in Redding and in need of lodging.
Of course, it still didn't have my favorite cable tv channel. But that's for a different post.
Along the way, I began to wonder what I would after Eureka. I really didn't have any set plans after that. It occurred to me that if I wanted to, I could just keep driving up the west coast all the way to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, something I've never done.
The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me, although part of me kept saying to myself that this wasn't the right time to do that, and that I really wanted to stay longer in California before leaving.
As it happened, opportunity conspired to help me make up my mind, as it often does, in some beautiful way of coincidence.
In Eureka, my friend in Fresno texted me that he had been invited to spend a long weekend in Berkeley with someone that we had both met the month before in Arroyo Grande. Was I interested? Could I give him a ride?
It took me about ten seconds to decide, partly because I've learned that "surfing the opportunity" like this usually leads to good things happening.
So after Eureka, I ditched the "follow the coast" idea and headed inland, taking a long afternoon to wind through the rugged mountains to Redding, where I had booked a night at the Thunderbird Lodge in downtown.
Redding is a town I like. I have pleasant memories of being there, from the old days of college, and also from the year before, when I landed my current job over the phone while walking around the parking lot of the downtown Starbucks there.
The Thunderbird Lodge is an independent motel--no "flag" (i.e. brand), as they say in the hospitality industry.
As this guy might say, I don't always stay in independent motels, but when I do, it is almost always because it has exceptionally good reviews online at Booking.com or some other site.
The Thunderbird Lodge didn't disappoint me. The rooms were very nice---roomy, modern, clean, and comfortable. All of this and very affordable as well. It's a very well run place. I recommend it if you ever find yourself in Redding and in need of lodging.
Of course, it still didn't have my favorite cable tv channel. But that's for a different post.
Eureka!
One of my favorite hobbies while traveling around the country is to visit various college towns, and take walking tour of college campuses, an atmosphere an environment where I feel quite at home. There are so many reasons for this, I'll have to write about it sometime, but for now we can just say that pretty girls make for a quite pleasant afternoon.
Last month when I was in Sonoma County, I naturally spent an afternoon walking around the campus of Sonoma State University in Rohnert Park. One of the things I noticed was that the dorm buildings were named after varieties of wine grown in the area. Zinfandel Hall, for example, was one of the names I saw, I think. It was so funny to see this that I had to text a friend of mine about it on the spot. I seriously doubt that they would name a dorm building after anything alcoholic these days.
A few days later, after I'd driven up the coast and was in Eureka, I texted to the same friend that I was going to tour Humboldt State University in nearby Arcata. Anyone in California knows that Humboldt County is the marijuana-growing capital of California, and possibly the entire world. I joked in the text that I expected to dorm buildings named after varieties of pot: Sativa Hall, anyone?
Turns out I wasn't too far off the mark. Right after the election, after Colorado and Washington had fully legalized marijuana, I noticed this article about how Humboldt State was opening an institute for the study of marijuana cultivation.
I had also joked via text, as I arriving in Eureka, that I expected to see pot smoke billowing from the motel room doors as I walked. As it happened, this exactly what I experienced at the Motel 6 I mentioned in the last post.
But the Giants had just won the World Series. I guess that makes it cool.
Last month when I was in Sonoma County, I naturally spent an afternoon walking around the campus of Sonoma State University in Rohnert Park. One of the things I noticed was that the dorm buildings were named after varieties of wine grown in the area. Zinfandel Hall, for example, was one of the names I saw, I think. It was so funny to see this that I had to text a friend of mine about it on the spot. I seriously doubt that they would name a dorm building after anything alcoholic these days.
A few days later, after I'd driven up the coast and was in Eureka, I texted to the same friend that I was going to tour Humboldt State University in nearby Arcata. Anyone in California knows that Humboldt County is the marijuana-growing capital of California, and possibly the entire world. I joked in the text that I expected to dorm buildings named after varieties of pot: Sativa Hall, anyone?
Turns out I wasn't too far off the mark. Right after the election, after Colorado and Washington had fully legalized marijuana, I noticed this article about how Humboldt State was opening an institute for the study of marijuana cultivation.
I had also joked via text, as I arriving in Eureka, that I expected to see pot smoke billowing from the motel room doors as I walked. As it happened, this exactly what I experienced at the Motel 6 I mentioned in the last post.
But the Giants had just won the World Series. I guess that makes it cool.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
The Downside of Motel 6
In my last post, gushing about Motel 6, I mentioned that there was a downside to the budget chain.
Perhaps you're going to expect me to say that it is the small size of the rooms in the typical Motel 6 (newer ones have much larger rooms), and that moreover one's bed is right up near the front window so that you can pretty much hear everything that is going on in the parking lot right outside.
This last fact in particular makes me feel like I'm roughing it when I stay at a Motel 6, that I'm not really "staying there" so much as "taking a break from the road," like I might be at a typical roadside campground in a national forest.
But as it happens I'm perfectly fine with both of these, as well as other disadvantages (having to pay three bucks a day for Wi-Fi, for example) because Motel 6 is often so cheap compared to other motels in any given city. The warm feeling I get from paying, say, fifty bucks a night instead of ninety, often serves as a nice balm that allows me to put up with a lot of "hardship," provided of course that the place has a clean bathroom, clean linens, working heat/ac, a working television, working door locks, and is free of any infestations (most important of all).
So far my experience with Motel 6 has been pretty good on all of these counts. I've gone from spurning Motel 6 as inferior to embracing it as a regular part of my lodging choices, one I happily call upon in major metropolitan areas where the hotel prices are higher than average.
So why don't I stay at Motel 6es all the time? First off, the small size of the rooms and the proximity to the outside really does begin to wear upon one after a while. It begins to feel like a small college dorm room, albeit a nice one with its own bathroom and cable television.
Motel 6 serves poorly as a retreat from the world, where I can relax and be in my own space for a couple days on end, which is exactly what I want some time.
More importantly, however, there is the concept of consistency of quality. Many Motel 6es are quite nice, especially the latest round of them, which have hardwood floors and large rooms and large showers.
The problem is that you can't count on this, unless you've already stayed there and know the place. Even then you might wind up with a bad room, bad television, noisy neighbors, etc.
For example, I was recently in Eureka, California after driving up the California coast from Sonoma County, and had just finishing camping near Mendocino. I wanted simply to relax inside my room, so as I was driving in Eureka, I used the excellent Motel 6 Android app to book a room in the Motel 6 on the south edge of town. It took only about thirty seconds. I barely had to break stride.
When I got into town and saw the Motel 6, I realized that the Motel 6 was not among the best of the chain's installation. It felt rather shabby and a bit decrepit. The front desk manager seemed rather listless and clueless.
In my room, one of the standard Motel 6 chairs was so wobbly that I thought it would break when I sat down on it.
It was a Sunday night, and I wanted to watch the football game on NBC. When I tried to turn on the television with the basic remote nothing happened (a common issue in budget motels). I pushed the button on the tv and it came to life, but the remote still didn't do anything. I checked inside: no batteries. I knew I could complain, but I figured it would be easier just to use my own batteries from my camping stash.
Then when I turned to the NBC channel, I was greeted by a message saying the channel was temporarily unavailable due to a satellite error (all Motel 6es use a common cable package).
I called the front desk and asked about this. The receptionist said they were unaware of this problem but would check with maintenance. They called back after ten minutes and told me that the channel had been offline at the motel "for a while."
I asked: "Does that mean it's been off for a couple hours or for a couple weeks?"
The answer: "several months."
I didn't even make a pretense of complaining. What could it possibly accomplish? The woman at the front desk hadn't even been aware of the problem! It was as if I were the first person to complain about it.
Moreover, I was only going to be there one night. By the morning I would be on the road again.
Thankfully it was the fourth game of the World Series that evening, so I cheerfully watched the working Fox channel and stood outside the room when the Giants finally won, so I could hear the cheers and whelps of joy coming from the other rooms.
Keep in mind that this experience is not typical of Motel 6 experience. But it illustrates that such situations are possible. You can simply chalk it up to that motel being a "bad example" of Motel 6. Yet the sheets were still clean and the bathroom was still quite acceptable. I slept well and was rested in the morning to continue driving.
But I would have been really disappointed if I had booked that room and expected to stay several nights in relaxing fashion. I would have been quite miserable if that had been the case.
That's why in October, when I decided to take a pleasure trip up the Sierras for my birthday, I booked the first night (the eve of my birthday) at a Hampton Inn in Visalia. It's not such much that I wanted all the amenities of a Hampton Inn (which sometimes make me feel like I'm overpaying for the basics), but rather that I wanted to have "no issues" that evening. I wanted to relax.
I know that at a Hampton Inn, they will make sure the channels are working on the television. If the remote doesn't have batteries, they will replace it right away with great apologies. I can count on these things, and if I don't get them, then it is a really big deal.
That's why I pay 110 bucks a night instead of 45. For that knowledge and assurance. Sometimes it's worth it.
Perhaps you're going to expect me to say that it is the small size of the rooms in the typical Motel 6 (newer ones have much larger rooms), and that moreover one's bed is right up near the front window so that you can pretty much hear everything that is going on in the parking lot right outside.
This last fact in particular makes me feel like I'm roughing it when I stay at a Motel 6, that I'm not really "staying there" so much as "taking a break from the road," like I might be at a typical roadside campground in a national forest.
But as it happens I'm perfectly fine with both of these, as well as other disadvantages (having to pay three bucks a day for Wi-Fi, for example) because Motel 6 is often so cheap compared to other motels in any given city. The warm feeling I get from paying, say, fifty bucks a night instead of ninety, often serves as a nice balm that allows me to put up with a lot of "hardship," provided of course that the place has a clean bathroom, clean linens, working heat/ac, a working television, working door locks, and is free of any infestations (most important of all).
So far my experience with Motel 6 has been pretty good on all of these counts. I've gone from spurning Motel 6 as inferior to embracing it as a regular part of my lodging choices, one I happily call upon in major metropolitan areas where the hotel prices are higher than average.
So why don't I stay at Motel 6es all the time? First off, the small size of the rooms and the proximity to the outside really does begin to wear upon one after a while. It begins to feel like a small college dorm room, albeit a nice one with its own bathroom and cable television.
Motel 6 serves poorly as a retreat from the world, where I can relax and be in my own space for a couple days on end, which is exactly what I want some time.
More importantly, however, there is the concept of consistency of quality. Many Motel 6es are quite nice, especially the latest round of them, which have hardwood floors and large rooms and large showers.
The problem is that you can't count on this, unless you've already stayed there and know the place. Even then you might wind up with a bad room, bad television, noisy neighbors, etc.
For example, I was recently in Eureka, California after driving up the California coast from Sonoma County, and had just finishing camping near Mendocino. I wanted simply to relax inside my room, so as I was driving in Eureka, I used the excellent Motel 6 Android app to book a room in the Motel 6 on the south edge of town. It took only about thirty seconds. I barely had to break stride.
When I got into town and saw the Motel 6, I realized that the Motel 6 was not among the best of the chain's installation. It felt rather shabby and a bit decrepit. The front desk manager seemed rather listless and clueless.
In my room, one of the standard Motel 6 chairs was so wobbly that I thought it would break when I sat down on it.
It was a Sunday night, and I wanted to watch the football game on NBC. When I tried to turn on the television with the basic remote nothing happened (a common issue in budget motels). I pushed the button on the tv and it came to life, but the remote still didn't do anything. I checked inside: no batteries. I knew I could complain, but I figured it would be easier just to use my own batteries from my camping stash.
Then when I turned to the NBC channel, I was greeted by a message saying the channel was temporarily unavailable due to a satellite error (all Motel 6es use a common cable package).
I called the front desk and asked about this. The receptionist said they were unaware of this problem but would check with maintenance. They called back after ten minutes and told me that the channel had been offline at the motel "for a while."
I asked: "Does that mean it's been off for a couple hours or for a couple weeks?"
The answer: "several months."
I didn't even make a pretense of complaining. What could it possibly accomplish? The woman at the front desk hadn't even been aware of the problem! It was as if I were the first person to complain about it.
Moreover, I was only going to be there one night. By the morning I would be on the road again.
Thankfully it was the fourth game of the World Series that evening, so I cheerfully watched the working Fox channel and stood outside the room when the Giants finally won, so I could hear the cheers and whelps of joy coming from the other rooms.
Keep in mind that this experience is not typical of Motel 6 experience. But it illustrates that such situations are possible. You can simply chalk it up to that motel being a "bad example" of Motel 6. Yet the sheets were still clean and the bathroom was still quite acceptable. I slept well and was rested in the morning to continue driving.
But I would have been really disappointed if I had booked that room and expected to stay several nights in relaxing fashion. I would have been quite miserable if that had been the case.
That's why in October, when I decided to take a pleasure trip up the Sierras for my birthday, I booked the first night (the eve of my birthday) at a Hampton Inn in Visalia. It's not such much that I wanted all the amenities of a Hampton Inn (which sometimes make me feel like I'm overpaying for the basics), but rather that I wanted to have "no issues" that evening. I wanted to relax.
I know that at a Hampton Inn, they will make sure the channels are working on the television. If the remote doesn't have batteries, they will replace it right away with great apologies. I can count on these things, and if I don't get them, then it is a really big deal.
That's why I pay 110 bucks a night instead of 45. For that knowledge and assurance. Sometimes it's worth it.
Monday, November 19, 2012
In Praise of Motel 6
The other day I was standing at the counter at the Tone Shop shooting the breeze with a few folks. The subject wandered onto motels, and I diverted for a moment into a spiel of why I like Motel 6.
The first thing people always bring up as "we'll leave the lights on for you" series of radio advertisements featuring Tom Bodette. It makes me laugh because as I tell them, after you've stayed a few times at a Motel 6, the persona reflected in those "lights on for you" commercials begins to dissolve into the reality of what Motel 6 actually is.
That is not to say that Motel 6 is bad. It's just that it's different than those commercials. But in a way they are accurate. They do indeed leave the lights on, in the reception area. There is someone on duty there 24 hours a day.
The key to understanding this feature of Motel 6, and the other features that make it such a good thing, is that Motel 6 has come the best of all the discount hotel chains at perfecting the hotel room as a commodity.
I compare Motel 6 corporation to another corporation I like: Starbucks. Everywhere I go around the country, each Starbucks is different yet they all share certain basic features, within a subset of variations. I can depend on these features being present whether I'm in Minot, N.D., or in Eureka, California, or in Corpus Christi, Texas (all places where I have actually worked in a Starbucks in the past half year).
Plus at a Starbucks it is easy to buy things. You just stand in line, give your order and swipe your card. It's the same everywhere.
Likewise at Motel 6, each reception is nearly identical The check-in procedure is simplified and standardized. One fills out the same basic form in whatever scrawl you feel like using. One shows an id. One pays by cash or by swiping a card at a terminal with a punch pad.
They hand you a key card in a paper envelope. You have to buy wi-fi, but it is cheap and it always seems to work (just like in Starbucks, by the way). They won't announce your room number outloud in the reception if there are other guests waiting behind you. They say, "the number is on the envelope" and point to it.
You get a standardized room. The furniture is the same everywhere. It is almost always clean to the standards that in raw material terms one is better off than 95% of the people of Africa. There are people in New Jersey who would love to be in a Motel 6 room right now, with hot running water and clean sheets.
Also they post their current basic rate (the real rate, not teasers) on the sign outside. And their Android app rocks.
All the Motel 6es, with a few exceptions, are owned by the Motel 6 corporation. This is why they are so standardized. The employees here and around the country are like Target or Starbucks employees in a way---they all work for the same corporation.
All this being said, there are drawbacks, of course. But I'll talk about them in another post. For now I'm going to finish watching the 49ers-Bears game on this television, under this pale lamp on the wall, and think of Africa.
See ya!
The first thing people always bring up as "we'll leave the lights on for you" series of radio advertisements featuring Tom Bodette. It makes me laugh because as I tell them, after you've stayed a few times at a Motel 6, the persona reflected in those "lights on for you" commercials begins to dissolve into the reality of what Motel 6 actually is.
That is not to say that Motel 6 is bad. It's just that it's different than those commercials. But in a way they are accurate. They do indeed leave the lights on, in the reception area. There is someone on duty there 24 hours a day.
The key to understanding this feature of Motel 6, and the other features that make it such a good thing, is that Motel 6 has come the best of all the discount hotel chains at perfecting the hotel room as a commodity.
I compare Motel 6 corporation to another corporation I like: Starbucks. Everywhere I go around the country, each Starbucks is different yet they all share certain basic features, within a subset of variations. I can depend on these features being present whether I'm in Minot, N.D., or in Eureka, California, or in Corpus Christi, Texas (all places where I have actually worked in a Starbucks in the past half year).
Plus at a Starbucks it is easy to buy things. You just stand in line, give your order and swipe your card. It's the same everywhere.
Likewise at Motel 6, each reception is nearly identical The check-in procedure is simplified and standardized. One fills out the same basic form in whatever scrawl you feel like using. One shows an id. One pays by cash or by swiping a card at a terminal with a punch pad.
They hand you a key card in a paper envelope. You have to buy wi-fi, but it is cheap and it always seems to work (just like in Starbucks, by the way). They won't announce your room number outloud in the reception if there are other guests waiting behind you. They say, "the number is on the envelope" and point to it.
You get a standardized room. The furniture is the same everywhere. It is almost always clean to the standards that in raw material terms one is better off than 95% of the people of Africa. There are people in New Jersey who would love to be in a Motel 6 room right now, with hot running water and clean sheets.
Also they post their current basic rate (the real rate, not teasers) on the sign outside. And their Android app rocks.
All the Motel 6es, with a few exceptions, are owned by the Motel 6 corporation. This is why they are so standardized. The employees here and around the country are like Target or Starbucks employees in a way---they all work for the same corporation.
All this being said, there are drawbacks, of course. But I'll talk about them in another post. For now I'm going to finish watching the 49ers-Bears game on this television, under this pale lamp on the wall, and think of Africa.
See ya!
Saturday, November 10, 2012
At the Fresno Inn
The Fresno Inn was a nice place to spend election night. I knew it was over quickly, once it was evidence that Obama was ahead in early counting in Florida, and texted a few of my friends saying that Romney was fizzling early. It reminded me of Dukakis in '88.
I went out a couple times, to my car in the parking lot, and at least once after the election results were announced. To get into my trunk I have to unmount the bicycle rack and the bike. When I went in for the night, I decided to leave the bike in its harness alongside the car. In the morning I noticed it was gone. I texted a friend that my bike had been looted.
But I should have expected it. Like many hotels in Fresno, and in much of California, there are clumps of homeless people visible at any time nearby. I wished the appropriator of my property goodwill in my mind, and hoped the bike was being put to good use by its new possessor.
The bed at the Fresno Inn was extraordinary---this is a hallmark of Best Western as a whole, I've noticed. I felt like I was getting a calf massage as I slept. There were five ample pillows fluffed like clouds each afternoon after I came back inside.
Eggs at breakfast---that's probably one of the reasons it's a Best Western Plus..
A great location too. It's along a major thoroughfare between campus and the freeway.
No complaints. But in a way it felt too much like an apartment, like I wanted to settle in and not leave. It made me thirst for the road experience again.
I went out a couple times, to my car in the parking lot, and at least once after the election results were announced. To get into my trunk I have to unmount the bicycle rack and the bike. When I went in for the night, I decided to leave the bike in its harness alongside the car. In the morning I noticed it was gone. I texted a friend that my bike had been looted.
But I should have expected it. Like many hotels in Fresno, and in much of California, there are clumps of homeless people visible at any time nearby. I wished the appropriator of my property goodwill in my mind, and hoped the bike was being put to good use by its new possessor.
The bed at the Fresno Inn was extraordinary---this is a hallmark of Best Western as a whole, I've noticed. I felt like I was getting a calf massage as I slept. There were five ample pillows fluffed like clouds each afternoon after I came back inside.
Eggs at breakfast---that's probably one of the reasons it's a Best Western Plus..
A great location too. It's along a major thoroughfare between campus and the freeway.
No complaints. But in a way it felt too much like an apartment, like I wanted to settle in and not leave. It made me thirst for the road experience again.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Marvelous Trip Through the East Bay
After I left Oakland, I went up to Berkeley and checked into the Rodeway Inn on University Avenue, which had really good reviews online, and was a good price. The rooms were renovated and the parking lot was a nice enclosed courtyard that was like a little oasis along that stretch of University.
Overall I was surprised at how much Berkeley seemed more prosperous than it had when I first saw it.
After a couple nights there, I decided to push my luck, and stay in Berkeley a third night. I booked what I thought was another nice hotel near campus, but later realized the one I booked was a different hotel with a similar name down on San Pablo, in lower Berkeley. When I drove by the hotel, I realized it wasn't my type of place, so I canceled the reservation online and hastily booked a replacement at the Super 8 in El Cerrito.
I drove up San Pablo through plain vanilla Albany, and then checked into the Super 8, which was right by the freeway. In the morning I drove up through Richmond, and to the splendid little town of Port Richmond. I fulfilled my trip goal of seeing the great Standard Oil refinery there.
Overall I was surprised at how much Berkeley seemed more prosperous than it had when I first saw it.
After a couple nights there, I decided to push my luck, and stay in Berkeley a third night. I booked what I thought was another nice hotel near campus, but later realized the one I booked was a different hotel with a similar name down on San Pablo, in lower Berkeley. When I drove by the hotel, I realized it wasn't my type of place, so I canceled the reservation online and hastily booked a replacement at the Super 8 in El Cerrito.
I drove up San Pablo through plain vanilla Albany, and then checked into the Super 8, which was right by the freeway. In the morning I drove up through Richmond, and to the splendid little town of Port Richmond. I fulfilled my trip goal of seeing the great Standard Oil refinery there.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
8 Flavors Cafe
The Native Returns
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
To Kelle Re: Don't Go
Well I did ask, didn't? But you knew I probably had already made up my mind. I guess I just wanted to say thanks again for this year's Omaha Peak Experience.
So what should I have expected except those bikini-clad women in the sandstorm screaming at me? Sometimes I like to go with the flow. Sometimes I like to defy the scary skulls planted along the roadside, telling me turn back, traveler, herein your doom. Doom, schmoom. It will get to all of us in the end.
Thought of you vividly at one moment, of great reward, on the last night I was there. After the fabulous Aspenites had trickled mostly away, leaving a rump camp, and the raves had died down, and the both the man and the temple had been burned, I took the opportunity to politely ditch my friends and headed out onto the "deep playa" on the other side of the temple.
The pure dark of the night was cut by the full moon over the barren mountains. I had no problem navigating on my bike across the flat playa, out into the darkness, towards the distant lights of the art exhibits that been erected out there, and the floating headlamps of the other riders in group or solitary.
It was like going from planet to planet, a galactic explorer, into the deep of both space and the mind at once.
I picked my way more deeply onto the playa. At the third exhibit, I think, I came upon a startling piece, my favorite of the show.
It was the Sephirot, standing about twelve feet high, held by wires anchored in the desert floor. It must have been painted in colors, perhaps, but in the starkness of the full moon, it was bleached black, white and gray in the stark shadows that the moon cast. It was otherwordly, as if I could not have distinguished between the reality and a DiChirico painting right in front of my me. All around was the dark flatness of the empty playa.
I lingered for a while, soaking it all up. Two or three other people came and went while I was there, then biked away into the darkness. Otherwise it was just me and the sculpture.
There were more fun things, out deeper in the playa. If I go back, I plan to spend a lot more time out there, right from the first day.
You should go, by the way.
So what should I have expected except those bikini-clad women in the sandstorm screaming at me? Sometimes I like to go with the flow. Sometimes I like to defy the scary skulls planted along the roadside, telling me turn back, traveler, herein your doom. Doom, schmoom. It will get to all of us in the end.
Thought of you vividly at one moment, of great reward, on the last night I was there. After the fabulous Aspenites had trickled mostly away, leaving a rump camp, and the raves had died down, and the both the man and the temple had been burned, I took the opportunity to politely ditch my friends and headed out onto the "deep playa" on the other side of the temple.
The pure dark of the night was cut by the full moon over the barren mountains. I had no problem navigating on my bike across the flat playa, out into the darkness, towards the distant lights of the art exhibits that been erected out there, and the floating headlamps of the other riders in group or solitary.
It was like going from planet to planet, a galactic explorer, into the deep of both space and the mind at once.
I picked my way more deeply onto the playa. At the third exhibit, I think, I came upon a startling piece, my favorite of the show.
It was the Sephirot, standing about twelve feet high, held by wires anchored in the desert floor. It must have been painted in colors, perhaps, but in the starkness of the full moon, it was bleached black, white and gray in the stark shadows that the moon cast. It was otherwordly, as if I could not have distinguished between the reality and a DiChirico painting right in front of my me. All around was the dark flatness of the empty playa.
I lingered for a while, soaking it all up. Two or three other people came and went while I was there, then biked away into the darkness. Otherwise it was just me and the sculpture.
There were more fun things, out deeper in the playa. If I go back, I plan to spend a lot more time out there, right from the first day.
You should go, by the way.
R.I.P. Ken
I think I finally got it, sitting on the beach at Point Reyes, the way to do zazen probably, on your knees. You have to be strong and straight in your torso, and in your feet. You have to bounce on your toes a bit for balance. At least that's what I discovered in the sand there. Can't believe you're gone.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Point Reyes National Seashore 10/21
California is a beautiful place. I've had the great fortune to have had my eyes opened to that, by locals here---Californios, to borrow an ancient phrase.
Along Tomales Bay, outside the oyster houses, cars were parked thickly, dozens side-by-side.
In Inverness I stopped for coffee mostly to take a peak inside the grocery. Then I drove up to the trailhead at Estero, figuring to finally sea that interesting body of water, but wound up approaching it instead from the trailhead at Bull Point, which leads right down to Creamery Bay---cow heaven. I crouched on a grassy clump of dry ground, almost at the waterline, and when I stood up a large flocks of birds took off from the water nearby.
In mid afternoon, I found North Beach, where the above picture was taken, as I walked along the shore, for over an hour. The only person I saw was right near the parking lot. Otherwise I was by myself the whole way below the small cliff.
After about a quarter of mile, one sees the first wooden sculpture. There were a few more as well. I fantasized that they might be continuously curated by anyone who passes by, and and who has the courage to alter the sculpture in some way. I thought about what I might add, then decided it was not any true artistic impulse, so I left the sculpture as it was.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
The Road to Burning Man MMXII (Part Four)
At the gate, and the dust still raging, I rolled down my window just long enough to the ticket Okki had given me in Boulder. The ticket itself ornate graphic with this year's theme: "Fertility 2.0."
The guy at the gate said you had to drive down another mile or so to the "Welcome Center" where I'd be given additional materials directed onward. I told him about my car, and if it be ok to pull over. He wasn't enthusiastic about it, but told me if I had to, it would ok.
The whole way down to the second gate, my eyes were half-glued on the temperature gauge and half looking all around me in the dust to make sure I wasn't about to hit anything, or that anything wasn't about to hit me. I had to pull over twice, off onto the playa, when I thought it might boil over again.
In the welcome gate, the wind was raging harder than ever. There were two women standing in my lane to greet me. They were wearing skimpy bikini outfits, with their faces covered with scarves and big yellow ski goggles. They looked like Venusian Amazon warriors.
Okki had said that "virgins" like me were supposed to get out at the gate, ring the bell next to it and scream "I AM NO LONGER A VIRGIN!!" I really wasn't looking forward to it, and fortunately in the raging storm, no such demand was presented to me by the women there.
Instead, after a few minutes, I was directed forward by one of the women, who motioned with her hand as she looked away from me. I started the car and moved forward through the gate and into the plaza. Just as I began moving, she turned to me and started screaming at me angrily at the top of her lungs, that I was moving too fast, and didn't I see that car in the plaza in front of me in the dust!?
This is going to be a long week, I thought to myself.
The guy at the gate said you had to drive down another mile or so to the "Welcome Center" where I'd be given additional materials directed onward. I told him about my car, and if it be ok to pull over. He wasn't enthusiastic about it, but told me if I had to, it would ok.
The whole way down to the second gate, my eyes were half-glued on the temperature gauge and half looking all around me in the dust to make sure I wasn't about to hit anything, or that anything wasn't about to hit me. I had to pull over twice, off onto the playa, when I thought it might boil over again.
In the welcome gate, the wind was raging harder than ever. There were two women standing in my lane to greet me. They were wearing skimpy bikini outfits, with their faces covered with scarves and big yellow ski goggles. They looked like Venusian Amazon warriors.
Okki had said that "virgins" like me were supposed to get out at the gate, ring the bell next to it and scream "I AM NO LONGER A VIRGIN!!" I really wasn't looking forward to it, and fortunately in the raging storm, no such demand was presented to me by the women there.
Instead, after a few minutes, I was directed forward by one of the women, who motioned with her hand as she looked away from me. I started the car and moved forward through the gate and into the plaza. Just as I began moving, she turned to me and started screaming at me angrily at the top of her lungs, that I was moving too fast, and didn't I see that car in the plaza in front of me in the dust!?
This is going to be a long week, I thought to myself.
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