Night of the Living Dead

So...where was I? Oh yeah, headed out of Pittsburgh and towards a rainstorm.

We don't generally travel on the bike at night. Especially on the Interstate. Traveling east from Pittsburgh, and smelling the rain coming, we consulted the GPS for the nearest reputable motel. Judging from what the Garmin had to say about our position, and what Google weather said was headed our way, we weren't gonna make it. Everyone knows that the storms this summer have been horrible and this one prominsed to live up to that reputation.

Next best scenario for us was to find somewhere to ride out the rain, preferably under cover from the storm. We took the next exit that looked like it contained some form of human life and hoped for the best. Lo and behold, we spotted a sign for a "motel", and Sweet Baby Jesus I use that term in the loosest way possible.

Dear readers, I have been known to exaggerate in the past. (Shocking, I know) I can embellish and pretty up a story with the best of them. But, my darlings, but...I could not make this up. Not even close.

It was called Motel 3. As in half as good as a Motel 6, I presume. But it seemed to be the only thing for many miles, so we took our chances and stopped at the office, almost praying that there were no vacancies so that we would be forced to sleep under a bush or in some hillbilly's barn.

There was a vacancy and this is the point is the story where I get to warn you all. Ask for a look at the rooms if there is any doubt in your minds. We were foolish, dear readers, and forged ahead into the unknown. After being asked TWICE if we wanted the room for the "whole" night (shoulda been a clue to the type of place we were renting) we assured the front desk "clerk" that yes, we did indeed want the room for the "whole" night. 'Cause we're indulgent and on vacation. Ha!

In retrospect, this place seemed to be a landing ground for contract and day-laborers. Or hookers. Sometimes it's hard to distinguish. We parked the bike so close to the door that no one could enter but us, took our things inside, and promptly proceeded to freak the hell out.

My writing skills are sketchy at best, so let me woo you with pictures to accompany my words.





Note the fine draperies and fine imitation wood paneling.




No Gideon's Bible here. Or a phone book to call for help. But the busted smoke detector was a nice touch.






High quality electronics and furnishings make this place ultra-homey.






Thanks for the warning, creepy desk-clerk lady.




I saved the best for last, of course. Lord, give me strength to post these without the nightmares starting again.









Yeah, I think I'll just hold it. Or pee my pants. Either is preferable to this.







And the piece d' resistance....












Please, I beg you, don't tell my mother I stayed here. I just couldn't take the lecture on top of the nightmares. I foresee my therapy bill going up in the near future.




I promised that we didn't sleep a wink, and remained fully clothed all night. We were up before first light and took off outta there like our asses were on fire. So that's how we escaped western Pennsylvania without becoming dead, infected, or sex workers. All future rooms for the vacation were clean, furnished and did not contain chalk outlines of past residents on the carpet. We now prefer our motels to have at least three stars, not three STD's. ***Please remember, there was a storm a'comin, so WE HAD NO CHOICE.***











Stay tuned for tomorrow, when The Man gets to see where his baby was born.