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6:32 P.M. - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005 The drive was uneventful if you dismiss the tunnel being closed due to a fire. We spent our first night in a dingy hotel that taking a shower was not an option. Once the fire trucks came and assessed the damage to the first tunnel it was dark and we were redirected back the way we had come. Not wanting to drive back to the last large town we opted on a small exit. We were concerned about the 10 miles of vehicles behind us in the great race to find bed and rest. We paid sight unseen for the first room we found. Had my mind not been on our destination I might have decided driving across the mountains in the middle of the night on a two lane road was a better idea than to sleep in that disgusting place. The owners, God love them, didn't mind gouging us an outrageous price. Knowing the turn pike was closed those folks saw dollar signs spinning in their heads while they were aware we were miles from a suitable place to rest. The closest restaurant was a tiny little bar that served food. The line of pick up trucks parked in a striking roll seemed to fall right in place with the sounds coming from the bar. I do have a liking for county music. The blue jeaned waitress was the highlight of the night of disaster. She again reminded us that many of the people we meet are wingless angels. All fears of what if the turnpike didn't open were dashed as she carefully wrote directions on a single napkin showing us a way across the mountain. The food we ordered was homemade, tasted wonderful, and at a reasonable price. Going back to the dump hotel didn't feel so somber knowing we would make the drive in the morning and for the first time in years we would cast our eyes on a loved one. No alarm clock there to awake us, no coffee to call off the night. A fitful night in a strange overprice trap, I felt like they laid in wait for disaster to fall upon the pike and send unsuspecting travelers into their clutches. I felt the true meaning to the roach motel but lucky we were able to check out, eyes sleep deprived and our bodies stiff from the iron clad beds. We escaped as the sun began to rise, found the turnpike open and the trail of travelers fleeing from the little town right out of a Steven King Novel. I suspect many took their chances and rested within their trucks. I would place my bet they felt more revived than us who had already traveled over a thousand miles only to find refuge in a place not fit for humans.
Sandyz
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