Hotel Hell, Alaska

In my defense, the picture on the website made it look nice. That was my downfall - it was cheap and it looked decent so I called for a reservation. THAT was when I should have gotten my first clue.

When you're traveling (by car - not RV) through a big, spread-out place like Alaska, you pretty much need to schedule your stops and have reservations ahead of time. We had decided we wanted to drive from Cantwell across the infamous Denali Highway (Highway 8) - which would be a full day's drive with berry picking, photo taking and bird watching mixed in (that's another story) and we knew we'd want to stop at the end and stay in an inn.

The town at the other end of Highway 8 is Paxton. On the internet I came across an inn in Paxton and called. Their rates were good and the lady I spoke to was pretty much normal. So done deal - I tell Ang and we discuss our potential itinerary and decide it might be neat to stay in that area an extra day. So I call back to extend our stay. Someone way less normal answered this time. The conversation went something like this:
Her - Hello (said as though through a strong barbituate haze)
Me - Hi - I just called a few minutes ago for a reservation, my name is Lynn ...
Her - (silence)
Me - Yeah - well, I think I want to add a night to my stay
Her - (prolonged silence)
Me - This is the hotel, right?
Her - Yeah
Me - Well? Can you put me down for another night?
Her - Whatever. We'll deal with it later. There's lots of rooms.
Me - Ok. Well. Ok. Thanks.

So - weeks pass - we're on our vacation - have spent a nice couple days with my friend Sue in Ninilchik, have gotten lost in Denali National Park (see my post - A Denali National Park Adventure), and have spent the last several hours on Highway 8 driving and exploring. We're ready to stop, take a nice shower, have a nice supper and go lay down.

We enter Paxton - it's small and very smoky - hundreds of thousands of acres of Alaska was burning and we were relatively close to that sad action so the smoke was really bad.

First we see a cute little inn and are all excited ... till we see the sign. The cute little sign at the cute little inn doesn't carry the name we're looking for. But within a stones throw of the cute little inn we see this huge, ugly, claptrap of a building. It does, sadly, display the name we're looking for. We pull over there, I get out (Angela is sure there must be a terrible mistake - she won't leave the car) and go in and try to find someone to confirm that a) I'm in the right place and b) there has been no terrible mistake.

The office is in what would be a bar in a normal place. But there will be no serving of alcohol in this Godly establishment (did I mention that the old ugly claptrap of a building had a brand spanking new chapel in the parking lot?) The odd thing was, though there was no booze, everyone looked and acted drunk. I mulled that over way too long, I fear. The lady I originally spoke to, apparently the mother of the zombie, checks me in. That whole scenario was weird and invoked images from Dawn of the Dead but once again I ignored common sense and signed the receipt and went out to get Ang and our bags. She's still hesitant at this point to leave the car but I convince her we can stand it for one night. It won't be so bad.

I was wrong.

To get up the rickety stairway you have to go past what was once a proper bar with the requisite neon signs and everything. But it was locked up with chains and padlocks and undoubtedly prayers for the destruction of anyone who would dare to look wistfully upon the place. That was odd. The stairs were odd. The room was odd. I had a sheen of smoke and sweat on me and yet, walking into our room I felt even dirtier. At a glance things might seem just a little off kilter. But then you notice a) the windows don't shut b) there are holes in the screens c) the sheets may or may not be clean and certainly didn't match d) if anyone has vacuumed in the last few months, they neglected for many years to change the bag e) you wouldn't want to use the towels and f) you really wouldn't want to take a shower.

Except that I really did want to take a shower. How can you screw up a shower.

God help me. I can't even go there - it was too horrible.

We take a little drive over to the cute little inn and beg the innkeep for a room. We'd take a broom closet, we tell him, we'll sleep in the kitchen. We'll pay you double. You must have checked into the "Bates Motel" he says with a grin. But alas, there is no room - he's booked solid and the smoke is so bad that all his birdwatching tours are cancelled and there is nothing for us to do but risk dying from smoke inhalation or go back to our room. We actually tossed a coin. We decide the only thing to do is try to go to sleep and leave as soon as we wake up.

Angela won't take a shower (can't blame her) and won't even remove her clothes to lay down. We do pull the spread down because we fear it more than we fear the sheets. We lay down, expecting to be bible thumped at any moment - or attacked by rightous dust bunnies - and close our eyes. Eons pass and finally I guess we went to sleep because we awaken to the same smokey view and absolutely no birds singing and no sound of happy coffee-filled people downstairs but indeed feeling a tiny bit rested.

Time to go. Post haste. I don't think I've ever cleared out of a place so fast. We hit the road, head to Valdez, and eventually are able to laugh about Hotel Hell. But I'm not allowed to make hotel reservations any more.