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.

Pardon me, honey, but isn't he nekkid?

So this was our first trip to Alaska - 1997 or something like that. I had booked the entire trip online - B&Bs, the car, flights, everything. I was especially excited that we were staying in B&Bs the whole trip, I found that appealing (before the fact).

We were driving around outside of Homer, completely drop-jaw awe struck by every beautiful, different thing we saw. Moose were abundant that year and I was cataloging every moose sighting on video.

So we were on this long relatively deserted road, looking for moose and heading, roughly, in the direction of our B&B to call it an evening. Scanning the horizon I saw what I at first, and occasionally since, believed to be a grizzly bear. Not very tall, actually, which surprised me, but very hairy. Then I noticed it was wearing a hat. And boots. And a backpack. And nothing else.

Being the consummate vacation-sight cataloger, up came the video camera. "Slow down, slow down" I begged, "They'll never believed this!"Angela is imploring me to please please put the camera down. What if he doesn't want to be on video. What if he is crazy and has a gun. I figured crazy was a foregone conclusion, but, hey, it's not like he has a pocket for a gun. Besides, if you're outside buck nekkid, your image is up for grabs. Some things are worth the risk.

So we drove by, I chronicled the sight, we talked about it all the way back to the B&B and that's where the fun began.

Booking B&Bs online can be tricky. You typically get a good feel for the establishment, but not always for the proprietors. These proprietors were extremely religious. Which is fine, usually, unless you're a couple of gay chicks excited about a nekkid guy/local crazy. When we first got to the place, earlier that day, it was obvious the male of the couple was uncomfortable with us. I know for a fact he had a discussion with his wife, presumably about refunding us our charge and asking us to move on. But the wife must have said something to the effect of "get over it" because he reluctantly welcomed us to their home. We put it behind us relatively quickly - we're on vacation, after all, and if someone is uncomfortable with us, that's their problem.

But now we're back from our trek and Angela, being a demonstrative Cuban big on hand gestures, launches into the description of our nekkid guy the very second Mr. Religious asks how our drive was."We saw a nekkid guy hiking! He was about this tall (gesture) and he had on a hat and hiking boots and a backpack and otherwise he was totally nekkid. His (gesture, gesture) were hanging out but his butt crack (gesture, point) was the first thing we saw. We thought maybe for some strange reason he had on a g-string (gesture) but nope, he was nekkid - everything (gesture, point) was hanging out."

Mr. Religious is trying mightily to contain himself but he is beet read and desperate for a phone to ring or something to get him politely away from Ang.

I couldn't help it - I was hysterical. I knew from the second Angela started talking that she was thinking only about our Grisley Adams, not the fact that she was speaking to Mr. Holy Roller. Every gesture and point compounded his discomfort and it was so funny!

Anyway - we get home and I show everyone the video of our vacation. The comments from the peanut gallery were something like, "ohhh moose, ohhh mountains, ohhh dahl sheep, ohhh moose, DIOS MIO!, ohhh moose... "

Going down is the easy part ...

The Grand Canyon is a sight to behold. And a bitch to climb out of.

It all started one beautiful May day on the banks of the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, Arizona. Angela and I and a bunch of people we didn't know and didn't get to know, piled onboard a giant raft contraption for a three day two night river trip down to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon with an outfitter. And honestly, though the river wasn't as powerfully wicked those particular days as we'd hoped it was still fun and beautiful and interesting. The guides gave an ongoing history, geography and wildlife lesson and we'd stop periodically to take hikes and visit points of interest. All and all a wonderful trip down a beautiful river.

Let me get back to the rafts - they are huge. I think we had about 19 people on our raft and a waterproof duffel for each person or pair and foodstuffs and a camp kitchen to boot. We'd stop at lunch and hike around while the crew made lunch and go back down to the river and eat and rest and swim if we were so inclined and then pack everything back on the raft and take off again. Later in the day, well before dark, we'd pull over and make camp for the night. The crew would cook up a bunch of protein and carbs and campfires would be built and the beer and other beverages would be enjoyed and eventually you'd sleep. Well, that is, unless you're obsessing incessantly about bugs ... and snakes ...

Camping in the Grand Canyon has an awful lot to offer, the very least of which is a grand perspective on life. Imaging laying back on the bank of the Colorado with bats and birds swooping around catching bugs, the colors of the Canyon subtly and wonderfully changing as the light of the day fades, and all of a sudden nature calls in another way.

Going Potty in the Grand Canon entails an intricate and highly evolved series of events and hardware. The toilet consists of a large ammo can with a toilet lid, aka The Duke. The toilet paper is left in a conspicuous spot a few dozen yards away from The Duke. In theory, as pottier #1 you will retrieve the toilet paper and proceed to The Duke. Pottier #2 will realize the paper is missing and assume that there is a pottier #1 on The Duke and stand out of the way and wait till pottier #1 brings the paper back. That was bearable - but extremely frightening after dark. For me anyway. A flashlight can only show you just so many of the numerous perils awaiting you on a trip through the brush and rocks and rattlesnakes and scorpions on the way to The Duke. But God help me, sometimes you just can't hold it till sun up.

Enough of that.Going to sleep was another issue altogether. We're back to the rattlesnakes and scorpions here. I was an extremely fearful person back then. Not quite afraid of my shadow, but close. I had a major ordeal to go through each night to ensure myself that I was duly protected from snakes and bugs even though I was lying on a mat with nothing above me but the stars. I would spend hours visualizing a snake and bug-proof barrier around me and, I guess, eventually fall asleep from simple exhaustion. I failed on those mostly sleepless nights to visualize a barricade for coyotes. I awoke one morning to find tracks leading past me, stopping at my head, and continuing down to the "kitchen." Oh well ...

At some point on the third day we came ashore and hiked to Phantom Ranch. Phantom Ranch is a very rustic place at the very bottom of the Grand Canyon where hikers and adventurers simply lay their head and grab some grub. We were going to spend one night down there and hike out of the Canyon the next day. You sleep in bunk beds dormitory style - one big room with rows of bunk beds. One building for the women, one for the men. One big mess hall to grab your dinner, and the next morning, have a hearty breakfast and pick up a bagged lunch and hit the trail. For dinner you have a choice of two entrees - stew or steak. For breakfast, I can't remember ... I didn't sleep well and was really tired.

See, it's even more pitch black in the dorm than by the river. There is a roof blocking your star light and did I mention that the dark was one of the things I was afraid of? Plus, I snore - always have - and I was very conscious of not keeping our dorm-mates awake with my snoring. And I was also quite cognizant of the ever-present scorpions. An awful lot to worry about, let me tell you.

Enough of that. Day four - we awaken, albeit somewhat groggily, to a fresh and cool morning, grab breakfast and our packed lunch (a sandwich and an apple) and fill up our water bottles and hit the trail.You have two basic popular choices for hiking into or out of the Grand Canyon: Kaibab Trail or Bright Angel Trail. We chose Bright Angel Trail (a milder hike compared to the other trail) and headed up and out of the Grand Canyon. 9.8 miles of switchbacks and a mostly very gradual incline up to the SouthRim.

Ok - I don't know what possibly could have possessed me to think I could hike out of the Grand Canyon without a hell of a lot of drama and pain and exhaustion. I left the Ranch clean and fresh and looking human. I ended up many hours later with my clothes in tatters and covered in blood. Ah yes ... fond memories ...

It started nicely enough and, honestly, it is a sight to behold - the Canyon, the wildlife, other tourists hiking out with plastic sandles ... passing me ...

It is truly an adventure I'd undertake again, eventually, but this particular time was pure hell in a canyon. There are very few potty stops (one or two, I think) and just about as many watering spots. Water wasn't an issue this time (unlike during my Denali adventure). I had plenty of water. What I didn't have was energy, the sense to take advantage of the last potty stop or a change of clothes.

At some point, either I was goofing off or too tired to stand, I can't remember which, but I ended up shreading both legs of my jeans and getting dirt all over my clothes and face. I was a mess ... but that was nothing. We still had a few hours of hiking to do, well past the last potty station with no turning back - trust me on that - and yours truly entered "that time of month." God help me. Here I was tired, dirty, my hair looked like a tazmanian devil had nested in it, and now I was covered with blood.

Alright - we make it to the South Rim ... I, in relief, exhaustion and embarassment, start bawling my eyes out and make a dash for the visitor center ladies room. I'm staggering, I'm bleeding, I'm crying, I'm filthy and I bust through the ladies room door like a drunk, crazed canyon dweller who everyone suspected existed but hoped never to lay eyes on. And the place is packed to the gills with fresh clean ladies who just got off the tour bus to look over the edge of the rim so they could say they had done the Grand Canyon.Well let me tell you ... I cleared that place out in about 15 seconds flat. As the ladies decided "oh I can hold it" they fled the restroom like a flock of pigeons fleeing a cat and the door closed behind them on utterances of "don't go in there ... really ... you don't want to go in there."

I don't think I need to go into the gross details but after about 20 minutes of taking care of business and basically bathing in a tiny sink I was still tired and wearing dirty, tattered and bloody clothes, but I no longer cared. I had proven myself - I'd done what fewer than one percent of Grand Canyon visitors had done - and by God - I wanted a beer. So we marched proudly into the first restaurant we could find and settled in.It took slightly longer to clear that place out ...

A Denali National Park Adventure

So we were in Alaska, in Cantwell and decided to go to Denali National Park again. We’d been there twice before in previous years but what the heck, it’s a beautiful place so we went again.

We drove in to the park, drove as far as you’re allowed to drive then parked and set out for a hike. There is an extremely accessible loop hike around and over the Savage River, but we’d done that before and wanted something different … not too difficult but not too easy - so we stopped by the Ranger’s post to get suggestions. That very well may have been our first mistake.

Let me make this perfectly clear: we are not exactly triathlete material and we only had about a quart of water each. Nevertheless -Mr. Ranger set about explaining that if we headed up the first leg of the Savage River loop and instead of taking a right and going over the bridge, took a left and went up to the ridge, we’d see a nice easy hike down the other side of the mountain, through the valley and up the opposing mountain. He said when we got to that peak we’d see the Wonder Lake road and could just stroll down there and wait for a blue tourist bus to pick us up and take us back to the parking lot. Said it was an easy hike …

Yeah, right.

So we get to the bridge across the Savage River and look up to the left and, sure enough, see various people (quite a few, actually) standing/sitting/laying on the ridge watching a family of dall sheep who seemed to be, in turn, watching the tourist with some amusement. So up we hiked and once we got to the ridge we realized we had done this walk before and had actually gone a little bit into the valley. We figured we were up for an adventure - after all, we had two quarts of water between us and brand new hiking shoes to boot! We’d do the whole hike. Piece of cake …

At the risk of repeating myself … yeah, right.

So we’re walking - walking - walking - it’s a beautiful day, we’d see people ahead of us or down by the river here and there … at first. At least the trail is obvious and relatively clear - lots of boulders to shimmy over but that’s the fun part anyway.

At one point, we came across this dall sheep coming toward us on the trail. It was a stand-off. He decided he wasn’t going to move and wasn’t going to let us by. Trust me, we tried to reason with him but he chose to ignore us and graze and pee and generally be rude and non-responsive. This is important. We spent about 15 to 20 minutes on this outcrop trying to stay out of his way so he’d go on about his business. It felt like home away from home almost. I took pictures of the boy-o, admired the landscape below us and waited. Finally Angela decided she’d had enough and boldly strode toward Mr. Sheep who played chicken with her for a split second then jumped out of the way and stuck his tongue out at us. Really!

So off we go … hiking down into and through the valley for a couple, three more hours. Then something went terribly wrong. We had been walking for a while, the trail was getting thicker with brush, there was no one around but us … but we still thought we could make it. But then the trail eventually got so congested with brush and boulders that we finally realize we, at some point, had actually lost the trail.

Long story short (that means I don’t tell you about the roughly two dozen temper tantrums and panic attacks) - we end up down by the river; at times in the river, literally walking back and forth for a good half mile stretch looking for anything remotely resembling a path to civilization. We’re exhausted, the water is gone, it has gotten so damn hot, and of course the cell phone has no signal down there. I was ready to call for a helicopter to pick us up - I didn’t think I could walk any more. But so much for that idea.

Now - remember what I said was important? We walked along the river and got to a point where we were directly under the outcrop where we’d had our close encounter of the dall kind. Notice I said “under” … about 600 feet under. The only way to get up to familiar territory was straight up the mountain side. Think of it as rock climbing at the gym, but without a rope and with further to fall … onto the boulders … into the water.

Have I mentioned we’ve never rock climbed before? Sigh …

There is no other choice. The water is gone. We can’t exactly stay there - it’s been close to five hours at this point and we’re hungry and thirsty. So up we go. Straight up. I’d never in a million years imagined myself climbing, clawing, pulling myself straight up a mountain side. I had to step really high to get a foot-hold and get a death clutch on each hand full of tundra to hold on to and with every foot of progress I found myself alternately laughing with joy and crying with frustration … so far to go! And I was scared. I must have said the Lord’s Prayer about 50 times. Angela, in the mean time, has made her way up and is cheering me on. I claw and push and pull and finally I get over the edge and onto the path where Mr. Sheep had taunted us and fall onto my back sobbing and gasping for air and giving thanks and uttering curses all at the same time.

My hiking buddy is on her way … I yelled at her to offer the first people she saw 10 bucks for any water they had.

Finally, back at the little bridge, on the other side, I find her with a couple of lounging tourist, regaling them with the story of our adventure. I barely make it to them and collapse again uttering “need water … have money.” But these were kind folks - they gladly gave us all the water they had and boy, was I thankful for that! But we still had a hike to do to get back to the car. So off Angela goes and I trudge and stumble way behind her. I was so exhausted I had to just sit on the trail a couple times and rest. But I’d get up and trudge on and eventually I saw the cars and started a brand new prayer … “come back with water … come back with water … come back with water” … I was trying every visualization trick I knew to will Angela to head back my way with water. At least she met me at the trail head which was better than nothing.

So we survived. We went back to Cantwell, had dinner and went to bed by 7 pm sore and tired. I surprised myself, I must say. That isn’t the first time … I’ll have to tell you about my Grand Canyon Hiking Adventure. Now THAT was a trip …I

think I’d like to try rappelling next … on purpose, though.

Beaver Damn!

Beaver Dam, North Carolina isn't on most maps. You pretty much have to be already lost to find it. It's a small community up in the mountains on the "other" side of the Hiwassee Dam. Hiwassee Dam is a dam. Beaver Dam doesn't actually even have one. But that's neither here nor there.

We have 5 acres and a trailer in Beaver Dam, NC - we bought the property to use as a retirement place. We were looking for land and this was perfect and came with a bonus ... a very old but still ok mobile home.

The mobile home is basically alright - rain doesn't get in, no holes in the roof, it has a door ...... and mice ...

You only hear them at night. During the day there is plenty of nice mountain noise to mask their devious scuttling in and about the trailer ... they know this. They use the daytime white noise to get into place and practice their nocturnal choreography.

And then, at night, I'm tired from working and playing and hiking and I'm so sure I'll just crash the second my head hits the pillow ... I turn off the light ... and that's their cue.

March!March!March! - the little buggers must wear Army Boots to stomp up and down inside my bedroom walls! In sleepless delirium I can almost imagine them, in unison, like a cadence, singing "Up and down these walls we go ..."

And it doesn't stop. I throw myself at the wall, fists flailing and bang on the paneling and scream STOP IT! They do. For a moment. Then, before they start marching again, I'm sure that sound I hear is a mousy snicker.

So I come back from vacation exhausted and bleary with red eyes underscored by dark bags ... snarly and obsessing about mice in the trailer. And glad to be home ... in Central Florida - home of "The Mouse."