Post by roman on Jan 9, 2015 14:24:37 GMT -6
We started for Florida on Tuesday, but had to return home because the blowing snow reduced visibility to around fifty feet. The following morning, after a second plow of our hill, we finally got on the road ending up at a motel in Louisville, Ky. Our smoke alarm started screaming at us in the middle of the night. Like most normal males, I whacked it a couple of times. Like most normal females, my wife thought that we should leave the room. Concerned that the irritating scream from the alarm must be driving our dog crazy, I agreed to check out the problem. I stuck my head out the door and heard a cacophony of alarms from the other rooms. I then spied several fire engines. As a former history teacher, thoughts of the Iroquois Theatre fire, the Cocoanut Grove fire and the Triangle Shirt Waste Factory fire came to mind.
Slapping my head, I thought “"Mother of mercy, is this the end of Rico?" I quickly realized that my name was not Rico, and I still had a chance. I then realized that we were on the ground floor near our car and could easily avoid the imminent fire storm. We threw on our coats to ward off the 28 degree weather and stood gawking at the building with a hundred or so of the other guests. There were no bursts of flames and no loud explosions. In fact, other than a few smokers among the gawkers, we never saw any fire. When I returned to our room, I received a call from the Indian manning the front desk. He informed me that everyone had to pack up and leave the motel. He added that we would not be charged for the half-night. We were thus faced with a dilemma: what does one in Louisville at 3:00 am? I was reasonably sure that the Muhammad Ali Museum was closed.
We decided to plunge into the night and continue our journey. When we reached Murfreeboro, we discovered that the only motel in town which would take dogs was a misnamed place called Motel 6. The last time I stayed in a Motel 6, it cost six bucks. In addition to the huge escalation in price, I was concerned about our dog. Many motels which allow dogs have an ankle-biter size requirement; “under 20 pounds” is a common requirement. When the Indian womaning the desk asked how big a dog we had, I replied that she was “around 50 pounds.” Her response was “that a big dog.” I explained that she was a gentle Golden and was still traumatized by the near inferno. That lie, coupled with my unshaven face and bloodshot eyes, convinced her to let us check in at 11:00 am.
Large steaks are the plan for dinner.