The Problem With Adventure Is That Sometimes It Involves Cockroaches

Our last day at the beach, we stayed until late afternoon, finding sea glass, polishing off the cookies and staring at the surf.  Finally, we took Scott to the airport and turned eastward.  The drive from San Diego to St. George was blissfully uneventful, save for a much-anticipated pit stop at In-N-Out Burger.  Double Double, fries and chocolate shakes...the grand finale to a week of culinary debauchery.  Mile after mile, we sped along in our sun-drenched haze, watching a lavender-pink California evening turn to neon Nevada nighttime.  Aaahh...zen.

The adventure really started when we arrived at our hotel in St. George.  I had booked a suite online at the Coronada Inn.  (It looks OK, right??  I didn't read the reviews.)  We had big plans for the pool, hot tub, lounging in the two-room suite, getting ice from the ice machine, staking out parts of the room as our own.  We love a hotel.  We pulled up and Ari said, "This looks run down!"  I said, "Guys!  This is amazing!  This is just like those old-time motels where I always want to stay.  The motels where your door opens to the parking lot instead of a hall?  You know, like when I was little?  It's quaint."

You know what's not quaint?  Housekeepers who forget to clean out bathtubs.  My sleepy little troop filed into the hotel "suite," took one look around and came running back with stricken, wide-eyed faces.  There was a sitting area and a kitchenette.  The kind that reeks of long-term motel tenants and failed second chances. Crumbs on the table.  Someone had painted one wall a garish burnt sienna, which is why, I'm guessing, the sign out front boasted "New Rooms." The sad little room was so awful that I had to complain.  When the front desk guy led us into our replacement room, cockroaches scattered.  One of the kids shouted, "Mom!  There are bugs in here!"  When the guy asked where, each child pointed in a different direction.  A cockroach for each kid!  That wasn't on the website.  Then the guy said, "Huh.  I haven't seen a cockroach in here for at least six weeks."

Oh.  My.  @%*$.

My options were to stay or to keep driving, which would have resulted in extreme fatigue about a hundred miles from home.  Too dangerous.  I looked at Ruby and said with a hint of humor, "Ruby, do you want the cockroach room or the dirty bathtub room?"  We went back to the first room, removed the blankets from the beds and brought our own blankets from the car to put over the sheets.  We didn't take off our shoes or our clothes, didn't use the bathroom.  We had three beds so me, Freestone, Tziporah and half of Ruby shared one of them.  (Ruby's other half hung over the edge.) Ptolemy and Ari shared another one and Ptolemy had the time of his life, oblivious to the grime and thrilled to be on an adventure.  As we all settled in, Golda asked, "Aren't we going to turn off the lights?"

I replied, "No.  We're going to pretend we're at the beach and the sun is shining really bright and we're basking in the sun."

"Why?"

"Because the cockroaches won't come out if the lights are on."

Staring at the asbestos-coated ceiling, Golda moaned, "This is what Heavenly Father is going to do to me if I have to go to Heck."  Someone piped up and added, "And Coco will be there too if she's bad, because she hates depressing hotels."  I said, "Let's never tell Coco about this.  OK?"

With that, we all fell asleep, wrapped in our own blankets, with our shoes on, under fluorescent lighting.  My darling kids, nobody complained.   Some wanted to burst into tears, but they used the opportunity to exercise their sense of humor instead.  Maybe it was Ptolemy's delight that kept our spirits up, or the sheer absurdity of such a motel existing in a developed country.  By the grace of God, we slept like rocks for a good 6 hours, at which time we were woken up by a screaming child in another room.  The kids were terrified at the very thought of the motel's complimentary breakfast as well as the idea of the pool, so we abandoned ship.  Packing up is easy when you're fleeing like sewer rats from a flood.  We were on the road before 6 am, this time watching the red rock cliffs turn from black to purple to flaming orange as the sun came up on our newest adventure.  Even though we stopped at Cove Fort for a short film, tour and clean bathrooms, we were home in no time.  Eighty-five miles an hour gets you places in a hurry.  Scott had showers and tikka masala ready for us.

When's the next trip?...

 If it makes you feel any better, this isn't even my worst motel story.  Ask Scott about the Night of a Thousand Mosquitoes in Florence.