It was the best of trips, it was the worst of trips. (Part 1)

Tuesday night we returned from a two+ week trip to Michigan. It was a “working vacation” wherein I worked and my family vacationed. Ahh, the joys of telecommuting. I actually only worked four day weeks, which left a couple three-day weekends and evenings to spend with friends and family.

While it was, as always, good to see family, friends, and the old stomping grounds (I don’t know that I ever really did much stomping, however) the trip on the whole was a little disjointed.

We bought a new Harley-Davidson a couple weeks before the trip with the intention of bringing it to Michigan with us to go on a ride with friends. I borrowed a trailer from a friend at work (thanks, John!) to tow it to Michigan, as the rider and the bike were not prepared for a 900 mile trip. Nor did Allison want to be stuck for fourteen hours in the truck with four kids and a Chihuahua without adult interaction.

The plan: load the bike, cruise to Michigan, rejoice much. The reality: we had issues with both loading and the cruising, which led to less rejoicing.

After running to my new home away from home for some “soft-straps”, I did my best (worst) to get the bike safe and sound on the trailer. I had issues with several of the straps and was working by the light of my motion-activated garage flood light. Light, work, work, dark, flail-about, light, work, work, dark, flail-about (repeat). Did I mention I waited until the last minute to do this? Around 12:30 AM I went to bed, satisfied that the bike was now secure. Of course I didn’t sleep because I was thinking how easy it would be for someone to make off with trailer and bike. But anyway…

The next morning we finished loading the truck and hit the road. All was well with the bike, for the first five miles anyway. We stopped at Starbucks for travel fuel when we noticed the handlebars of the bike were turned and one of the straps had loosened. After monkeying with it for a half-hour or more in the Starbucks parking lot, I decided to call in reinforcements. We ended up pulling the bike off the trailer to make the trip to Chance’s house, after a quick husband-wife powwow about leaving the bike behind.

Of course, traffic would be bad. Why wouldn’t it be? Here we were driving the opposite direction of our destination and it was jammed. An hour later, we arrived at Chance’s. He broke out a couple quality ratchet straps, altered the tie-down strategy, and voila, we were good to go. Of course, at this point it was noon. We talked about just going home and getting a fresh start the next morning. “Noooooo, we can still do it. Let’s press on! The mitten-shaped state beckons!”

What followed our decision made us question our decision, time and time again. There was the metro-D.C. traffic and delays. There was the road construction in Pennsylvania (the PA turnpike has spent more time “under construction” than my website) and delays. There were problems at the toll booth with, first, the toll booth itself and second, our EZ Pass. Let’s not forget the violent storm that caused people to pull over on the Ohio Turnpike and run for cover. Oh, and then there was the flat tire and the ensuing lengthy stay at a service plaza.

We went through the ringer. We were stressed out. It was around 11:00 PM and we had about six more hours to go. So, I fired up the trusty iPhone and found a Fairfield Inn & Suites (Marriot) in Sandusky and… At last! Something was going our way this trip! They had a suite that would comfortably sleep six. There was much rejoicing. We got to the hotel about 11:30 PM, I went up to the counter to check in when I saw it. Behind the counter on the wall there was a sign that read: No pets allowed. Crushing blow!

Remember, we had our dumb little dog. Dumb little dog wouldn’t survive a night alone in the truck. In spite of the crummy day, my moral compass still flared up. Couldn’t that thing shut off every now and again? We could sneak the dog in. He’s only four pounds. Throw him in my wife’s purse, problem solved… No that’s not right. Plus, what if he starts yiping as we walk through the lobby. Dang it.

So, after deflecting my counter-pitch on their pet policy and the size of our dumb little dog, the friendly guy at the front-desk graciously referred us to the only accommodations in the area that allowed pets. Super 8. Super? Really? I can think of some more suitable adjectives.

We ended up getting two adjoining rooms and hey, good news - it was about $75 more for these two super rooms than the nice suite at the Fairfield. Sweet.

And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.