The Motor Inn

  The convenience of these establishments is remarkable. No schlepping luggage across the lobby into the elevator and down long hallways to your room. No, here you simply drive to your front door and drag your bags 20 feet, if that. 

  Then there are the mornings. Nice and calm, just after sunrise when everything is still dormant and quiet. Exiting the warmth of the room, the crisp autumn air awakens the body. The sun, not yet above the trees nor up to its full strength, is just bright enough to blind you as it peeks through the branches. You breathe it all in, reveling in the freshness and the silence. 

  Unfortunately your moment of Zen is shattered in an instant by the echoing sound of rolling suitcases on the second floor and the thunk thunk thunk of them coming down the concrete stairs. This is then followed by the rumble of trucks firing up and idling forever. And if the trucks backed into their parking spots, the swirling exhaust fumes along the walkway force you back into your room.

  A simple reminder of the impermanence of these perfect moments. Alas, nothing lasts. Your stomach then grumbles and so it’s off to find breakfast and that first delicious sip of coffee, ahhh. Well, there is that.