Okay, this blog entry was going to be all about the beautiful drive we had today through northern Tennessee, Kentucky horse country, the mountains of West Virginia and the rolling foothills of Pennsylvania. But then we arrived at our hotel for the evening and I changed my mine….read on to understand why.
For those of you who know the one whom I adore, you’ll know he has a nickname, given to him by his father and aptly fitting, none other than “Donk”. It’s not hard to imagine what this is short for, but for those of you that don’t regularly play Jeopardy, it’s short for Donkey. Which he has been occasionally known to resemble.
Today the one whom I adore drove 8 of our 12-hour drive from Nasvhille, TN to Ronk, PA. Yes, that’s right. Tonight Donk sleeps in Ronk.
Once upon a time, when we were relocating from the Rockies to the Maritimes we drove cross-country from Calgary to Charlottetown and every 10 or 12 hours or so we’d pull into a hotel for the night. Our hotel choices were limited: 1) they had to take dogs as Thing I and Thing II were traveling with us and 2) they had to meet whatever other criteria the one whom I adore used in making his hotel choices.
One of those choices was a Days Inn somewhere outside of Minneapolis, MN. The level of skankiness cannot be adequately described here, but suffice it to say, I’m pretty sure those were chicken bones under the bed that the dogs found. So needless to say, since then I’ve been a little leary about the one whom I adore making any of our travel plans.
But this trip, I thought, hey, we don’t have the dogs, our hotel choices are less limited and so, with little trepidation, I left the hotel-making decisions up to the one whom I adore. Note to self, next time, I find the hotels.
You see, tonight we’re staying at the Hershey Farm Inn. Operative word here is FARM. It was described on-line as “uniquely rustic”. Well holy shit. Those damn marketers and their creative license. Our “uniquely rustic” guest room is in what they creatively call the carriage house. You and I might call it a barn. We have a gigantic Amish farmer standing outside our uniquely rustic guest room. I’m pretty sure he’ll be there in the morning and I’m going to ask him to have his picture taken with me.
Anyway – we’re here. We made it. Tomorrow’s journey will take us into the Mystic…and hopefully, a four-star hotel. If he knows what’s good for him.
