The Clown Motel

I'd like to take a break from my spiritual meanderings.

This morning is the morning of our 5th wedding anniversary. I woke up next to my daughter in one queen bed. Debra shared the other bed with her 6-month-pregnant tummy. Above my head, a framed picture of a clown frowned down on me sadly while another clowned smiled from across the room. I did my best to avoid touching the spotted blue carpet as I made my way to the shower.

That's right. I'm at the Clown Motel in Tonopah, NV. For $39.79, we rented this gem in the middle of the Nevada desert. After driving the entire stretch of Tonopah, this was the first hotel with vacancy. Annabel exclaimed, "Is this.... a CLOWN HOTEL?!?!?!" and proceeded to laugh uncontrollably.

The owner's 10-year-old daughter met us at the door and refused to leave our side. She confided mischievously that we were located next to a graveyard "where they found a ghost" and then proceeded to encourage us to buy an assortment of stuffed clowns.

After dinner at the BurgerKing/Subway/Gas station (add 6 dollars for Claratin to combat whatever was living in our room), we returned and went straight to bed. Believe me-- it was a lot more charming with the lights off. Come to think of it, I've stayed in worse places.... but they were in Zambia!

Not exactly the romantic anniversary we imagined. In fact, after a couple oppressive days driving through the desert and an ill-advised attempt to see the Vegas trip, we are officially at the low point of our cross-country trek. But things are looking up: a little more driving and we'll be in Yosemite and then off to San Fransico.

I don't think it can get much worse than The Clown in Tonopah, NV. The upside is that Annabel is ecstatic. To her, this is pretty comparable to rolling out a sleeping bag at Chuck-E-Cheese.