Well, I know what you must be thinking by now- ‘these guys are assholes.’ Yep, you’re right. I can't call your bluff on that one. One could say that all of our posts focus on the negative (which is true) while failing to recognize the outstanding contributions of our more saintly patrons. We often have wonderful people from around the world frequent our hotel; not just powdered up hookers or sad “forty something” failures.
For example, how would you feel about a bike ride to the office tomorrow or maybe to your friend's house across town? If you were anything like Topher or me, you'd probably break down mentally due to over-exhaustion and over-thinking about where the next Dairy Queen is.
Try 60 miles a day, sometimes more. And not on some circular course that leads back to your house. Try doing it in a 60-mile a day square. What's the square you ask? Try the continental United States of America like last week’s, one bed, doesn’t matter what size-I just need to sleep- Mrs. Armstrong.
Now I know all you Forrest Gump fans might remain unimpressed (yes she was on a bike), however in my book this stands as an accomplishment on par with swimming the English Channel or winning the WWE Tag Team Championship.
As for Mrs. Armstrong, I only need one word to describe her…badass. Speaking with her was an eye opening experience. Her soft southern accent felt, in a good way, very typical Texan. And she traveled light, both in belongings and complaints. Her kind features, fading shoulder length black hair and eyes with a touch of gray, added to her mystic. How could such a timid woman be so tough?
As she chatted with me for several minutes I furthered my questions about her trip but she only seemed interested in other things, like our lobby decorations. I had so many questions, yet her answers seemed to elude me as her humble nature effectively concealed her feats. I did learn that she was nearly halfway finished. Only a couple thousand miles left to go.
And after an “Inside the Actors Studio” length chat, I finally asked her what had been her favorite spot to visit thus far?
“Well,” she paused a moment. “Today, I think I like your place the best.”
I’ll take that.
I never found out what drove her across the country on her bright orange road-bike. I doubt it was a trip to Disneyworld. Regardless, it seemed that she had made a pivotal discovery in the ever-expanding field of vacation science. It's not always about the final destination. Far too many guests at the Sketch Hotel seem to lose this concept like Italian airlines lose luggage.
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