Dear Valued Guest

After 5,835 miles, we have arrived in Seattle, the long way around. I think we are about as far from home as we can get without a passport. A couple of weeks ago, Homeland Security decided that you now need a passport to go to Canada. Actually, you need the passport to come back. I am tempted to go to Vancouver, B.C. anyway. But I have a big disadvantage in that the only government issued ID I have on my person is a Maryland Driver's License. And as my fellow Marylanders know, our state legislators stand nearly alone in the Nation in the defense of issuing drivers licenses to illegal aliens because it promotes public safety. As far as I can tell, the argument is that the illegals will drive anyway, so if you make them get driver's licenses, they will be safe drivers. This concept escaped me between the ages of 17 and 45, according to records kept by the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration. Anyway, I think if I go to Vancouver, I may not be allowed back into the country until the due date of my next estimated Federal income tax payment, so I will settle for its beautiful neighbor to the south.

We left San Francisco yesterday morning. It was the third straight day of sunny football weather there and I felt a bit of regret to leave, even though we have a lot to still look forward to. I hope to be back in September for a brief visit when the Terps beat California on the gridiron again. But I digress.

We got a late start, not getting on the road until 11 am. But we made great time. We had been off the Interstates for 6 days. I like the back roads better, but if you have to cover 537 miles quickly, and we did, the Interstate Highway System is a wonderful thing.

It was over 100 degrees as we passed snow- covered Mt. Shasta. Even though the roads were mountainous we could maintain a 70 mph average. We stopped in Medford at 5pm for lunch or dinner, whatever it was. Finally we rollled into Eugene, Oregon around 8:30 pm. I picked this merely as a waypoint betwen San Francisco and Seattle, but as we discovered last night and this morning, it is a gem of a little town. It is the home of the University of Oregon Ducks, very clean, nice shops and restaurants, friendly people, and great climate (today at least). Put it on your college visit list.

We pulled into the Hilton Eugene and Conference Center, a 12 story structure on 6th Street clearly designed and constructed in the 1970s, an era that will leave not much legacy to the history of architecture. But, this Hilton is the best show in town, well-located, and the Bellman was happy to unload the late- arriving silver- plated alien ship from Maryland. Upon setting aside the giant cooler on the rear hitch and swinging open the rear double doors, which revealed the full extent of the cargo, he summoned another member of the Longshoreman's union to assist with the unlading of the ship.

We have connecting rooms and we go through the familiar routine of sorting out the bags between the rooms. I enter "our" room, meaning it will be occupied by Connie, Fiona and me. It is a double queen, and I immediately notice on the nightstand between the bed two sets of bright yellow earplugs, of the sport-shooting variety, standing on end. If you have never used them, perhaps you could mistake them for oversized Halloween candies. But I knew immediately what they were. I thought: these Hilton guys are on top of their game. Connie mentioned only two days ago that she wished she had earplugs in the middle of the night.

So I hold up a pair and say, "Look, Connie- they knew I was coming!" Fiona immediately asked for the other pair, assuming that her mother had dibs on the first. I laughed but detected a bit of a strange reaction from the two baggagemen still slinging the luggage, like they wanted to get done quick.

I paid the porters and looked at the nightstand again. In between the two sets of earplugs was a piece of engraved cardstock. On the top of it was the hotel logo, and a well rendered profile of an antique steam locomotive. Beneath that was the salutation "Dear Valued Guest".

There was a paragraph that followed the salutation, but it was unnecessary. If you ever check into a hotel and they leave you earplugs, a picture of a train, and a message that starts "Dear Valued Guest", you have to be able to figure out the bad news from there on your own. Any message with a three word salutation, of which the first two words are "Dear Valued", means you are screwed anyway.

Earlier in our trip, we drove down US 380 east of I-25 in New Mexico, which borders the Trinity Site, where the world's first atomic bomb exploded on July 16, 1945. Nearby San Antonio (NM) was a vibrant town then. What did the owner of the San Antonio Inn do in July of 1945? Here's my guess: he left earplugs and complimentary sunglasses on the nightstand and a folded, lead- lined bathrobe on the bed. On the nightstand was an engraved card with a drawing of a mushroom cloud that began "Dear Valued Guest"

Even though there was nothing more to be learned by reading the rest of the card, I did it anyway. It is remarkable for its disingenuity and because it is incapable of being parodized. I type it verbatim:

Dear Valued Guest,

Occasionally the local train conductor gets a little carried away when he comes through the great City of Eugene. In case you don't enjoy the sound of his whistle, we have placed these ear plugs in your room should you need them. Please do not hesitate to contact the Front Desk at extension 34 if we may be of assistance in any way. Thank you and have a wonderful stay,

The Staff at the Hilton Eugene & Conference Center

Hotel people are nearly always obsequious and full of it (except when they are arrogant and full of it, which is the definition of overpaying). But are they actually trying to make us believe from this card that Thomas the Tank Engine is going to come chugging down the track, steam billowing from its graceful smokestack, and that the most inconvenience we can expect is an overzealous "whistle?" Maybe Ringo Starr will narrate too. I don't think the cute choo-choo makes the hotel print these expensive cards and hand out free earplugs. My guess is that there is a Union Pacific Railroad nearby, and that heavy 100 car freight trains pulled by a six loco "consist" of EMD GP 38-2s, at 2000 HP per engine will be disrupting our sleep with the rumble of thousands of tons of freight and the unmistakeable blast of whatever those horns are they mount on the lococmotives, which I have always wanted to have mounted under the hood of my car. Email me if you know where to get those, because this is a Bucket List item for me.

I was sitting at the desk in our room later that night. We were speculating about how bad the train noise would be when I heard the horn. I said "That isn't bad at all." Connie said "I think it is still a great distance away." She was right. Over the ensuing minutes, it got louder and louder. When it got close, the guy leaned on the horn like he was getting paid by the decibel. During a sixty second period, it must have sounded for 45 seconds. There was no question that there was more to this story.

Hotels, and all businesses would be better served by telling the truth. Customers will understand. I don't know exactly what is going on in Eugene between the hotel and the railroad, but here is what they should have printed, which is definitely closer to the truth than the card in my room.

Dear Guest,

Several years ago, the gentleman who owns the Hilton Eugene & Conference Center had an extramarital affair. As it turns out, the lady in question was married to the chief engineer of the Union Pacific Railroad which runs right past the hotel. This was doubly tragic, as you are about to learn. There remains some enmity between the engineer and the owner. So let me explain the items we have left on your nightstand...