jim in the tiger's den, the $29.00 motel

October 30, 2008

Day Thirty Nine

"The hotel I'm in has a lovely closet. A nail."
- Henny Youngman -

"I stayed in a really old hotel last night. They sent me a wake-up letter."
- Stephen Wright -

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The Waffle House was just across the street so I had breakfast there.... waffles, of course. With strawberries and whipped cream - you know, because I need the calories for bicycling.

Outside the restaurant there was another bike, safely secured.

Thirty seven miles later I stopped for lunch at the Tiger's Den in Oberlin (pop 1,437). You could order a wide variety of fried foods, or you could order a burger. The lack of non-fried food was complemented by the lack of service, the lack of ice in the ice machine, and the lack of desserts. There was also a noticeable lack of customers, which was surprising considering it's the only place to eat in town.

While I was waiting for my burger, a guy came in and asked if that was my bike outside. I said yes, and he sat down to chat for a while.

His name is Jim Riley, an 84-year-old pharmacist who retired 18 years ago ("Eighteen years??? Have I been retired that long??"). Anytime someone is in their eighties I assume they were in WW2, so I asked him. He said he was in the Marines, having joined when he was pretty young. Jim spent three years going to school all over the country, some type of officer's training, then was offered an early discharge since the war was coming to a close.

The Tiger's Den was closing, so Jim took off and I headed back out to my bike to keep riding. I was hoping to make it to Ville Platte this evening, another 25 miles.

As I was about to ride away I heard a short honk behind me and turned to see that Jim had pulled up in his Cadillac. The electric window buzzed down and he yelled over the noise of the engine, "You wanna come over and talk some more?"

If I did, I'd be spending the night in Mamou instead of Ville Platte. I thought about it for a second and told him that it sounds great. I'm always looking for good stories.

Continuing our earlier conversation I learned that, after his discharge from the military, he used the GI Bill to go to Loyola University to become a pharmacist. Although not originally from this area, his wife was, so this is where he landed.

His first wife died of cancer after many years of marriage. Several years later he remarried. His second wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1990 and died seven months later, in 1991. (With some quick calculations, it looks like he decided to retire when she was diagnosed) He's a member of the Rotary Club and tries to stay busy.

He told me a story of a couple of bikers who came through several years ago. The husband was really sick and he ended up letting them stay in his house for a couple of days. He still has the thank you letter he received from them, and pulled it out to show me. I kind of wonder if, after seeing my bike, the reason he went into the cafe was just to chat (he only ordered a drink).

Jim explained that Oberlin is the dividing line between Cajun Louisiana and French Louisiana. He also told me about the area's industry, that it's about half farming and half lumber. More and more companies are starting to get their trees from this area because they can replace them in as little as 33 years, whereas up in the Northwest it takes more than 60 years.

He talked a while about his niece, Kelly, who is attending medical school at LSU, and his sister, who is a Catholic nun (you know, his Sister sister) in Draper, Utah. He gave me her phone number and insisted I give her a call the next time I'm in Utah.

Eventually it was time to go. Jim gave me a couple of granola bars for the road and we said good-bye. He looked sad that I was leaving, and I wondered what he'd do with the rest of his day, and the rest of his week.

Riding toward Mamou, I began seeing names on the mailboxes change to French names such as Fontenot, Deshotel, and Thibodeaux. Like Jim said, I'm now crossing the border from Cajun Louisiana to French Louisiana.

Although the county lines are clearly marked, frequently I don't need a sign to tell me I'm crossing the county line. On occasion, you can tell because there's a liquor store just across the border of a "dry" county (“dry” = alcohol can't be sold). The easier way to tell is simply by looking at the road. Sometimes, there are some dramatic road surface changes between counties.

I had another stiff headwind all day today.

Mamou (pop 2,711) has one motel, the Mamou Bamboo Motel. When I rolled into town I gave them a call to find out the cost. (Apparently, I found the only ten square feet in town that my cellphone worked, because I had no coverage anywhere after this call)

Connie, the owner and manager, said it would be $35.00/night. You can get a room for pretty cheap in some of these small towns. While I had her on the line I asked her if there was a place near the motel where I could get some food. She said,

"We're going to be opening up a bar but it's not ready yet."

I briefly wondered what kind of alcoholic beverage her dinners consist of, but instead again asked her about a place to eat. I was surprised to learn that there isn't a single cafe anywhere in Mamou.

"You can try Main Street. They used to have one."

"They used to have one?" I wasn't exactly sure how that was going to help but, as Robert Benchley said, "Drawing upon my fine command of the English language, I said nothing."

I pedaled through town and stopped on a corner. A guy who was just closing up his store came over to see if I needed some help. When I asked him about a place to eat he reaffirmed that there wasn't a cafe anywhere in town. Then he pointed across the street to an empty building and said apologetically,

"We had a great Cajun restaurant but it closed a few months ago because of a divorce. It was kind of messy." I assumed he meant the divorce, not the restaurant.

He added that the only place in town where you can get something to eat is the convenience store. They sell fried chicken and fried fish.

He asked a few questions about my trip and when I mentioned that I'm staying at the Bamboo Motel he raised his eyebrows and gave me a smile that said, "Boy, are YOU in for a surprise...."

I pedaled down to the convenience store and placed my order: fried rice and shrimp. Sometimes you just take what you can get, and if you're hungry enough it tastes pretty darn good. I also drank a couple of soft drinks and bought a dessert to eat later.

When I was paying for my food, the woman at the cash register began chatting with me. She said she sees a lot of bikers come through but they usually just grab something fast and take off. It was unusual for someone to have a meal there. I told her I'm not just eating dinner here, I'm actually staying in town tonight... "at the Bamboo Motel."

She actually wrinkled her nose.

By now, I'm really curious.... how bad can this place be? I was about to find out. It was getting dark so I started pedaling.

My map noted that the motel was 2.5 miles off the route, so I got directions and started riding. I rode for what seemed forever, keeping an eye out, but never did see the motel. Three and a half miles later I stopped at a convenience store to ask the cashier. With furrowed brows, she said with a forced casualness,

"The Bamboo Motel? You're... staying there?"

With growing concern, I confirmed that I am staying there, then got directions. By now it was 6:20, after sunset, and the oncoming darkness was picking up speed.

Three and a half miles later I finally found it, signless, tucked away from the road between a large grain elevator and a Store-n-Lock. This is a picture of the "sign" (taken the next morning - it was too dark to take any pictures when I arrived) which told of the motel's presence. It's so faded you can't read it, and it's off the road about 75 yards above the Store-n-Lock buildings.

I rolled up to the office as a couple of dogs began sprinting towards me, barking like they owned me now. I've seen larger mosquitoes, and I don't think I'd have noticed if they had bitten me.

The office had a padlock on the door. I pushed the doorbell, and when nothing happened I followed the wiring up to the ceiling where I could see that it had been pulled out what appeared to be years before.

The owner, Austin, bounced up in a worn-out truck about two minutes after I did. He was really apologetic about the place. He and his mother, Connie, bought it only a week ago.

“We got it for real cheap," he added.

Once inside the office he told me the rate, $35.00, and I gave him two twenties. He gave me $11.00 back in change. When I told him he gave me too much change, he just shook his head and said, "Keep it."

On the way to the room the dogs came up and started barking again. "Shut up, you two!" he yelled, then explained,

"The dogs came with the place."

There was a padlock on the outside of the door, but I didn't feel worried about getting locked in... I think I could've leaned against the door and the hinges would've ripped out of the rotting wood.

Because it was dark, I took these pictures the following morning.

He finally found the right key for the padlock as he said,

"These rooms back here are nicer. Since the ones in the front are full, I'm giving you one of the back rooms for the same price."

"Full?" I thought. Full of what? There's only one car in the parking lot, and it's up on blocks, so it's unlikely the rooms are full of people. Unless maybe... rotting human corpses? Or perhaps he's storing up all of humanity's despair in them? I suspect the likely answer is that they're filled with some practical items to fix up the place, such as wood, nails, and paint. Or maybe large, industrial-sized flamethrower.

He left me with a key to the room, a key to a different padlock, one which was on the inside, then went on his way to perform the duties a motel like this might require.... polishing the silverware and whatnot.

I went into the bathroom but neither of the two lights worked. In the back of my mind I thought that might be a good thing.

Here are some pictures to give you an idea of my accommodations.

Sheets getting old? Just turn them into curtains!

When I peeled back the curtains of my rear window I learned the reason why he said the back rooms are better... some added protection against bullets and/or intruders.

The signs on the door didn't warn about liability the way they did in Texas.

The decor was puzzling. Literally. The pictures were puzzles that had been completed, then lacquered and framed.

The closet, a place to hang your hat and coat.

I looked around for a ceramic angel sitting on a toilet seat but couldn't find one.

Even so, the water in the shower was hot and the bed was soft (although I did wonder HOW the bed became so soft). Sure, there were a couple of holes in the sheets from cigarette burns, but they WERE clean... and when there are too many holes, they can be used for curtains. I used my flashlight to shower and shave.

While I lay in my bed, I watched the insect kingdom around me in a life and death battle. Just above my head, I saw the biggest mosquito I've ever seen in my life get caught in a spider web (no symbolism here - just straight facts). The mosquito was three times the size of the spider and managed to extricate himself from the webbing before the spider could envenomate him.

There was no TV, but I didn't really need one. (not that I ever turn one on in a hotel anyway) I could watch The Discovery Channel right here in my room without it.

I slept for 8 1/2 hours that night, and I slept GREAT. Who would've thought?

Of course, my experience at the Bamboo Motel would not have been complete without hearing someone the next morning having sex. It was almost cliché. The walls are paper thin, and I heard them enter their room as I was loading my bike the next morning.

The walls are thin enough so that you can hear every word being spoken in the next room. I could've heard every word they said... if they'd said anything at all.

I think it was Austin, but didn't want to knock on the door to find out. I just slipped away into the morning.

But not before taking this picture. It was taken by placing my camera on the floor in front of the door. There's quite a large crack under the door.

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distance: 74 miles
average speed: 11.8 mph
maximum speed: 21.4 mph
time on bike: 6:13:34
cumulative: 1935 miles

Today's ride: 74 miles (119 km)
Total: 1,936 miles (3,116 km)

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Comment on this entry	Comment	2

Jeff LeeI love a good terrible-touring-motel writeup.

This is a great one!
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6 months ago

Gregory GarceauNice Benchley quote hidden in your narrative.

I agree with Jeff regarding your motel experience. Except for the lizards and insects, I had a similar room in Leland, Mississippi. I wrote about the thin walls, loud conversations on the other side of the walls, sketchy characters hanging outside of my room, etc. There was one thing I didn't write about though. Unlike you, one of the first things I do when entering my room is turn the TV on. To my shock, the channel that came up was 24-hour hard core porn. So was the next channel. I should have known, considering the motel had rent-by-the-hour rooms. I'm not exactly a prude, but I was relieved to find some sit-coms to watch as I flipped through the channels.
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6 months ago