The War for Independent Lodging, Part I: The Search

Andy and I are idiots. We went to Upper Peninsula of Michigan on the 4th of July with no accommodation reservations. Well, we'd booked a room in Iron River for the night of the 3rd. No problem, we figured. We'll just go from there and see where we end up. After a fitful night of sleep interrupted by fuzzily remembered morning shouts about six-cylinders, we faced the day with optimism and heaping bowls of Count Chocula. We did a quick search on Google maps and wrote down the number for every hotel and motel that appeared within 15 miles of our destination, Copper Harbo(u)r. Things seemed promising enough at first. The woman who answered at King Copper Motel was quite friendly and, though they did not have any rooms available, took my number and promised, "I'll give you a call if something breaks." This was much more reassuring before my mobile lost reception about a half hour later.

But the situation began to look bleak as I dialed down the list. We quickly discovered that there seemed to be a stigma against late bookers. My naive inquiries were greeted with suspicion and distrust, as if the person on the other end of the phone wanted to keep anyone crazy enough not to have advance reservations at arm's length. We arrived at the end of our list of prospects quickly. One woman's crisp answer to my inquiry as to whether they had rooms available that night, "No, we don't, and I don't know anyone in the area who does," still rang in my ears. Perhaps our original plan to plan as we went had been reckless. But we decided to carry it out. After all, there were bound to be accommodations that weren't listed on Google. One of them would surely have a room open.

We began stopping at every hotel and motel that wasn't displaying a "No Vacancy" sign once we reached Eagle River. As part of this venture, we decided to try our luck at the Shoreline Resort. We rang the bell as a sign taped to the door directed. After waiting an inordinate amount of time without response, we opened the door and stepped into a completely deserted dining area. Our voices echoed in the rafters as we discussed what to do. Andy thought we should go around to the lakefront side of the resort to see if we could find the proprietors.

A row of lucky lodgers stood in swimsuits on the shore, watching as their similarly accommodated compatriots splashed about in Lake Superior. When we approached, the people on the shore turned to stare at us. Their glances registered confusion tinged with hostility. "You're not from one of the same families that's stayed at this same resort every year for 30 years," their eyes seemed to say. Andy asked one of the visitors where he could find the owner. "She'll be right back," the woman answered. "Or, he's right there," she smiled a second later, pointing at a man emerging from the lake in cut-off denim shorts. "These two are looking for you," she explained as he scrutinised us quizzically. Andy explained that we were wondering if he had any rooms available. "No, not tonight. Sorry," he replied, quickly veering off with one last curious and wary look back.

We continued on towards Copper Harbor, feeling quite discouraged. We looked intently for lodging signs along the road, but a "No vacancy" message was appended to each. With few options left, we took a sudden sharp turn when we saw a sign that announced Keweenaw Mountain Lodge was 1 mile down the road. We felt a glimmer of hope as we drove down the freshly tarred pavement. Perhaps other potential lodgers had missed the place. Our hopes were confirmed when we pulled up and saw the word "Vacancy" hanging vertically from the end of the resort's sign. "Yay!" we cheered. But I was suspicious. "Now we'll get up there and find out they just forgot to change the sign," I remarked pessimistically.

We drove up a hill past rustic cabins and finally found the reception in a large log building at the crest. We entered and waited for the couple ahead of us to finish checking in. "Hi," the slightly spacey receptionist smiled. She was appropriately dressed for the holiday in a blue shirt and white trousers with red strands of crepe paper strung jauntily through the belt loops.
"We were just driving by and saw that your sign said you had vacancy," Andy said.
"Ahh, no, we never change that sign. It's a pain in the butt," she said, dismissing our last hopes of finding a bed for the night with a wave of her hand. "We're all full."
We disappointedly thanked her and started to turn away, but our crestfallen faces pulled on her heartstrings. She quickly craned her neck in the direction of the bar to make sure no-one was within earshot.

"C'mere," she whispered, leaning conspiratorially over the counter. We drew closer, intrigued by this secret she was about to relate to us. "The deal was," she confided in a low voice, "if someone came late, I could give away our last room. It's set aside for maintenance problems in the other rooms. I'm done at 9. Check in Copper Harbor. If you don't find anything, come back at ten to 9. If it's still available I'll give you the room."
We were stunned and grateful at the prospect of sleeping comfortably that night. She answered our stammered thanks with the explanation for her action: "You just looked so sad."
No longer. We drove back down the hill towards town, laughing incredulously about how our luck had changed. Rather than doomed, the day now seemed charmed. It reminded me of my experience at Anfield when I arrived without a ticket. The Keweenaw Mountain Lodge receptionist was my female, American Tony.

Having sacrificed lunch to work on finding a room, we finally conceded to our rumbling stomachs and stopped to eat. In the course of some conversation we'd tried to strike up with our bored-looking waitress, we learned about a fireworks display that would be happening later. She let us in on what seemed to be another Copper Harbor confidentiality when she said, "The finale's supposed to be twice as long this year." The woman running the register confirmed her story when Andy told her we'd heard about the fireworks. "Biggest in the UP," she said, somehow conveying pride and tedium simultaneously. Whether or not we would be able to stay for this pyrotechnic spectacular all depended on our rather shaky room deal coming through.