Detour: Throwback Lodges and Design Motels
New takes on old road trip lodging options
One of the joys of road trips is the chance to explore eccentric lodging options. To keep my stories short, I don’t always write about where I stay. But here I’ll share two recent experiences.
To research the crazy shootout that started on a deserted Nevada highway, I revisited the Inn at Death Valley. Surrounding the 1927 hotel are stone walls, a palm oasis, and a spring-fed swimming pool. The design blends into the desert landscape like a jackrabbit.
Inside, the tasteful Spanish mission style spreads from the public areas into the ample guest rooms. At the lobby bar, it’s easy to meet travelers from all over the world, ready to share their day’s adventures at the national park. I encountered a charming straight man from Miami, far too eager to converse — there was something about him I didn’t trust. I waited for him to pitch me on crypto. But I also chatted with a delightful woman from Pasadena, visiting on her own, as she does every year. After dinner in the dining room, with its exposed beams and wrought-iron chandeliers, people play cards and assemble jigsaw puzzles in the library.
I remember lodges like this from family vacations in New Hampshire and Vermont when I was a kid, but I don’t see them much these days. The convivial but anachronistic atmosphere made me wonder if I was in an Agatha Christie mystery. Had someone been murdered that night, it certainly would have provided me with material to write about. My first suspect would have been the guy from Miami. Or perhaps he would have been the victim.
The next night, I visited our vacation rental property in Las Vegas to investigate the flubbed casino heist. Just a two-hour drive separates Vegas from Death Valley, but as you’d imagine, the two environments could not be more different.
For my story about arson in Flagstaff, I stayed at one of the new design motels popping up all over America. Young entrepreneurs are adopting rundown motels and renovating them with a modern sensibility. I spent two nights at the High Country Motor Lodge, a refurbished Howard Johnson’s. The design choices are brilliant, incorporating ideas from 1930s train stations and creating public spaces that invite leisurely socializing.
The rooms are simple, functional, and appealing, but it’s clear the real money was saved for the shared areas. Over my Margherita flatbread and field greens, the bartender told me he prefers working early in the week, like the days I was there, to avoid the local drinking crowd that stops by over the weekend. Funny comment for a bartender, I thought.
But then I had my own encounter with excessive imbibery. I love the infectious, freewheeling spirit of girls’ trips, but I discovered it’s not fun to stay in an adjoining room when the walls aren’t insulated for sound.
I find the history of motels fascinating. They evolved from motor camps — where travelers like the Dust Bowl refugees I’ll post about next week pitched tents — to motor lodges with separate cottages. Then they coalesced, in the fifties and sixties, into long streamlined buildings. But their peak didn’t last long. By the eighties, many were abandoned and others became transient housing or drug and prostitution dens.
Today’s equivalent of motels are the ubiquitous Hampton Inns, Hyatt Places, and Spring Hill Suites, mid-rise structures that look like pint-sized hotels but offer limited services. The latest versions embrace the boxy, geometric design of contemporary multifamily housing, with statement panels, jutting protrusions, and contrasting colors.
All chains look alike now; distinctive features like Howard Johnson’s orange gable roofs are long gone. Some refer to today’s style as “fast-casual architecture.”
Just as I eat occasionally at Chipotle or Panera, I stay at all the current limited-service lodging brands. But refurbished vintage motels and historic lodges offer chances to replace generic overnight pit stops with extraordinary experiences.
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