This is officially the last time I will ever subject my family to a Motel 6. I don’t care how much money we can save. Whores are downstairs circling, the lock is broken on the door, the sheets are stained, there’s no microwave, fridge, or coffee, and the other tenants are sketchy eyed and yelling outside of their rooms at each other. My kids are all asleep without a worry in the world, the dog just growled from beside the door, and Savanna is fake sleeping while listening to people yell somewhere outside.

Do you confront a loud tenant at a hotel? Do you tell on them? Or do you turn up the volume on the Spotify Cello Mix and roll over like we do? Some things just aren’t worth getting shot over.

We sadly left Morro Bay and sunny Central California today on our journey north to catch the ferry in Bellingham, Washington on the 12th. We passed through rolling mountains surrounded by vineyards until stopping in Gonzales, California for our second time on the trip to utilize their playground and public restrooms. We were excited to see a game of soccer in action with a field full of Spanish speaking players. We let the kids run for an hour and a half, ate PB&Js with pomegranate for lunch, and then loaded up in Dora the Explorer for the hectic journey through San Jose and San Francisco.

In San Francisco we saw at least a dozen billboards advertising the latest and greatest AI, self-driving Jaguar taxis, and people who looked high on either peepoo or huffing glue. Savanna remarked, “Their houses look just like the vineyards.” And I couldn’t think of a more accurate statement to describe the proximity and matching styles of architecture from house to house. We drove through and around crowds of people who looked f*caked off on drugs just blocks from fine dressed people on their way to the Nutcracker play. We followed 101 over the infamous Golden Gate Bridge where we saw Alcatraz and smelled stinky air while trying to keep in the narrow lanes.

And here we are, north of Santa Rosa and Sebastopol, past Hoptown and Preston, in Ukiah, California. I can’t say much about the place other than the fact that the Motel 6 should be cleaned up and the Dominos Pizza hidden the trick. The local grocery store had bilingual aisle markers (Cookies/Galletas) and there were brown skinned folks selling Tamales and other foods out of the beds of their pickups in the parking lot. Gas is $4.89/gallon and a little red trolley ding-dings like the one in Daniel Tiger on PBS.

Will we make it through the night? I believe so. I’m feeling for the new managers of the motel, an Indian-American family who moved here from LA 3 months ago. How could they confront the trouble here? They said the owner of the building owns 4 hotels in Ukiah and does not live here. I imagine that he doesn’t give a shit who stays here and what they do here a long as they pay. Can the managers refuse people service? Can they ask people to leave? Do they feel safe with their young boy? Or is this really nothing at all compared to what they are used to and I’m being hella over dramatic? Probably the latter…

I imagine the folks newly out of prison who think this room with a closed door, a toilet with a door (that doesn’t close), a shower (with hair and who knows on the bottom) probably think this is hog heaven. A TV, two beds, a fan, drapes, a toilet, shit paper, and a balcony to smoke on. I imagine the addict who has to leave here everyday to make at least $69 to have a room for the night. The struggle that some people must face to pay for a single night in this motel rather than outside in the cold. I imagine the young boy who stared out of the window at us as we parked and walked upstairs. The same age as Primrose, with black hair and brown eyes. He stared at us from behind the curtains to block the view of what was going on behind him. Prim waved and smiled and he did neither. Mars walked over to the window and made a goofy face and the boy just stared blankly at her. What was going on behind the curtain? The white, late 90s Toyota Sienna parked outside of the door had a broken rear window and drivers side window, the hood looks like BBs from a shotgun tore up the paint. What is that boy’s life like? I don’t know, and I hope I don’t find out. Because tomorrow morning we’re going to (hopefully) wake up at the ass crack of dawn and pack our stuff up to continue driving north into the Redwood Forest and maybe into Coastal Oregon. While this Motel and room maybe Heaven on Earth to a person living on the street, newly out of prison, or fresh off a hard job surrounded by people- we, by the grace of God, are not currently hard up. So from here on out, I don’t give a damn that Motel 6 is the only lodging that waves pet fees, it’s just not worth it. I’d rather spend $40 more a night to stay somewhere else. Maybe in the future my luck will change and I will cherish a night in a Motel 6, but I’m going to do everything that I can to ensure that does not happen. For my children’s sake.

Lastly, seeing the folks all messed up on drugs in SF made me remember the street kids in Kathmandu who were addicted to huffing glue. Those poor kids would beg for change to buy glue to huff. I saw the same thing in Guatemala and India. And I may have seen the same thing today by the way the folks were acting.

However, I am thankful that we paid for a night at this shithole Motel 6 in Ukiah, California, because home never looked so good.

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Sincerely,

Robert Stark