My Evening

Yesterday, after a doctor’s appointment, we headed down to Louisville. Rob enjoys going to rallies with the Moped Army (which happens to be pure awesomeness, but that’s another post!), and they have taken us to many cities. We’ve been to rallies in Grand Rapids, Ann Arbor, Elkhart, and Cincinnati. This is our second time going to Louisville, and it is one of my favorite cities.

Rob isn’t the only one involved in an online group, and the rallies often bring me to the hometowns of other crunchy mommies, from Michigan Natural Parenting. My friend, Dori, lives an hour south of Louisville, in a very awesome, almost off-the-grid house in Amish country. I will share photos of her homestead tomorrow (as I don’t have my camera cable with me tonight!).

Tonight, I’m going to talk about what happened after our visit…

I hurried out of Dori’s house, after looking at the clock. It was 6:40, and I needed to get back to Lousiville before the crazy Thunder Weekend traffic picked up. Last year, we rushed to the fireworks before all the roads were closed off. Then, when we tried to drive back to our hotel (2 blocks away), police kept directing us onto the freeway. We drove in circles for 2 hours, until we finally found a way to get into the hotel parking lot (which is right off of an exit ramp). This year, Beanie and I were going to walk to the fireworks, but it is freezing. So we’re hanging out in our room.


I felt smug, even though we were leaving late. I remembered that there was an on-ramp to I65 further north, if I turned right going out of her neighborhood. This would get us closer to Louisville, without any backtracking. I didn’t have my GPS, because it was almost all freeway driving. After 10 minutes down the road, we weren’t at the on ramp. I stopped at a gas station and asked how to get to 65.

“Oh, it’s easy,” the cashier said, in her charming southern drawl. “You just go the other way, and you’ll be there in about 9 miles.”

So much for shortcuts.

But we got there, and enjoyed a rather boring ride to Louisville. Our hotel was off the exit ramp at exit 134A. At exit 130, traffic came to a halt. Lanes and exit ramps were blocked off. Shoot, it was starting.

Exit 134A was not blocked off, but we were heading north. Our hotel was off the exit ramp from south bound. I exited and tried to drive around the block. Police cars were already starting to block off roads. We followed the other side of the freeway, hoping to find the Day’s Inn. Finally, as a policeman watched on, we entered SB65, hoping to catch the exit from the other direction.

We found our previously-quiet motel parking lot to be swarming with moped riders, horse-racing fans, and general tourists. My parking spot had been taken, so we had to park far away from the elevator to our room on the third floor.

Beanie woke up, disoriented. She was wearing her sailor dress and white tights, covered in red clay from her outdoor adventures with her friends. Her shoes were on the floor, as they were too clay-encrusted to wear anywhere.

I grabbed the Bean, but she had to walk. My hands were full with the room key, the iPad, and a delicious-looking quiche that Dori had made for us. We waited an eternity for the elevator, then got distracted by the multitude of moped riders. The elevator opened, then closed. To punish us, it hesitated a long while before it opened again. Then, Beanie and I rushed in, blocking it when it tried to close on us.

Up to room 313. I sat the quiche and iPad down and swiped my door key. Nothing. I tried about 10 more times. Still nothing.

I picked up my iPad and quiche and headed back to the elevator. Down 2 floors, across the parking lot, and into the lobby.

Thankfully, the lady at the front desk said nothing about Beanie’s lack of shoes. She stopped her conversation with an obvious friend and looked at me skeptically. “Can I help you?” she asked brusquely.

“I have two questions,” I said, wondering if I really should ask for some forks for the quiche. “First, our room key doesn’t work.”

The lady warmed up after establishing that we were actually legitimate motel guests. She got us new key cards and directed us to the dining room for plastic forks for the quiche I was still carrying.

Up to the third floor again. This time, three young men (one was actually wearing a baseball cap) stood at the balcony a few rooms down.

I made the mistake of responding to their efforts to make small talk, and received an invitation to party with them in their room (never mind the small child). I successfully made my exit and enjoyed the quiche at last. The young men carried on their conversation and revealed their true lack of class. If only they knew that they had been flirting with a 33-year-old who lived a crazy hipster lifestyle and was happily married to a moped rider…Their looks definitely would have been priceless!

Anyway, here we are in Louisville, at a pleasant, budget-friendly motel, enjoying a quiche and homemade bread, while everyone else is freezing at the fireworks.

It’s certainly interesting to be us!

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