Next time you’re driving through a small town at dusk, don’t drive past the flickering sign. Pull in. Rent a room. Walk to the ice machine. Sit in that plastic chair and watch the sun set over the asphalt.
This was the era of the "Mom and Pop" joints. Places with names like The Starlite , The Blue Top , or The Desert Palm . They had kidney-shaped pools, vibrating beds (for a quarter), and neon signs that promised "Air Conditioning" and "Color TV" as if they were miracles.
It won’t be luxurious. But I promise you, it will be a story. Next time you’re driving through a small town
But here’s the secret: That’s exactly why I love them now. In a world of Airbnb checklists and “contactless check-in,” the motel offers something radical: honesty.
At a motel, you know what you’re getting. There is no pretense. The paint is peeling. The Wi-Fi password is taped to the back of the door. The shower pressure is either a fire hose or a drizzle. Walk to the ice machine
We tend to look down on motels. We call them “no-tells” or “fleabags.” We drive past them on interstates, their neon signs flickering with vacancy. But lately, I’ve started to think we’ve gotten them all wrong. The motel isn’t a failure of hospitality. It’s a specific genre of travel, and one we’re losing. The word itself tells you everything: Motor Hotel .
But if you choose wisely—the independently owned spot, the retro revival, the place with the neon cactus out front—you get something the Hyatt can never sell you: Atmosphere. Places with names like The Starlite , The
Have you ever had a memorable (good or bad) motel experience? Tell me about the ice machine or the weird painting in the comments.
There’s a specific kind of silence at a motel.
Unlike a traditional hotel, where you walk through a lobby, wait for an elevator, and shuffle down a carpeted hallway, the motel is brutally efficient. Your door opens to the outside. You park ten feet from your bed.
It’s not the hushed, sterile quiet of a Marriott lobby. It’s the silence of a parking lot at 2 AM. The hum of a vintage ice machine. The muffled sound of a TV playing Johnny Carson reruns from the room next door.