And maybe we became innkeepers in order to tie ourselves down as we have a reputation when it comes to traveling. No one was ever anxious to go with us.
There were sailboat trips with freak storms and multiple mechanical failures ("Mike, is water suppose to be coming up through the floor?") There were camping trips to Padre Island with second degree sunburns, food poisoning and getting trapped inside a very expensive borrowed tent. (It was dark and the zipper was jammed). We have sat on hilltops while flood waters raged around us. And we have searched for food and lodging during all the wrong times. We didn't know it was the tri-state horse show, or the big college event, or Columbus Day (which is a big deal up in New England).
We also had a reputation for getting lost. Pictures in our photo albums say "somewhere in Maine as we were lost at the time." We would leave Dallas and end up in Houston when headed for Austin. Or, we left Colorado headed for the National Grasslands in the panhandles of Oklahoma and Texas and ended up in (this is so embarrassing) KANSAS.
The following is a story I wrote after flying to Colorado to attend our son's graduation from college at Western State in Gunnison in May of 1999. (Flying would usually at least insure we got to where we were trying to go!) We tacked on a few nights to stay in a luxury suite at a resort in Crested Butte.
But, their hats are funnier!