We decided to take 101 Freeway on our way to San Francisco in 1980. The coastal towns of Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo and San Simeon alleviated the long-winded route. We had hotel reservations Friday night in Carmel to break up the trip. This was my first experience on the seventeen-mile drive and it lived up to its spectacular reputation of killer views. Scott’s car was a stick shift so he did all the driving.
With stiff backs from seven hours of intense driving, we were ready to collapse on the bed of the Carmel Travel Lodge. I had made the reservations and we plopped down our luggage in the lobby. I told the manager, “The name is Blitz. We are here for just one night.” This was the August high season. The confused manager looked at me after five minutes of searching and said, “Oh I see. You made reservations for Sunday night.” I said, “Oh no. How did I mix the dates up? Could you check again. Oh wait, I have a print out.” I pulled it out, showed it to him and he said, “Sir it says its for Sunday.” The manager said they were fully booked and he warned me that all the hotels in the area were sold out. There was a convention that weekend. Scott was fuming.
I’d hit the homerun of embarrassment.
With our broken stiff backs we continued driving to San Francisco and stayed with the kindness of strangers. On our return drive home, we plunked ourselves at The Carmel Travel Lodge on the Sunday of the mistaken reservation day. Scott stopped fuming and it all worked out after we apologized to our backs for torturing them.