Rage Hard

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Leading a tour down the US West Coast isn't the worst way to spend 4 weeks and it has many compensations.  The weather is lovely, the scenery is off the scale and you get to drink magnificent craft beers and eat well.  Putting out the odd fire and springing pillocks from jail is all part of the sport.

BUT, and it is a big but (you get a lot of big butts in Merica), the daily hotel check-in is absolutely the worst thing.  Regardless of how carefully you have checked the reservations there is a clenching of the buttocks as you approach reception.  Today the first contact was good....they had all 15 rooms and cats were allowed.....but they weren't ready.  No problem, I was 30 minutes early.  30 minutes later.....still no rooms.  Cyclists were arriving; hot, tired grumpy cyclists.  The receptionist had run out of fucks to give several years ago.  I asked to see the manager.  Out walked a thing that was once the manger but was now a barrel of lard with a head.  We exchanged opinions on exactly what a '3 o'clock check-in' meant.  Eventually he hauled himself off to help the cleaners prepare rooms while I placated cyclists.  Having arrived at 2:30 I got everyone checked in at 5pm!

Bugger.

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