When Marriott bought Gaylord hotels two years ago, it meant little to me, if anything. But when I road the motorcycle to Music City on Memorial Day weekend, it mean everything. I had lots of Marriott hotel points, and therefore had free-ish lodging at one of the coolest hotels. Have you seen it?
I will never forget my first stay at the Gaylord Opryland Resort years early. Before arriving, I totally had visions of Hee Haw do-si-do-ing in my head. You know, barn door motif, hay bales, bib overalls, “Daisy Dukes” and the like.
So when I first waltzed into this Tennessee treasure, I was blown away. The place is more like a botanical garden that was eaten by a sub-development. A small city of green, surrounded by swank balconies. Tall, tall tropical trees, waterfalls, gardens, walkways, with ponds meandering along and under the walkways between lobby, restaurants, cafes. Koi! We love koi.
Gotta be honest, I cannot remember if the resort had Wi-Fi at the time of my first visit. What I do remember is that I was there for a bizarre event. One of my PR clients at the time was showing off their services at the illustrious Indoor Tanning convention. Most interesting, the client had secured the services of several Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders to appear in their booth. So, I guess the idea of “Daisy Dukes” was not that unrealistic.
Anywho … 2014 brought me back and the place doesn’t seem to have aged nearly as much as me. There might have been some signs of aging on the mechanical structures at the top of the atrium … maybe. But everything else looked sparkly clean, organic, new and fresh. I was impressed.
I was also flattered when the front desk informed me that I was a gold or platinum member or something and automatically was upgraded to an enormous, luxurious suite, with the coup de tat for a techno nerd — not one but two flat screens for my HBO viewing … Making it doubly hard to avoid watching any “Game of Thrones” spoilage. (My current long-term hotel has the weak Showtime, and no HBO so I am a season behind in the saga.) Did you hear that Game of Thrones just surpassed The Sopranos as the most popular HBO series, ever?
So, did my hotel points status also upgrade my Wi-Fi experience? No. Dissappointed. There was basic free service, which I think was strategically designed as a “gateway drug” Wi-Fi. A taste of slow connectivity, to suck you in, knowing you would pay to play on a better connection. It worked. The free Wi-Fi was okay at first, since i am an early riser. But when the groggy folk got on line, the performance plummeted. I shelled out about $12 for 24 hours … and from then on, I was happier than a koi swimming in an atrium pool, streaming music, video and blogging.
Breakfast? Excellent – crabmeat eggs Benedict and all the coffee I could hold.
Gaylord Opryland — world class people watching, excellent but price meals, great rooms, shuttles to nearby attractions, nice restaurants and bars under one see-through roof. But … never any reason for such a nice place to nickel-and-dime the guests for a better Wi-Fi connection … could have been a perfect 7 pings. Wi-Fi should be an amenity, not a loss leader — 6 pings.
So then … how to spend my day? As blogged previously, I was broken down in Nashville and it rained. With no wheels, temporarily, and then finally a sudden sunny sky, I headed for the pool. Yes, the Wi-Fi followed me there. (I watched closely on line, hoping for an e-mail from the Triumph dealership.)
To my chagrin, I was also followed by someone’s smoke. It always makes a bee-line to me. I apologize to all the smokers in the world who are conscientious and mindful of others around them (that group is about four people), but I am horribly allergic to the poison in your smoke. I have no problem if you wish to ingest it. But I have a right to breathe clear and not be nauseated … I digress.
So, I had just stuck earbuds in my ears and laid back to get some rays, when I notice I can’t breathe. Across the pool were two women. … How to be nice? … One was no bikini model — slim, full-figured or otherwise. She was not doing much with whatever God and genetics had given her. The other woman was covered in tattoos. No, I don’t like those either. But I have seen some that are beautiful artwork and probably enhance a person’s appearance. This woman’s tats were terrible quality and she was covered. Maybe she was giving the artist another try, hoping for redemption after the first fiasco and the next fail and the next. Very unsightly. So that was the smoking crew. And their scowls and smoky vibe were of course fixated on me.
Ever the subtle one, I put a beach towel up to my face every time they lit up, hoping to give them a clue. I might have stared a little as if to say, “you catchin what I’m thrown down?” with my muzzled body language. By the way … not another soul among the other 100 people at the pool was poisoning themselves with smoke. It was a non-smoking area. And of course there were no ash trays because of that. The two non-queens of tanning — indoor, outdoor or otherwise — smoked on and on.
Finally, I had enough, and had my iPhone to my ear, about to call security to have someone do something about the mushroom cloud of gaseous nicotine. Before security picked up, a lifeguard walked over to the women and you could tell by the look on their face, and the slightly dimmed cherry of their cigarettes, that they had been asked to quit and perhaps live a little longer. This angered them. But, outnumbered 100-2, they took a last angry hit and snubbed.
No more than five minutes later, a security guard walked up to me.
“Sir. We have a complaint that you may be taking photos of people at the pool.”
The nice security guard probably saw one of the biggest smiles in months cross my face. “Well played, non-pool types,” I thought.
I handed him my phone and showed him the most recent photos of the serial numbers on the inner tube of my flat motorcycle tire. For a second he thought it was the woman with the tats … just kidding. He laughed.
Then I explained to him that I was about to report the fumigators and had given them clear signals that their smoke was closing up my own air passages. So I was convinced they thought I was the one to rat on them … when in fact someone else beat me to it.
The security guard and I chatted for a while and discussed motorcycles and bonded their at the pool. Just as we walked by the smoke pit, I mentioned to him that I am a travel writer and that the nasty, vengeful smokers would make a great story. Did I make sure the tobacco girls heard? Duh.
He gave me a ride in his security Jeep and we went to the parking lot and aired up the tire on the Triumph motorbike, to see if it would hold. I am sure people probably thought I had been removed from the pool. Hardly.
I did meet yet another rider and he shared with me some nice little backroads to ride around Nashville. Finally, I got the tire fixed, and the next day I got up, hoping to ride those roads and photo Music City. But it poured, and I headed West as fast as I could go to escape the storm.
Know what I sayin?
