Well, that was the historical bit. From here in the gathering gloom, it was time to sort out a motel. I recalled that on my way into the city I'd seen what looked like a respectable budget motel, and I'd made a mental note of its location. I was going to return there to see if they could put me up for the night.

"Now isn't this a total badger! I have driven round and round this ring road four times and either I'm in the wrong place (which I very much doubt) or, more likely, someone has moved the motel. Whatever has happened, it isn't here any more where I saw it an hour ago. This is just totally absurd."
Well, that's what I said at the time. in fact, I said quite a few other things as well, but this website is family entertainment so it isn't the place to repeat them.

"Not to worry. I saw a bargain type of motel near to Blandford Church. I'll go over there and check myself in. It's only for one night so I'm not too bothered."
Well, that's also what I said at the time, too. And I went to this budget motel place, and I tell you now, I rather wish I hadn't.

ANOTHER MOTEL FROM HELL

I pulled up on the car park, and the first thing that went through my mind (and I don't know why it did at all) was that I wasn't going to leave the car out of my sight while I checked in. I walked into the reception area and the second thing that went through my mind was that it was another place run by Indians ("those" Indians, not the type that Arthur Hunnicutt was discussing). That's four or five out of 9 so far. What on earth is happening in the USA?

Third thing that went through my mind was that the proprietor was busy talking away on the telephone, and even though there was a considerable number of other people hanging around who could quite clearly see me, they all ignored me. Yes, you could tell by the customer service that these people were certainly not Americans, and you could also tell that they weren't real Indians either, if my considerable experience of the Indian and Pakistani communities in the UK is anything to go by.

So, doing my best to hide my anger (and I had no idea where this anger had come from - it just appeared), I had a good look around. And the fourth thing I noticed was all the little notices - like

1. towels will be changed once per week and not at any other time
2. soap is available - price 50 cents for a small bar
3. visitors to the rooms must be checked in at reception. Failure to do so will result in both you and the visitor being ordered to leave

There were reams and reams of stuff like this.

That was when realisation slowly dawned on me. Even though this place is advertising itself as a motel, it isn't one, really. What it is in fact is long-stay accommodation for those who can't obtain accommodation under any other circumstances. I seem to recall a policeman in the "Terry Mancini" case describing a hostel for the homeless in the UK in the 1930s as a "sink for scum" and while I wouldn't go as far as to say that about this place, I could see what he was getting at. I'd seen a place like this before, earlier on in my travels yet this place had a much more depressing air than that motel in Charleston.

I've also stayed in some pretty dire motels on my travels, in Flagstaff and Surfside Beach to name but two, but at least they were real motels. And to think that if the receptionist hadn't ignored me, I may well have booked myself in here.

Turning on my heels, I started to walk out. The receptionist put down the phone and came running out of his office towards me.

"Don't you worry about me" I urged. "Your phone call is obviously much more important than I paying customer. But I won't disturb you. I'll go and book in somewhere else and you can continue your little chat without me interrupting your busy social life by doing anything so stupid as wanting to give you any money". I can be a right swine when I want to be.

Back into the car and out of the carpark onto the highway. Well, not quite. As if to underline the point about this motel, I had to slam to a halt as a Tijuana Taxi, blue lights flashing and all the works, screetched onto the car park at a speed that can only be accounted for by the fact that he might be late for a coffee break. Just like something off "Smokey and the Bandit", it were. Yes, quite!

All of this excitement was too much for me. I was heading out of the town.

LATER THAT EVENING ...

A short distance out of town somewhere on the south-eastern side of the city, I came across the "Budget Motor Inn". It looked quite respectable from the main road, but it wasn't displaying its prices, which always fills me full of suspicion. Usually I'm like the man in the Rolls-Royce showroom, with the "if you have to ask the price, it means that you can't afford it" mentality. But by now I was fed up with wandering around looking for disappearing motels and helpful motel staff, so I went in to make certain enquiries.

I can't remember the price we started at, but by the time I'd finished we had agreed a figure which, with tax (according to my credit card statement) worked out at just over 39 dollars. This was much more like it. This was really quite good value too. A nice modern clean and comfortable room. I was well-impressed. So much so, in fact, that I'll even tell you the address, 2151 Jamestown Drive, so you can find it for yourself without messing around like I had t.

Next thing I had to do was to clean the passenger seat. You may recall that a few days ago I'd spilt a sugary energy drink all over the passenger seat. Now, it had transformed itself into a gooey, sticky mass. This was no good. I'd get billed for this. A couple of days ago, I'd bought some special woollen cleaner and a scrubbing brush from a dollar store. I poured some of the woollen cleaner onto the seat and scrubbed it well in with the scrubbing brush. Then I poured lots of fresh water all over it and kept scrubbing until I was satisfied that the gooey mass had gone. (Next morning, the water had all dried quite nicely and the seat looked like new. I was impressed).

Once I had got that out of the way, I then had to feed my face. I was starving by now.

As luck would have it, just a half-mile down the road was some kind of Italian restaurant whose name I have now forgotten (from the photo it looks like it might be the "Roma Pizza" but don't quote me on that). This was convenient as I had no intention of going too far, so this was where I came to eat.

I can't remember how much I paid here, or what I had to eat (I suspect it was a spaghetti / pasta type of thing) but I remember that I was pleasantly surprised by the food and the bill. I also remember having a considerable amount of bread given to me, and a refill whenever it looked like I might empty the bread bowl. I'm really going to have to tidy up my office in the near future. I bet I have all the information around here somewhere. I'm also looking forward to having my damaged tape repaired too.

NEXT MORNING...

Next morning, I was up bright and early, as is my wont when I'm in North America. At least, I was brighter than the weather as you can tell from the photographs of the motel and the restaurant (it was too dark last night to do that). This was depressing. It was 1st of May, Paul's daughter Siobhan's birthday (she's a 1996 model so she was 9 years old and cute as a button) and I had an enormous amount of work to do.

I'm not going to bore you with talking about the Petersburg battle, because if you really want to find out more about it, you can see that I've written about it somewhere else. I'll just say that the battlefield was magnificent, it was everything I hoped that it would be, and as the highlight of my holiday, it was well worth the effort to have made the journey to see it.

The weather improved as the morning passed by. Lunchtime was positively sunny and warm. By the time I'd finished at Poplar Grove, it was stinking hot and my drive from the South Side railway station along a variety of river valleys, past Sailors Creek, or Sayler's Creek or whatever and Appomattox under the sun was probably as beautiful as it gets.

No photographs (except of battlefields), unfortunately, as I didn't have time to stop. You have no idea how late it was and how much I had to do in the little time available. Apart from Richmond, there was Cold Harbor, Gaines Mill, Hanover Junction and the North Anna River battlefields to visit. As well as sleeping some time, too.

So, once I'd done battle, if you'll pardon the expression, it was Richmond next stop

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