SOMEWHERE NEAR DFW AIRPORT — The jetliners shimmer through the starry sky on a summer evening, some heading upward, others preparing to land.
I can see their lights because I'm only a few miles away from the airport. I am so freaking lost — been that way for nearly 90 minutes now. Somewhere in the darkness — in this suburban wilderness of malls, hotels, chain restaurants and subdivisions — lies my hotel. But I can't find it.
This is my third time to stay at the Hilton Lakes DFW, attending the Mayborn Literary Nonfiction Conference. But it's the first time I've tried to find the hotel while coming from Austin — a different direction than from East Texas — and at night.
The latter is key to my discombobulation. I don't see very well at night, especially when in unfamiliar territory. Everything looks the same in Chain-Store Land. Thus I don't know if the Lowe's I'm now passing is the same one I drove by from a different direction 15 minutes ago, or a different Lowe's five miles down the road.
It's not as if I didn't go unprepared. I printed out directions from Austin to the hotel in Grapevine from MapQuest, an online site that usually serves me well. I followed its instructions while hurtling up I-35 toward Fort Worth. At one point I missed an exit and ended up in downtown Cowtown, but that mistake was easily corrected. Soon, according to the directions, I was .7 miles away.
Things went downhill rapidly from there. It was pushing 9 p.m. I was salivating over the glass of wine awaiting me once I checked into the hotel. It had been a long drive. Hmmmmn. The hotel should be right over...
OK, maybe I missed the turn. I checked the directions, and reversed, figuring I had missed one turn in the darkness. Grapevine believes its streets signs should be unobtrusive and tasteful. If I had any influence on the city council, I would require glow-in-the-dark neon yellow letters on a green background, illuminated by spotlights, for folks like me.
No worries. I'm just a few blocks away from a cabernet. Where is that darned hotel? I remember a Bass Pro Shop sits near the hotel entrance. That's been my landmark in the past. But it is dark; the fishermen have gone home to watch the Bass Channel.
I stop and whip out my iPhone. It is a smart little creature that uses Google Maps and knows where I am located (Steve Jobs likes to keep track of his customers). It has served many times to get me where I need to go. The iPhone says I'm just 1.1 miles away. I follow its instructions, confident the lighted "H" of the Hilton will soon beckon to me like a beacon in the summer night.
I end up in a cul-de-sac of trailer houses ringed with hog-wire fences and a bevy of "Beware of Dog" signs. Hounds are baying, doors slamming, darkness descends. I beat a hasty retreat back to the main thoroughfare.
I thought my brilliant iPhone had provided a shortcut to the hotel. Instead, I nearly bought a shortcut to being a crime victim. This looked like Confederate-flag-in-the-front-yard, meth-lab-in-the-backyard territory. I'm sure hard-working, salt-of-the-earth folk largely populate the neighborhood. At night it just looks creepy.
Next tact was to violate the primal male stricture and ask for directions. The convenience store clerk was eager to help. "Oh, I drive by there every day. You can't miss it." Sure enough, in no time I'm pulling into the parking lot of — the wrong Hilton hotel.
I realize this immediately but decide to go inside and get directions to the right Hilton. The question comes up so often that the clerk hands me a printed card with directions to Hilton Lakes DFW. It is 8.7 miles away. I have lost eight miles in the past 80 minutes.
The directions are badly written. At one point I'm about to head down DFW airport's main entrance. I make a U-turn, end up by accident on IH-635 and glance up to see a sign: Bass Pro Club Drive, next exit.
Hallelujah. Somehow I have managed to end up approaching the hotel as if I were driving from East Texas. I know how to do this. A mere hour-and-a-half of wandering in the suburban wasteland is over.
The hotel clerk asks me how my trip had been thus far. Just fine, I said, intent on heading upstairs for a hot shower and a cool glass of vino.
Gary Borders is publisher of the Longview News-Journal. E-mail: gborders(at)longview-news.com.
