Motels at Night

"I saw the sign moving in the dark - the neon cowboy endlessly throwing his lasso - and I could not resist..."

Note: today’s post is a compilation of photos and captions from Paul’s excellent book “Breaking Gravity” (available to buy here.) In our last excerpt from the book, I found photos on a theme close to my heart—the little treats of the road. This time I went for glamour. Is there anything more beautiful than a neon motel sign at night? …TM

Rock Springs, Wyoming - 2006

This was the first place I ever spent the night with my dog, Elko. We had each had a loaded day. I had started out in Winnemucca. He had arrived from another dimension or another galaxy, possibly both. After all the trials of the day, we just wanted to hunker down and get to know each other. I had planned to sack out in the town of Green River, Wyoming but, due to the latest oil boom, every motel room in town was booked. The one place I found that wasn’t booked not only wanted an outrageous rate for their filthy room, but they would not allow dogs. The desk clerk looked out her dirty window, somehow saw through the tinted glass of my Toyota Tacoma’s cab and spotted Elko standing triumphantly on top of the ice chest. She turned to me and said “We can’t take your little friend.” I asked her if she knew of any other places in town with rooms and she was kind enough to say “About 7 miles down the highway, there’s a place at the exit. Try them.”

I could tell a long story about that first night and the kindly woman who welcomed us at the Springs Motel, but I’ll save that for some other time.

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Reno, Nevada - 2003

My friend Paul and I woke in Oregon at a hot springs lodge. We decided to head for Nevada and find a remote hot spring instead of soaking away the day in a new-age community. We left early and hauled ass. A good drive across central Nevada is glorious in its own right. We were getting close to our initial soak of the day when a buck jumped out of nowhere and hit the car. We were lucky to have no injuries. The vehicle, Paul’s Isuzu Trooper, which he dearly loved, was totaled, as was the deer.

We were stunned. Moments after this happened, a guy drove by in a small car - this was on what’s normally a deserted, high-desert road. This gentleman was wearing a purple fez and was returning home from a Shriner’s convention. I hitched a ride with him to Austin, Nevada, to look for help. At the Pony Canyon Lodge, I found the owner, whom I had gotten to know over the years as a fellow baseball fan. As soon as I explained what had happened, I got a call on my cell phone from a state trooper - I was shocked to get any service in Austin, Nevada in 2003, but I did. The trooper had driven up and they were waiting for a flatbed truck. Dean, the motel owner, agreed to drive me back to the accident scene. The front of Paul’s Trooper had chunks of fur stuck to it. The truck was winching it onto the bed as we drove up.

We ended up in Battle Mountain, Nevada. I wanted to stay in support of Paul, but I also didn’t want to miss my flight out of Reno that night. He walked me across Battle Mountain to catch the one Greyhound bus a day that comes through town. I left Paul to the vagaries of fortune in Battle Mountain, then had an interesting bus ride to Reno, where I walked around the downtown area. I pulled out my camera and discovered that it had suffered some damage, probably when they threw the bag from the Trooper into the tow truck. I tested the lens and took this photo. As soon as I clicked the shutter, the front element of the lens fell out and hit the ground. I got the shot, though, and had the lens repaired when I got home.

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Indio, California - 1998

Indio keeps getting bigger and bigger. That’s my impression every time I pass through. I don’t remember snapping this photo. I usually remember taking a photo, even though my memory in other parts of life can be fuzzy. I don’t remember taking this shot, though. I can safely say that I used a tripod, as it was shot on slow film at night and I had to use a tripod in those days for a shot like this. My modus operandi then - and now - was to slowly roll through a town and find the old services strip before I got a room. I would then case it, driving up and down the length of it. If it was a good strip with good signs, I would stop and jump out of the car every few hundred yards with my tripod, then shoot. I imagine that’s how I ended up with this shot. I do not recall staying in Indio, but this photo looks pretty dark and I don’t like to drive late at night, so I may have slept here. Not that these details are crucial. More interesting to me is the name - did someone have a thing for Hawaii? That would be my bet. And the well-preserved sign. It probably has not been altered for 50 years. As always, the word “Kitchenettes” makes me happy.

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Fallon, Nevada - 2002

The first time I went through Fallon, Nevada, I stayed in a nondescript, modern motel. It was fine. I was heading out on my road trip through the desert and anything was good enough. I hit the first place in town with a “Vacancy” sign. I don’t recall the Lariat Motel, although I surely drove past it as I rolled west out of town the next morning. I jumped onto Highway 50 and hit the salt flats not long after Fallon. Revelations would follow, one after the other, in short order, and that trip held a lot of catharsis and many miles of empty road.

I did not stay at the Lariat until my second trip through Fallon, when I came in from the east. I saw the sign moving in the dark - the neon cowboy endlessly throwing his lasso - and I could not resist, so I pulled in. It was an older place, but well-kept. The office had a short hallway that ran into the living quarters and I could smell the motelier’s dinner. It smelled like fish. A neat pile of old “Lariat Motel” postcards sat on the counter next to the desktop service bell.

A very old, very thin man with incredibly bright blue eyes walked to the desk. He was efficient as he went through the motions of checking me in. He was as professional as they come and he gave me a professional smile, but there was a real twinkle in his eye. He had clearly been doing this for a long time. I got the feeling that he had already sized me up.

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Green River, Utah - 2016

There are many gifts you can get as a photographer, but one of the rarest and most rewarding is to roll into a town at dusk when a massive thunderstorm is approaching. All you can do is pull out your camera and shoot as fast as you can before the rain hits. These two photos are from the town of Green River, which once gave me haven in a terrible storm.

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South Lake Tahoe, CA - 1998

There’s not a lot of neon in this photo, but there’s enough artificial incandescence to make up for it. At Doc’s, every day is a holiday. I don’t know if it’s still there. I made the run through this high altitude, mountain resort town with my friend, Peggy after a long day of driving. Doc’s was one of about 7 places I shot that night. This photo has alwas looked and felt to me like some joint out of a late ‘40s film noir. And, being in Tahoe, it might as well have been one. I can see Robert Ryan pulling up in an old coupe, desperately trying to find a room for the night so that he can straighten out his mind and then tend to the guy who got shot, the guy who’s bleeding all over the back seat of his Plymouth. Yeah, Doc’s has seen a lot of action.

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These photos and the accompanying captions appeared in the book Breaking Gravity, available here.

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Paul Vlachos is a writer, photographer and filmmaker. He was born in New York City, where he currently lives. He is the author of “The Space Age Now,” released in 2020, “Breaking Gravity” in 2021, and 2023’s “Exit Culture.”

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