2-Sterne-Hotels in Ellsworth

I was blewn off the interstate due to high winds and snowy, slick roads. I recovered my truck from the ditches of I-70, got my truck pointed in the right direction again, and was prepared for a long, icy night on an off ramp in central KS. My only hope was a hotel in Ellsworth that was booked up but promised to call if anyone dropped their reservation. As I layered up in spare clothes, reclined my chair, and mentally strategized how I’d use the remaining fuel for heat, I got a call from an unknown KS number. It was Best Value Inn in Ellsworth! They had a room! I reserved the room and headed that way, cautiously monitoring my speed. My visibility along the old Highway 40 route was hardly 10 feet in front of me. Snow and dirt from the old road swirled in a never ending cascade of dancing visual obstructions that seemed to move without relevance to the laws of gravity! Behind the seemingly benevolent and seductive dance, the evil sirens conspired to lead me to a ditch along the rural highway! I maintained course. My Maps navigation app pointed to my North Star, the Ellsworth Best Value Inn. As the app mileage ticked closer, I kept waiting for catastrophe. A bridge that may be iced over where my truck would again lose control. Or an icy culvert with a particularly steep ditch that promised to finally test the dexterity of my trusty old Chevy pickup. When the artificial voice of navigation finally said “turn right and you have reached your destination” the sign said “Americas Best Value Inn” but all I read was “Sanctuary.” I parked my car in front of the Value Inn’s front desk and walked through its pearly gates of safety and security. I approached the front desk to wait for an opportunity to speak to the front desk attendant. Another refugee from the interstate was checking in. I noticed their OK plates. She explained how Americas Best Value Inn had saved her from the mayhem of the interstate. We wished each other safe travels and then it was my turn. I could finally speak to my savior at the front desk. My Saint Peter was a middle aged Indian man. He stood behind a desk with a plexiglass window and a miniature Indian flag planted in a small bowl or rice colored in layers of saffron, white, and dark green. I thanked him profusely for a room in his heavenly shelter and we discussed the storm. I was so humbled that my Peter had engaged me in idle chatter even if it was really just about the weather! Peter answered several calls from lost souls abandoned in the chaos of the storm. “I’m sorry we have no rooms available,” he said in his Indian accent with a deified tone. He showed me how my key card accessed the pearly gates. And also the WiFi password. I parked my trusty old pickup, scanned my key card, and walked through the pearly columns enclosing my sanctuary. My shelter from the storm. My home. However the guy next to my room is snoring rather loud and I can hear him through the wall. So there’s that.