My last blog featured some of our worst hotel/motel stays. Today, I'm going to write about some of our best - or at least the most fun or interesting.

It was always difficult to find good, reasonable accommodations for the race weekends in Monterrey, CA. One year, I lucked into a brand new place called the Monterrey Bay Inn, which fronted the bay and was directly across from the famed Fisherman's Wharf area.

The hotel had only opened a few weeks before and, after checking in, Judy and I were blown away by the modern, upscale room. The bathroom was spectacular with a giant bath/shower. It was the first time we had seen glass that was see-through until you flipped a switch to turn it opaque. It was also the first time we had seen a TV in the bathroom.

The balcony jutted out over the big shoreline rocks that were covered for most of the day and night by dozens of sea lions. Judy immediately began spending most of her time on the balcony, barking back at the sea lions. It was quite the chorus and Judy eventually lost her voice from the effort to keep up with the animals.

There was no restaurant in the hotel, but it did provide room service for breakfast - from a nearby cafe. We ordered before going to bed each night and ate our wonderful full, hot breakfast on the balcony each morning. It was spectacular.

I reserved the room for the next year's race weekend the day we checked out.

We stayed there for three years before the hotel management messed up the deal. I got a letter a month or so before our scheduled fourth stay informing me that the hotel was booked for a convention and my reservation had been canceled. No alternate arrangement or guidance of any kind. Just a cancellation notice.

I called the corporate headquarters of the hotel group and complained and was given the cold shoulder. Not even a sorry. Just "nothing we can do about it."

I managed to find a decent room for that year's race despite the late date, but it still bugs me the way that was handled.

Another great place we stayed on work weekends was The Fountainebleu Hotel in Miami Beach. The luxury hotel opened in 1954 and there was an amazing ice cream shop just off the lobby (don't remember the name). My family would go there for treats during several spring vacation stays in Miami Beach when my siblings and I were young.

I was looking for a place to stay during a Homestead race weekend, when our kids were around eight and nine, and I found a great rate at the Fountainebleu, which had just gone through a $100 million renovation.

It was a long drive from the racetrack in Homestead, but I knew the family, who were not going to the track, would appreciate it.

The hotel had a magnificent pool area, games for the kids and wonderful restaurants - and it still had an upscale ice cream parlor, although with a different name.

My family had a great time there and I booked it again for the next year.

Again, I got a letter from hotel management, this time informing me that the hotel was overbooked for our weekend and that they had instead put us in a room next door at the Eden Roc Hotel. The letter also stated that we were welcome to use any of the Fountainebleu services during our stay across the big parking lot.

I wasn't particularly happy about the situation, but the Eden Roc _ a similar vintage to the Fountainebleu _ was a nice place, too.

We checked in and and were ushered by a bellman to a room on a dark, dingy corridor on a low floor. The room was adequate - typical hotel room - with a view of the front parking lot. It was a big change from the room we had the year before at the Fountainebleu, looking out over the pool deck and the ocean.

I told Judy and the kids I was going to the front desk and to turn on the TV, sit on the beds and not touch anything else until I came back. I then marched back to the lobby and asked to see the manager.

In this case, the manager was a pretty, young thing with a gorgeous smile. I had intended to be tough in making my case and demanding a different room. But I found myself smiling and saying, "I have a little problem that maybe you can help me with."

I explained the situation, telling her that I went to the track and my family stayed in the hotel most of the day and that the room we had been assigned was not even adequate.

To my surprise, her reply was, "No problem. Let's move you and your family to one of our newly renovated floors." All I could do was smile and say, "Thank you."

In a flash, we were relocated to a huge room on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the pool deck and ocean, with all-new furniture and a beautiful balcony. Everyone was happy.

We were all asleep early the next morning, with the drapes closed to keep out the bright sunlight, when there was an insistent knock at the door. I struggled out of bed, still half asleep, wondering who could be knocking a this hour. I opened the door to the hall and there was no one there.

I cussed to myself and was walking back toward the bed when the knocking began again. In my sleep-befogged state, it took me a moment or two to realize the knocking was from the balcony door.

I walked to the door, pulled the drapes back and there, standing in pajamas and robes and looking very unhappy, were two young men looking back at me through the glass.

I slid the door open a few inches and asked, "What's this all about?"

One of them explained to me that they had gone out onto their balcony in the room next to ours to drink their morning coffee and had locked themselves out. We were too high up to attract attention from the pool area, so they had taken their lives in their hands, climbed up on the railing and stepped across to our balcony.

I let them into the room, where Judy and the kids awoke to find two strangers in bed clothes with embarrassed looks on their faces. I then called the front desk and asked they send somebody up with a key to the next door room.

After an uncomfortable silence of about five minutes, the bellman arrived and asked if the young men had any identification to prove the room next door was theirs. I intervened and pointed out they were in their PJs and robes and unlikely to be carrying ID.

"How about letting them into the room and letting them get their ID from their wallets? He looked a bit startled but nodded in agreement and ushered the men out of the room. They left with a stream of apologies and thanks.

Another luxury hotel we stayed at for a number of years was the Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue in New York City. It was a grand dame of a hotel and had undergone several big renovations and was still something special.

The first couple of years the NASCAR Awards Dinner was held at the Waldorf, we were still living in New Jersey and didn't need a hotel room. But, after moving to North Carolina in 1995, that changed.

The first year we flew back for the dinner on the first week of December, we stayed at a midtown motel a cab ride away from the Waldorf. It wasn't particularly convenient, but I figured the cost of staying at the Waldorf would not be appreciated by my boss.

I was wrong.

When I stopped in the office in Rockefeller Center for a visit, the boss, Sports Editor Terry Taylor, asked me where Judy and I were staying. I told her and she asked where everyone else was staying? 

I said, "Most people are staying at the Waldorf because that's where all the events are."

"Why aren't you staying there?" she asked. "I thought it was probably too expensive," I replied.

"Well, next year, stay where everybody else is staying," Terry said.

We wound up staying at the Waldorf for the NASCAR festivities for nearly a decade. Each year the cost of the room went up, finally topping out at $420 a night. I had great trepidation when I turned in my expense accounts. But nobody said a word about it _ until the last year.

Finally, I was told, "Find someplace less expensive to stay. There's lots of hotels in New York."

But, by that time, we had enjoyed a lot of luxury, compounded by the fact that the Waldorf kept track of its guests and upgraded you to a better room each time you returned. By the last year there, we were in a huge junior suite that looked out on Park Avenue. It was impressive.

There was a jewelry store in the lobby that had some very expensive and unusual items displayed in the windows. Among them was an ornate necklace with figures tumbling down the chain. It was the centerpiece of the display and Judy's favorite.

She got to know the ladies that ran the store, telling them from the start, "There's nothing in here I can afford. But I love looking." 

Each year when we returned, she would walk into the jewelry store and get a greeting from the ladies as if she was their best customer or an old friend.

Finally, she got up the nerve to ask to try on that necklace that she had been gazing longingly at for so many years.

Once it was placed on her, she looked up at the ladies and asked, "What is this supposed to represent?" Much to her surprise and embarrassment, they said, "It's the Kama Sutra."

We both looked a little closer at the tumbling figures and probably blushed. But Judy got a big kick out of it.

She also got to know the hotel's concierge very well. Judy would just stop by for a chat and, after a while, the guy, who had been very formal, warmed up to her and told her a lot about the business of being a concierge at a major hotel.

During the summer before our last year at the Waldorf for the NASCAR banquet, we went on a cruise out of the Port of New York with my brothers and sisters and their significant others. Upon returning to New York, several of the family members decided to stay at the Waldorf overnight before heading home.

I used some Hilton points to make it affordable and we joined them. Again, we got a big, luxurious room, thanks to our long history of staying at the Waldorf.

We were in the sitting room area with my brother Bob when Judy noticed something moving on the floor. It turned out to be a gigantic cockroach. It was the Waldorf but, hey, this was also New York.

Judy, quick as a flash, grabbed a water glass and trapped the cockroach.

I said, "What are you going to do with it now? We're on the 15th floor. You going to put it in the toilet or out the window?"

Nope. She wanted it taken outside and let go. But she also wanted the hotel people to know about the cockroach.

She called her friend, the concierge, and told him what was going on. He said, "I'll send somebody up right away."

Moments later, a young assistant manager appeared at our door, looking perplexed. He looked at the cockroach under glass, grimaced and said, "What would you like done?"

Judy told him that she wanted to take the cockroach outside, but she knew it probably would not be a good idea to ride down the guest elevators with the bug visible to anyone. He agreed and said, "C'mon, we'll take the service elevator."

Off they went, much to the dismay of several maids  who saw them with the cockroach under glass. They walked out a service door and Judy saw a small, grassy area across the street. That's where she deposited the cockroach, which quickly scuttled away. 

Judy speculated later that it probably beat her back to the hotel to tell its family the story of its strange trip.

The assistant manager brought her back to the room and asked, "What can we do for you to make up for the inconvenience?"

As much as Judy wanted to ask for one of the beautiful terry cloth bathrobes that came with the room, she was too embarrassed to ask for something that expensive. Instead, she picked up a souvenir jar with the name of the Waldorf etched on it and hard candies inside it and said, "Could I take this home with me?"

He smiled and said, "Of course."

After we checked out a few days later, Judy lamented that she hadn't asked for that robe. Months later, on our last visit to the Waldorf from the NASCAR dinner, she visited the concierge and reminded him of the cockroach story.

There was a package on the bed when we returned from dinner that night. Wrapped nicely in brown paper and with a note that read, "Hope you enjoy this gift from us here at the Waldorf," was one of the plush robes.