You bet I’m ready for this.

In case you have been raised in a dark age, The Stanley is the famous hotel at which Stephen King stayed and his experiences inspired him to write The Shining. So it’s basically The Shining Hotel.

There have been all sorts of claims of the paranormal over the years. People have turned out in droves to tour the grounds and hunt ghosts. I’ve been dying to go for years. My sister not only secured us a room while I was visiting, but she actually booked the Stephen King room!!! Are you kidding?!! Room 217, here I come.

What normally would have taken about 45 minutes from Fort Collins turned into three hours because the main road into Estes Park was washed away due to the floods. After surmounting the snow-laden meandering mountain roads, we arrived. It was such a picturesque scene … except for the McDonald’s and strip mall I totally didn’t expect at the bottom of the drive.

In all its glory …

We got in around 6 which meant we missed the last tour, but who needed a tour? We were staying in 217! We were about to be living the crazy of which people only dreamed.

As we were heading down the hall to our room, we heard the tour group coming up the stairs. We knew they were going to stop right outside our room (it’s pretty much the main attraction). So we hurried in and thought we’d mess with them a little.

We heard them stop and through the peep hole we could see them just down the hall looking our way. My sister played with the chain and scraped the door with a credit card. We thought we were pretty funny as the tour group just stared at our room trying to figure out what was going on. That’s when we heard someone ask the guide if they could see the room. She said no, someone was staying in there and they rarely get to show the room on the tours because it’s always booked. Looking at the tour group through the peep hole you could tell how disappointed they were. So I turned to my sister and said, “Let’s let them in.” Though she looked at me like I’d lost my marbles (which she does all the time so it was nothing new), she agreed and we opened the door.

They couldn’t believe what was happening as we invited them in. So about 25 people wandered around our room and into the bathroom taking pictures and asking questions. They were so happy! Good Samaritan deed of the day. Yeah, we’re good people.

Next thing? My sister introduced me to The Bloggess (hilarious, by the way). We decided to document an ode to her and her encounter with the Stephen King bathroom (her pic is much better). Bloggess – we love you.

Me dead in the Stephen King bathtub. Our ode to The Bloggess

We decided to go grab something to eat and take a few pictures outside. Before we left, my sister decided to taunt the spirit that purportedly haunted our room. Her name was Mrs. Wilson. She had been the chief housekeeper in the early days and was involved in an explosion in 217. Supposedly she tidies up when the guests leave the room, so my sister took clothes from our suitcase and strew them everywhere. Then we headed out.

As we were taking pictures in front of the hotel, another tour group was paused, listening intently to their leader. We were going back inside when we heard the guide mention our room and I yelled, “ Hey! We’re 217!” and the whole group yelled back, “Hey!” as they looked at us completely awestruck by their closeness to celebrity. It was pretty cool.

Red? Really? Kudos to their marketing department.

After dinner we went back up to the room. We weren’t going to waste a perfectly good night of paranormal activity. Standards must have been different back in the day because Mrs. Wilson sure didn’t do us any favors. The room was still a mess. We turned on The Shining (which plays 24/7) and settled in.

Around 10 we heard what sounded like another group, but it was too late for anymore tours. I went to the door and peered through the peep hole. There were maybe 7-10 people looking right at the door. One woman was taking a picture. I turned to my sister, “Let’s let them in.” She gave me the “you’re insane” look again, but said ok.

I opened the door and this guy hit the wall and then the floor. I had scared the bejesus out of him. Everyone laughed. He’d been having his picture taken with the room plaque that said 217.

Tony. The guy I scared. He’s super cool.

We invited them in. They took pictures and asked questions and seemed like really cool folk. They even invited us down to the bar to have a drink. Of course we did the socially acceptable “yeah, sure, maybe,” bit and then bid them adieu.

About thirty minutes passed and it hit me: no take backs. So I told my sister I was going to go have that drink with complete strangers (she couldn’t go because she had work to do). I went to the bar.

I walked in and they were still there. They welcomed me with open arms. I decided to have what they were having which was whiskey. And thus began my goal in becoming a whiskey connoisseur.

My Stanley Hotel whiskey drinking friends.

I hadn’t had whiskey for years (and I’m sure even then it was a college thing – not an I appreciate it kind of thing). Just listening to them discuss the flavors and the process made me want to know more. They were passionate! (and maybe a smidge drunk)I had done many wine tastings over the years and had sommeliers try to explain full bodied, smoky, fruity, bold, etc. My take away (every time): Red is good. White is good. Yum. But as I tasted the Scotch they’d suggested? I could actually taste smoky and smooth. It was AMAZING. Not to mention my new friends were way cooler than every wine snob wannabe I’d ever met, so I thought hey – this I can do. This I can be – a whiskey connoisseur.

I said good-bye, so happy I said yes to five strangers in a strange place and went back upstairs to rejoin my sister.

We stayed up pretty late. We ghost hunted around the hotel in our socks and pjs while taking pictures and making the floorboards creek.

Ghost hunting and creeping in the hotel at the wee hours of the morning.

We did find this at the top of some random stairs.

REDRUM

When we got back to the room we turned off the lights and tried to collect EVPs on my voice memo. It was all fun, but rather uneventful – till the next morning.

We went to breakfast before we packed up. When we reentered the room, the bed had been made. The towels had been folded and the trash had been removed.

Bed made!

All clean!

I declared, “It was Mrs. Wilson! She was here!” and then my sister said it was the cleaning crew that was two doors down.  I think she was wrong. She had no proof which means it was unexplained which means I win.

We gathered our things, checked-out and headed home. Though I did enjoy the hotel’s spirits, I didn’t have any run-ins with the spirits I’d anticipated. That said, it was totally worth it.  I had met new people, shared several laughs, got photographed like I was dead in the Stephen King bathroom and decided to become a whiskey pro. Not bad for one night.

I conquered The Stanley.

I no longer look at the horses in their pastures. I no longer appreciate the bluegrass in Kentucky or the mountains in Tennessee. I drive by the Corvette Museum, which is one of the coolest architectural structures around, and I just check it off as, yep, I’ve hit Bowling Green. I count mile markers and exit signs while I get annoyed with the slowest driver EVER in the LEFT LANE (I know you all feel me on that one).

Returning from my last trip home I decided I was going to change things up a bit. I had recently decided I want to become a whiskey connoisseur (I’ll post about that later). 95% of the world’s bourbon is produced in Kentucky. I drive right by the Bourbon Trail every time I do this trip. Of course I drive by a million other places and things I never see because I don’t take the time to stop and check them out. We all do this. Why? What’s so wrong about getting in an hour or two later than you had previously planned? Why does everything have to be so rushed and scheduled?

Spontaneity kicked in and I was getting off the highway. I made an executive decision. I was going to see the Maker’s Mark distillery.  There’s a sign saying that Jim Beam and Maker’s Mark are sitting right off of I-65. Seriously. And I’d never toured a distillery before. Here I come. 

I could practically spit on Jim Beam from the exit road. Maker’s Mark couldn’t be too far down the street. Oh look! It’s the Rosewood distillery. I kept on trucking. The road started winding. It was beautiful. I was seeing parts of Kentucky I had never seen. Suddenly I was noticing the bluegrass again, and the horses and the time it was taking me to get to the distillery… Where is this place again? I thought it was just off the highway. I’m thirty minutes in; I’d better check my GPS. GPS says thirty more minutes?!!!! Where is this place? In France? Now things are getting sketchy. That horse just looked at me weird. Did that sign just say “turn back now if you value your life?!!”.

I came to an impasse and SIRI was telling me to go straight but it looked like the skinniest driveway I’d ever seen. Is this what Kentucky calls a road? One car, I’m telling you ONE car TOPS, could be on this thing at a time. Did Maker’s Mark actually want visitors? The last tour was in thirty minutes. I was never going to make it and I was suddenly stuck in the backwoods of Kentucky that had become much more sketchy than pretty, but I was on a mission. I hauled it to that distillery. I wasn’t going to fail. Suddenly, the woods cleared, the road widened and there it was in all its wondrous glory. The Maker’s Mark Distillery.

I had five minutes. I followed the signs, saw the cars and pulled into the drive. One minute till the last tour of the day. I ran inside the house, making a great Kramer entrance, and there were fifteen to twenty people sitting in a meeting all staring my way. I ignored them at first, just looking around the house, probably going into rooms I shouldn’t have as I was searching for my would- be tour group. Finally as I was left with nothing to do but stand and stare at the people staring back at me, a nice gentleman got up and asked if he could help me.

Me staring at the Maker’s Mark board staring at me.

Slow on the uptake, that’s when I realized, I might be in the wrong place. I said to everyone, with a smile of course, “so this isn’t the distillery tour starting point, I take it?” They all laughed at me. The nice gentleman walked me out explaining they were having a board meeting and that I had to go down the hill. He assured me if he had a dollar for every time someone made the same mistake … he’d have a dollar.

I thanked him repeatedly and hopped in my car, praying there was a delay. I got out, went to the right tour spot, but it was locked. I’d missed the boat. Are you KIDDING ME?!!! Well, I wasn’t going through all this for nothing, and no regrets, right? So I headed to the souvenir shop to buy myself a shot glass.

Near the tour entrance and souvenir shop.

Praise be to the wonderful lady selling Maker’s Mark’s commercial goods. She made the mistake of asking how I was doing and I explained my sorrow in missing the Maker’s Mark tour. 152 million times I drive past this place and the one time I stop… hold that thought. The lady was on the phone. It was done. I may have missed the tour, but she got me into the tasting (and we all know that’s what I really wanted, especially after the hour and a half I’d just spent trying to find the place and you know, humiliating myself in front of their board). And the tasting was on the house. Like I said, wonderful lady.

I thanked her profusely as she led me through the back secret way (which was super cool) to the tasting room. Just in time. It was fantastic and I learned a lot. Roy (I think? Maybe Ray? Or maybe Frank??) was so kind and so great at explaining the differences between their products. Loved every minute of it. Sadly, we were done, but then EXTRA SUPER COOL Roy?  offered to take me on a private tour because I came all this way, and again, on the house… UH-MAZING.

The tasting. Thank you Maker’s Mark! It was a beautiful thing.

MAD MAD MAD respect for the people at Maker’s Mark. They went above and beyond reminding me there really are such good people in this world. And by taking the road less traveled (let’s be honest – it looked like it was NEVER traveled) I scored an experience I would never take back. Next time you’re on a road trip, or maybe it’s on the way to work, I challenge you to make one extra stop. Try something new because life is too short. Do things a little differently and start your year off right.