Milkshakes, coffee, carrots and other travel stories

Those of us to travel a bit … OK, a lot … tend to have stories to tell. Some of them involve pleasant experiences, others not so much. But all can be used as lessons for those who end up visiting the same places.

Here are three of mine:

Coffee mania: On a recent trip to Hawaii, my wife Mary Pat and I stayed in a Waikiki Beach hotel not far from a shopping complex known as the International Market Place. And every day enroute to the Liliha Bakery, I would pass by a busy establishment called the Kona Coffee Purveyors.

Now, I love my coffee, especially good coffee, and the Kona Coffee place seemed like the perfect spot for me to indulge in my caffeine addiction. But here was the problem: Every time I passed by it, the patrons standing in line to get in numbered – no exaggeration – at least 100. Or more.

On the one hand, that attests to the shop’s popularity. On the other, did I really want to spend what might be as long as 20 minutes just to score a cup of what was purported to be Kona coffee?

For most of our week-long stay, I resisted. I was content to buy pastries at the upstairs bakery (everything the Liliha serves is beyond delicious) and purchase coffee either at my hotel (the Wayfinder Waikiki) or – don’t judge me – at the Starbucks in the Target store just next door.

Eventually, though, I gave in. So there I was, having joined the line that was shorter than usual — maybe only 50 or so people – surfing the web on my iPhone as the group of us crept ever so slowly forward.

When it finally became my turn to order, I found myself at what turned out to be the pastry counter. And, yes, it offered up a great selection of treats. But I was there for coffee, so I just bought a couple of plain croissants and moved on.

It was only then that I was able to make my usual request: a 12-ounce Americano with a splash of cream (or half and half, whatever). The efficient young woman took my card, and as she totaled my bill I asked her a question: “Is there any way to skip the pastry line and just order coffee?”

She smiled, returned my card and answered with a single word.

“No,” she said.

Milkshake mania: Anyone who drives past the St. Regis, Mont., exit on Interstate 90 knows that the place is famous for its huckleberry milkshakes.

I can say that with confidence because for miles in both directions drivers are bombarded by billboards claiming that the best huckleberry milkshakes in the world can be found at the St. Regis Travel Center.

Mary Pat and I recently spent a few days at Glacier National Park. And on our way back home, we booked a room for the night at Quinn’s Hot Springs Resort.

We’d avoided stopping on our way east. But as we had to pass through St. Regis to get home, and since the town is just less than 20 miles from Quinn’s, we took the opportunity to stop. As soon as we did, though, the competition began.

See, my friend Roy Carpenter told us that the original huckleberry milkshake was served at Winki’s Diner, which was just a block east of the Travel Center. And I’m a big fan of Winki’s, both as a milkshake purveyor and as a place to score a pretty good hamburger.

Mary Pat, though, thinks that the milkshake at the Travel Center is better. “It’s thicker,” she says.

Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. I am, and plan to remain, a Winki’s fan.

Carrot mania: My grandchildren are born-and-bred New Yorkers. Yet after my granddaughter spent time this past summer at the Missoula Children’s Theatre, Mary Pat and I drove over to see her take part in a production of “The SpongeBob Musical: Youth Edition.”

Then we drove back to Spokane to begin what we’d planned as a college tour for said granddaughter, Hero Levenson, who is now in her senior year of high school. (And on the way we stopped at Winki’s to eat burgers and, of course, swill down huckleberry milkshakes.)

Mary Pat had already made arrangements for us all (including Hero’s younger brother River) to take tours of the University of Washington, Western Washington University and the University of British Columbia (in Vancouver, Canada).

We had to cancel the Canada trip because on the day we were supposed to visit UBC, Canada’s main airline, Air Canada, canceled all its flights (seems the company’s flight attendants went on strike). So instead of shipping the kids home via Vancouver, we drove back south and put them on a plane out of Sea-Tac.

But before we did, we drove a few miles north of Bellingham and spent a night at the Semiahmoo Resort. At dinner that evening we had the most fun when, perusing the menu, the four of us noticed a dish called “Carrot Glazed Carrots.”

Though we immediately began making fun of how the dish was described – “What kind of Glazed Carrots are those? Why Carrot Glazed Carrots, of course!” – the folks at a nearby table ordered them … and for the next 10 minutes wouldn’t stop crowing about how delicious they were.

Did we feel jealous and wish we’d ordered them? Not a chance.

As for what we did order … well, Hero describes it as one of the “scariest meals of our lives.”

I’ll just say that it was nowhere as good as a huckleberry milkshake.