Prison Walls and Church Halls
“In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.”— Albert Einstein
After a two-month hiatus from trialing, Team Winnie was back on the road, this time to Huntington Beach, California. Amped up for the trial and ready to leave behind the sweltering heat of the desert, we hit the road early. Planning, packing, mapping out the routes, and the break stops are part of our preparation; it is always the same. If you stick to the routine, there is less chance of mistakes. It was a quick trip west through some boiling territory.
Once we left the swelter of the Imperial Valley, we watched the digital readout of the outside temperature drop. It was fifteen degrees cooler in Riverside, and upon cresting the hills east of Anaheim, it had dropped another ten. It was then that we felt the cooling ocean influence.
Traffic was mild considering it was a weekday, and we navigated the highways and byways with precision. With only a few slowdowns at major junctions, we arrived at the hotel.
When we entered the parking lot of the La Quinta in Irvine, California and circled around the hotel complex, the first thing I noticed was the ugly building that housed the hotel rooms. The walls were solid concrete, and metal pillars reinforced the building’s foundation. There were no architectural designs or accents on the exterior. The exposed concrete walls with little cut-out windows looked more like a prison.
“What a funky building!” I commented.
Sheets of corrugated metal covered the steep-pitched roofs. And to complete the barn-like appearance, along the ridge were several cupolas. The only thing missing were the weather vanes.
“It looks like an old warehouse.”
Upon entering with our keycard, we stepped into a round-shaped lobby with the same raw concrete walls on the inside. It looked less like a prison, and more like a factory.
It was stuffy with the sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling glass wall on the right that overlooked the pool, and there was an odd musty smell. Not altogether unpleasant, the sweetness of the aroma was just unusual.
“I am certain this building used to be something else.”
We proceeded into the structure, withholding opinions until we examined it more closely. Something you would never expect to see in a hotel pulled my eyes to the left. Held to the wall with rusty brackets was a sheet metal tube, a chute of some sort, two feet in diameter that ran up to the top of the vaulted ceiling over three stories high.
Entry to the common area in the hotel. Circa 2023
With a displeased set of wrinkles on my brow, I noticed a wall of framed pictures in front of me. Looking at the blurry brown and yellow images, it was clear these were old historic photos. Exterior shots resembled the building we had entered, and interior pictures showed images of people and equipment.
“Are they making some sort of design statement?” I asked, thinking I must come back and study the photos once we got settled. “I can’t say I am a fan.”
The round spaces and unadorned concrete walls continued through the hallways. So far, it was the same theme throughout the building. With exposed conduit piping, the hallways were lit with factory-looking lighting fixtures.
Cell number, err… I mean room number 128.
“This building has a story indeed,” was my final comment.
I like the history, but I was not a fan of the decor. No matter how they decorated, the exposed concrete walls still looked like a prison. As we continued down the hall, I imagined we were entering a cell block. Turned out the institutionalized feeling was about to be enhanced by an outside influence.
Next to the hotel, maybe fifteen feet from the corner of the building where our room was, ran an active train track. We had just entered the room when the high-speed people mover thundered through. Winnie reacted with concern, so we did some “fetch and retrieve” play to deflate her arousal level.
Before we settled in, we’d been in the room for less than an hour, and five trains had passed. Winnie’s anxiety level escalated with the commotion from each train. I concluded we needed a different room. We had to make a switch.
“This room is like a torture chamber in a dungeon,” said Winnie. There is only so much environmental stimulation a Puggle can take.
Other than the pickled expression on the staff members face when I approached the front desk, she was able to secure us a room on the second floor on the opposite side, the parking lot side. Thank goodness.
While transferring our belongings, I had a chance to admire the uniqueness of the establishment. I studied the wall of photos and read the various information plaques.
Built in 1895, the building that is now the La Quinta Inn was originally part of the Irvine Company. In the 1940s, they warehoused and processed grains and legumes that they stored in massive silos.
Built in the late 1800s, this building is now the home of La Quinta Inn Spectrum.
The towering concrete silos, resembling those from which one could shoot rockets or missiles, were up to 130 feet in diameter. It is said that the granary housed up to 16 million pounds of lima beans and barley.
They remodeled the warehouse in 1986. I am amazed at the extra work required to give this building a second life. Now sectioned and cross-sectioned into multiple stories with rooms spoking out from the centers, the repurposed silos that housed the grains now contain suites and rooms for weary travelers from far and wide. If you are looking for an interesting place to get a good night’s sleep, this is the hotel for you. Unless you are unfortunate enough to get the room by the tracks.
Rather than getting angry about the first room they assigned us, and the hassle of repacking and moving to the new room, we counted our blessings. Although smaller, the room was still plenty big enough and better appointed. A tapestry decorated the wall that had been bleak and bare in the old room. And the best part? We were above the rumbling, unsettling din from the trains on the other side. The new conditions were perfect for relaxing, and much more conducive to a good night’s sleep.
Overnight while we slept, the stage was being set for a perfect day for trialing. Refreshing ocean air cleansed the atmosphere. Cooling breezes ruffled the leaves in the trees, and my hair grew to double the volume. Curls and waves replaced tired strands hanging limp. I even had a ring of fuzzy baby hairs standing up around my face.
As per instructions, we arrived at the trial site at 7:30am and, as per usual, the parking lot was full. I love arriving on time so I can then get a better lay of the land. It protects me from my social anxiety about doing anything wrong. The trailblazers have done all the thinking, and I just need to conform.
There was nothing unusual about the trial site, a community church with multi-use rooms and classrooms, courtyards and walkways. Team Winnie was at ease in the standard settings. There were no oddities in the searches either. Fun and challenging but all things not unfamiliar.
Going in, I tried not to fixate on results. We had been earning points and working towards the 400 mark for the title. Needing only 22.6 points to cross the threshold, we had to get a minimum of 60 to keep the points earned that day. Team Winnie used to be dependable in the 70-80% range in Elite. But since Elite-Premier division’s debut last year, our percentage averages have ranged from the low 60s to 90s.
I wasn’t intending to count our chickens and assume we would at least score 60% to guarantee earning the title that day, but it was in the back of my mind. Our first search, a combination container and area search, went well. Winnie curbed her enthusiasm, and I managed her propensity to pounce on the containers by getting her through the search area in a timely manner. I felt like we had left only one hide behind. By the second search, I knew our chickens weren’t hatching as I’d counted on.
Winnie worked from the start line and did a beautiful job chasing odor across the large outdoor area with picnic tables to the hide on the last one in the row. She worked hard covering the rest of the expansive outdoor area and sourced two more hides, but she was working with a few other odor pictures that weren’t clarifying for her. In that search, I estimated we had left three, maybe four, hides unfound. It was going to be challenging to stay in a positive mindset after that.
Back in her crate, Winnie rested, unaware of the stakes. I followed her lead.
“You are the best, Winnie,” I said as I leashed her up for the next searches. “We've got this.”
Winnie looked over my shoulder, her nose twitching, as if planning our next step. Then she licked my nose.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I giggled. That was all the reassurance I needed.
After completing a handful of Summit trials in the past where things will go south for most of the teams right from the start, I was used to lifting us up by the bootstraps to carry us forward. All the platitudes circled in my head: “It’s not over till it’s over,” and “When the no outweighs the yes, faith becomes the bridge.” I managed my mood, and we enjoyed the afternoon searches. We didn’t perform so well, though, and I knew we’d have a hard time recovering ground points-wise from the morning losses. But that meant we’d get it at the next trial.
Other than Devine intervention, I am not sure how we did it, but the scoresheets showed we earned 60.52%. We made it. We came away with the title and one of the best Team Winnie successes ever. I’d like to have had more than a half-point cushion and earned the title with conviction. We placed 24th out of 29 teams, but our score was enough to earn 400 points plus 37. Even if we had missed it by half a point instead, my emotions would have been the same.
My sweet ol’ girl, Winnie, and her big ribbon for an Elite-Premier title. Huntington Beach, California. 2025
Those who do this wonderful, frustrating, rewarding, confusing sport have all been in this spot. The variety of emotions we can experience in one trial is endless. There is no other sport like it. We are addicted to it, win or lose, and it benefits us more because each of us has the best teammate on the planet. Focusing on our dogs gives us an outlet for processing the lessons. Our attitude is the one thing we can control, and we can guarantee its consistency.
With this experience that day, I remembered life is full of adversity, but from opposition comes inspiration. I learned while walking Winnie last week that adversity is the best motivation. The opposing winds against our kite came again and threatened to sever the string that held it in place. In the end, and by the grace of God, or luck if you will, we persevered. Winnie keeps me grounded, and together we levitate to new heights.
What a privilege it is to be loved by a dog.— Anonymous
