Now this place is not for everyone. It's not even for me, but I stayed for a night while on a motorcycle trip through Oregon and California. My buddy and I didn't want to stay in Alturas, which is a much larger, boring place.
This hotel is old; it's musty, it's smelly, but it's funky. The rooms are tiny, with two single beds and a sink. You share a bathroom and the showers with others.
But it starts to grow on you, and if you have a sense of humour, you might even come to like it. Dinner in the little restaurant was excellent, authentic Mexican tacos, prepared by an authentic Mexican cook. The tequila, beers and margaritas were pretty darn good too. The little bar is charming, and so is the little hotel dog. The outside patio area is pure trailer-park, complete with mosquitos. We got eaten alive.
My riding buddy and I always walk the neighbourhood after dinner, and this one, behind the hotel, is not to be missed. That side of the highway is poor America, with trailers, rusted out cars, and abandoned shacks. But also back there, in a gentleman's driveway, is a running 1956 Chevy pickup truck in nearly original condition.
If she is still there, chat up Penny, the owner. Ask her about her career in policing. You'll hear stories you will not soon forget. Ask her about her international policing experience.