Oh, god. I got tricked by my sister into staying at a BnB north of Duluth years ago. She was SO SURE I'd love the place. She bragged that she knew the owners personally, and that they'd offered us a great deal for the weekend.
So I went with her, and oh, god. First, it was right on Hwy 61 north of Duluth. That's the primary route to/from the North Shore of Lake Superior, so even though we were several miles out of town, the roar of traffic was deafening. It was right across the street from Lake Superior - except that it was on top of a sheer embankment, so if you risked running across the highway, there was no way to get down to the lake.
They were still working on the property when we were there. The front lawn was torn up while they were landscaping it, so there was no way to walk around on the (very steep and hilly) lawn.
As for the building itself - anyone who's stayed in an old resort or cabin knows the pervasive aroma of old, poorly insulated, decaying building. Sure, they'd repainted the interior, but the smell remained. And this place looked to be a small house with a breezeway abutting what looked to have been a small bait shop in a past existence. They'd turned the bait shop into a dark, cave-like gift shop. The breezeway was converted into an uncomfortably narrow "breakfast nook".
But the rooms were the worst. Every room was decorated in a North Woods theme taken to extreme. The beds were built of unpeeled birch trees, so the frames were huge and bulky, and so high, you had to jump in the air in order to (hopefully) land on the bed). No step stools to help you get up there. No side tables, and the light switches were way over by the door, so you had to turn the light off and jump in the dark, banging your shin on the goddamned scratchy birch tree trunks.
My sister's room had a big dream catcher hanging in the corner. My room had another giant dead birch tree stuck in a pot, with strings of miniature lights through the branches. Sure, pretty, but again - you had to slide out of bed and run over to the tree to turn it off before you could get any sleep. And how the hell were they gonna dust the branches of a birch tree?
Bathrooms were ancient and barely adequate, with the rural septic aroma.
And for all that, they charged the absolute earth for their accommodations. I was enraged, and told my sister I couldn't afford it and I wanted to leave. She ended up paying for it herself. Oh, and the owners that she supposedly knew personally? She greeted them at check-in, and they made it plain they had no idea who the hell she was. That attitude remained during the weekend. As has been mentioned upthread, there's a certain glum personality of the typical BnB owner, who either was forced into the business to pay the mortgage, or who thought it was gonna be a fun career, only to discover too late how awful it is.
Frankly, I'd rather camp out in the woods. Or sleep in my car before I'd set foot in another BnB.