The Day Before

We have reached that most challenging of days: the day before the big flight. I used to be a great traveler. Through the undergraduate years, I flew from Fairbanks, Alaska, to Newark, New Jersey, to get back to good old Bernville, Pennsylvania. In fact, the first time I flew was the flight back home for my first Christmas break.

Not too long before a friend was to take me to the airport, I heard a rumor that there was heavy fog in Seattle and that planes were not making it into Anchorage. As a well-practiced worrier, this news had me concerned. I was able to make it from Fairbanks to Anchorage on Alaska Airlines with no problems. I boarded the Seattle-bound flight in Anchorage. It was on this part of the trip that I encountered the "small" problem.

The airport at Seattle was closed because of fog so we had to divert to Portland. Several people on the plane cheered the news because they were heading to Portland and they would get there about two hours early. Having never flown before, I wasn't entirely sure what I needed to do, so I did the most adult thing I could think of: I asked someone when I got off the plane. The gate agent suggested that I talk with customer service located about halfway down the concourse. I did and I was given a ticket on the next flight from Portland to Minneapolis. I also received a voucher to pay for breakfast (this was 1985). I ate breakfast and then settled in to wait. I was going to spend the next six or so hours in Portland (with the University of Alaska Anchorage hockey team) before the next flight to Minneapolis. I arrived in Newark, about 8 or 9 hours behind schedule. Of course, my luggage did not arrive with me. It was delivered the next day.

A similar thing happened in either my junior or senior year in Alaska. My flight overflew Seattle and landed in Portland. I remember hearing that the pilot said the diversion might be as far as San Francisco, a place I had not visited before. I was kind of excited. When we landed, I strode confidently to the ticket counter, outside security because the best breakfast places usually are outside security, and asked to be rerouted to "somewhere on the East Coast." The ticket agent gave me a ticket to Newark, but through Detroit, and not Minneapolis, and another voucher for a fine Portland airport breakfast.

With a number of years of flying experiences under my belt, I'm not becoming a more happy flyer. I do it, but I don't have to enjoy it. I like going places, but I don't like GOING places.

This evening will be filled with packing (after I cut the grass) and double-checking the weather forecasts for the Texas Panhandle and Dallas.