A Wrong Train, Another Delayed Flight And Two Flat Tires
I did not spend this Memorial Day hanging out at the beach, at a backyard BBQ, at a wild Las Vegas pool party or whopping it up at big-time festival.
Instead, I spent a lot of it traveling – too much of it traveling, as it turned out, in fact.
After three days spent on a great travel writers press trip, I was returning to Los Angles from San Francisco,. Getting from San Francisco is not difficult. In fact, by plane most people are able to go door-to-door in three hours.
But with my luck these days on airplanes – especially the one-hour ones – it should come as no surprise in that my journey took seven hours.
It started with my flights. No matter which ones I have picked lately on those short jaunts, they have been delayed. Twenty flights a day, 19 of them on time, and mine has alway been the one delayed for one reason or another. It happened on the way up and it was going to happen on the way back one way or another.
It was set to depart on time and actually did, but a series of misadventures up to that point, I knew something was coming my way.
First, I got onto the wrong BART train. BART needs better signage and I boarded a train that was headed to Millbrae. When I noticed that no one else with luggage got on with me, I stepped off the train. Turns out I needed to take the next train, which was labeled “Millbrae/SFO.”
After arriving and checking, I did a travel veteran’s move: knowing the flight was full, I asked the gate agent if they were taking voluntary bumps. They were and so I inquired about the compensation. $300! And I would be booked on a flight an hour and a half later. Heck yeah!
I was told to basically act like a stand-by passenger to see if they would need the bump. So after everyone boarded, I was told no bump was needed and to get on the plane. By this time, everyone had boarded and they took my carry-on bag and told me I had to check it because the overhead bins were full.
Dang; I Ihate checking my bags!
Of course, the overhead bins were not full (not even close) so I was a bit peeved and next to my seat was the largest man on the plane. He spilled out onto my seat, covering about 1/4 of it. Of course.
But there were to open seats across the aisle and just before departure, I jumped in one of them. Ahhh. The door was shut and we pulled away from the gate.
Five seconds later, a girl got up out of her seat and started headed to the bathroom. “What the hey,” I said to myself, along with some “who the hell does she think she is, prancing to the bathroom during out taxing, and WHOA, wait a minute!”
She collapsed in the aisle. It was as if someone unplugged her. A few passengers helped her to her knees but she collapsed again. Soon, flight attendants were tending to her, even a couple of passengers and it was obvious she needed medical treatment.
Granted, she was having a worse day that me but we had to return to the gate. In that time, more passengers boarded the plane and I lost my new seat, had to squeeze back into the other one and spent several uncomfortable minutes flight under a flight attendant’s armpit during the beverage service.
Back at LAX – and hour late, of course – I wanted to save some money by taking a bus home. But the bus never arrived. I foolishly waited an hour and eventually got on another bus. This misadventure took two hours.
I wanted to catch the end of the local festival, Fiesta Hermosa, for the end of the beer garden scene. So I hopped on my bike, got a few blocks and had a flat. I wound up walking the bike some two miles to the bike shop at the fair.
I did make it, was handed a beer upon arrival and after a couple of drinks, was bumped into b a pair of drunk dancing girls and half of it spilled on me.
Later I did get back on the bike and rode home along the beach in a post-sunset glow.
And then I got another flat.
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