April 15, 2008
Vacation Vignettes: Transportation
My flight into Chico took place on the little plane that could. Taxing down the runway in San Francisco, all manner of rattling noises could be heard emanating from our aluminum tube (my sister’s term of endearment for aircraft). We somehow managed to not leave any of the plane on the ground during our mildly alarming takeoff. Clearing the clouds, the plane soared towards Chico. A glance out my window revealed the Golden Gate Bridge, suspended above sparkling waters. Sigh…so beautiful.
I turned my attention to the Skywest magazine and began to learn fascinating facts about Fresno, tempting types of Texas barbecue, and, most importantly, names of matchmaking agencies for the young professional. Tempted though I was, I didn’t rip those pages out and hide them in my carry-on. My mom raised me better than to deface someone else’s property!
Darkness descended around the plane as we continued on our northeasternly way. The pilot announced our imminent arrival and I began playing my favorite airplane ride game: locate the runway before the final approach. Yes, I’m a little odd. Lights twinkled off in the distance; success! I offered up prayers for the safety of the passengers and wellbeing of the aircraft as we touched down at the Chico airport. After another rattling roll around the runway, we pulled up next to the terminal. By next to the terminal, I mean literally right next to the terminal. Just like you would in a car to drop someone off. Well, maybe a little further away, but the similarities were too striking to miss.
I climbed down the plane’s stairs and headed towards baggage claim. I had previously worried that Annie might not easily find me, particularly since I had checked a bag. Annie had assured me that not only would she find me, baggage claim wouldn’t be a big deal. She was right! The terminal was a small room divided into two parts by fiberglass partitions: the pre-security and post-security areas. “Baggage claim” was a little outside fenced area off next to the terminal. I collected my bag and eagerly waited for Annie to arrive. I was positive that this would be a vacation to remember!
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A soft breeze wafted through the window as Mr. Kerns, Drew, and I drove towards the ranch. We passed pastures and hills, all green and some dotted with cows. Conversation dwelt on the kindness and camaraderie found in ranching communities. Tranquillity was interrupted by the arrival of a fourth passenger in the pickup: Ms. Muddauber Wasp. Since all three seats were taken, she decided to make herself at home on my lap. I really wasn’t comfortable with such familiar physical contact and told her so, “Uh…um….there’s a bee?!” Drew quickly ascertained that I was quite literally on the edge of my seat and came to my rescue. “Dad, mud dauber! We need to pull over!”
Finding temporary shelter along the side of the road, the truck came to a halt. I carefully unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door and jumped out, hoping that Muddauber wouldn’t decide to punctuate my quick trip with some action of her own. After a visual inspection of both the truck’s cab and my person, we deduced that Muddauber had set off for one of the nearby green pastures. I resumed my seat and hoped that my face was once again its normal shade of very pale pink. There’s nothing quite like an inappropriately located wasp to bring a blush to one’s face and a thrill to one’s drive!
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Boarding finally began on delayed Flight 6093 from San Francisco to Burbank. I hobbled down the aisle trying to not hit anyone already seated with my laptop bag only to find a young, baggy sweatshirt-wearing man in my seat. “Excuse me, are you 11A or 11B?” “I’m 11A, but I’ll check…oh, 11B…sorry.” After he slumped into the aisle, I sank gratefully into my window seat and prepared myself for what I hoped would be a much needed nap between takeoff and arrival. Fifteen minutes later, I discovered that my seat didn’t have a functional recline feature. Bummer. Being a resourceful type, I decided to just wedge my head into the window and hope for the best. My eyes drifted closed, weariness overtaking me. Then it started.
Munch…munch…munch. My peek at hoodie dude showed him gazing with admiration at a bag of Doritos. Good thing I wasn’t hungry and was too tired to care about the crunching noise. I sighed and resumed my journey towards dreamland. Minutes passed. My neck demanded a change of position. Down came the tray table, up went my elbows, and I buried my face in my hands. Just in time… A few whiffs and I concluded that hoodie dude was lactose intolerant. He could have helped power the plane all the way back to Burbank. Poor guy. I know just how he feels.
