There's no place like home

Wednesday, July 11 (Day 16) — Hard as it is to believe, today was the last day of our vacation. I awoke hoping that yesterday's cold was a fluke, that my sinuses would magically be cleared and I would feel fit as a fiddle for the rest of the day while facing the dreaded plane ride home. But sadly the cold is not a fluke. As I feared, today the snot river was at its sickly peak even though my throat is considerably less raw. I was the first one up, so I took care of my shower and waited while Roni and Ben woke up.

We originally had planned to see my grandparents for breakfast this morning, but it seemed that the world was conspiring against us. First, our departing flight got moved up nearly an hour, to 1 p.m., and then I got sick. We all slept in until close to 8 a.m. But the other factor that had a huge impact on any morning plans we might have had was rumblings we'd been hearing about airport delays. My grandpa had cautioned us that we might want to get to Philadelphia earlier than the two hours in advance we were planning, and given our experience with the car rental and our baggage claim, we decided that we should heed the words of wisdom.

So I phoned my grandparents and apologized to my grandpa that we wouldn't be able to make it. He seemed to understand, and said they had sort of wondered if we were going to be able to squeeze in another visit. Good thing we got our full day with them last Thursday.

We rounded up our luggage and were making final checks of the room when Roni called out in a panic from the restroom. The toilet was overflowing and she couldn't shut it off. I pulled off the lid to the tank and raised up the float inside to stem the tide before anymore of the bathroom could turn into a lake. Meanwhile, Roni popped out into the hall and alerted the maid, who called in the maintenance crew. So there we were rounding up our bags and marching guiltily into the hallway as two beefy maintenance guys were coming in to see what we had done to their hotel room. How embarrassing. A fitting end, I said, to a trip that began with a two-hour wait for our rental car and a false fire alarm in Mystic, Conn. What else could go wrong? I didn't even want to entertain the thought.

At least the bags fit in the Taurus all right, although Roni feared our souvenirs were too heavy. We'd devoted one suitcase to them, and purchased a black duffel bag at a truck stop in Delaware a couple days ago just so we'd be sure to have enough room for clothes. I had been wheeling out the largest suitcase, and when I lifted the souvenir bag it felt much lighter by comparison. Roni was unconvinced. What if it weighed too much? She didn't want us to have to unpack and rearrange everything at the airport. I told her not to worry, but secretly I was concerned about the largest suitcase being over the 50-pound weight limit.

We made good time to the airport, arriving just after 10 a.m. First stop: the Budget rental car return. If the past two days were any indication of what rush hour traffic is like in Philadelphia then I'd take it in a heartbeat over the Bay Area. With our experience getting the car on the first day we were prepared for similar delays in the return line, but that wasn't the case. Roni breezed through the front counter and Ben and I had our luggage loaded on to one of the shuttle buses by the time she returned. We were dropped at the Delta curbside check-in where we gave the clerk our flight confirmation number and waited for him to print out our boarding passes, except that he couldn't find us in the computer. Say what? Not a trace of us on Flight 475 to Atlanta. We'd have to have a chat with the customer service rep at the full-service ticket window inside. I was concerned because last night, I'd used the hotel Internet connection to try and print out our boarding passes, as Delta allows you to do 24 hours in advance, and it wouldn't work. I kept getting a message that I needed to talk with the customer service desk. Now, here was our chance. When we got to the head of the line — fortunately a short line — the clerk had no problem finding us and printing our boarding passes. A relief. Then she manhandled our luggage onto a conveyor belt. I cringed when I thought about the ceramic stein and my external hard drive with all our vacation photos that were tucked inside the largest case. Obviously it was a heavy load.

We wrapped up our final trip through a security checkpoint without incident and arrived at Gate E3 to commence our 90 minute wait until departure. Oh well, better to be too early than too late. We made use of the time by finding breakfast — bagels — and then purchasing sandwiches to take on the plane. Hey, we got smart after the outbound flight from Sacramento and decided not to rely on Delta to feed us anything more wholesome than cheese and crackers.

We grabbed our seats in row 40A-C and were just about settled in when the pilot came over the PA system to advise us that there were severe thunderstorms in Atlanta and that our flight would be delayed for at least an hour. We were given the option of getting off the plane to stretch our legs in the terminal or keeping our seats. As we were advised we might be told to reboard on a moment's notice, we decided it would be best to just wait it out. I was beginning to think that we were cursed. Worse than the flight delay, however, I realized I couldn't remember what I'd done with my car keys. I thought I had put them in a travel bag on the first day of our trip, but which one? Roni hadn't found them in an earlier search, and I was convinced they were in a pocket of one of the checked suitcases. At least I hoped they were.

The flight crew took good care of us while we were on the ground, providing us with bottled water while we waited out the delay. Fortunately the Boeing 757 we were on today was newer than the one we'd flown on the trip east. It included personal video monitors at every seat with a selection of satellite TV stations, movies, music and interactive games. There was also a flight information center that displayed our location, velocity and elevation — a handy thing while in the air, but useless sitting in the terminal. Ben watched Cartoon Network while Roni and I flipped through the TV offerings, gaping at CNN when they ran a story about a commuter plane crash in Florida that hit a house and killed some kids on the ground. "There's the news you don't want to hear when you're getting ready for a plane trip," I told her.

Eventually the captain got the word the coast was clear in Atlanta, and we made a hasty departure from Philadelphia around 2:15, more than an hour late. I'd noticed a man dressed in military fatigues boarding the plane a few rows ahead of us on the right side, and as we were departing the gate our captain made a PA announcement introducing three members of the military aboard our flight. The man I had seen was in the Army, scheduled to leave soon for Iraq. The other two were "just back from the sand pile," in the words of our pilot. All of them got a round of applause from the cabin. I'd heard of this happening on domestic flights, and it was nice to be a part of it. Those folks are putting their lives on the line for our nation with little fanfare, a sacrifice I've never had to make and wouldn't want my own son to have to make. It is good to show appreciation, and to see it expressed from the heart by a plane full of total strangers bound together by the liberties we share as Americans.

The flight to Atlanta was uneventful, although the cloud cover made it tough to see much of anything on the ground. Ben got the window seat on the first leg of our vacation, so I got it for the return trip. I'd never been to Atlanta before and wanted to see what I could when we made our descent. It was hazy enough that even though downtown was visible from the airplane while we were on the ground, there wasn't much to see. It's okay, because eventually we'll be back for a serious look-see.

Our flight for Sacramento was supposed to depart at 5:12 p.m., but Delta had spent most of the Atlanta flight apologizing to everyone for the long delay and preparing to accommodate passengers who had missed their connecting flights. We were lucky that our dwell time between flights had been extended a couple of months ago when Delta made a schedule change that affected our tickets. I was annoyed back then about having to sit in Atlanta for three hours when all we'd want to do was get home, but that added delay proved to be beneficial. Roni checked the monitor to discover that Flight 655 had been rescheduled to 5:35 p.m. and was departing from Gate B25. Guess what? That was the same gate we'd just arrived at. That meant we'd be on the same plane and in the same seats with those cool video monitors for the next four hours. I was happy now, even if my nose was running like a faucet. I'd been drinking bottled cranberry juice all day and was keeping my cold symptoms in check, although I was plowing through the tissues in flight. What a drag.

We had enough time in Atlanta to use the restrooms and track down a gift shop that sold postcards, then it was back on the plane for the remainder of the trip west. Our trajectory took us over Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, Utah and Nevada before reaching California. I got a great look at the Mississippi River, but it seemed that being on the left side of the plane prevented me from seeing big cities such as Memphis and Oklahoma City. I spent much of the flight listening to music with the interactive menus and watching the progress of our trip. Ben discovered an online trivia game, so for about an hour I was matching wits with other passengers and whiffing badly when it came to testing my general knowledge on such subjects as cricket and world geography. We'd crossed Utah by the time I gave up the game and resumed my vigil by the window.

Everything west of the Rockies was pretty much dense clouds and turbulence. The pilot must have saved us some time somewhere, because at 7:35 p.m. we landed on the runway at Sacramento, just 31 minutes later than scheduled. It felt good to be home, and we couldn't get off that cramped, stuffy plane quickly enough.

We waited to retrieve our five pieces of luggage at the baggage check. All the while I was worried about my missing keys, until Roni found them in her carry-on bag. She'd missed them when looking earlier. What a relief. We took the shuttle back to the economy lot, where my filthy car still sat. I'd forgotten where I parked it and the shuttle bus driver went right past. (Note to self: Remember where you placed your little note, or check your journal entry before the day of the flight next time.) I jogged back to retrieve the car from 40L and met Roni and Ben to load up the trunk with baggage. Definitely not as large as the Taurus, but I'll take the better fuel mileage any day.

We fed $112 to the parking meter and drove home via Highway 160 along the Delta, stopping first at McDonald's in Sacramento for milkshakes. It was 10:05 p.m. when we reached home. That was good even with the delay at the airport. Nonetheless, it was 1:05 a.m. by Eastern time, and it would be several days before we'd all be readjusted to Pacific time. We were understandably wiped out. The cats are both alive and happy to see us. The house isn't immaculately clean like those hotel rooms we stayed in, but at least it's ours. Now I've got four days to recover from this trip before I return to work.

THE END