This is a very long story about my return trip from Lexington to Austin. I like the story. It was kind of an adventure. But I’ll acknowledge up front, that it’s not action-packed, and so your return on investment in reading this might be limited. I will not be offended if you take a pass.
1. Getting to the Airport On Time
The sky darkens, the rain is coming down in sheets. We can’t see anything out the vast windshield of that boat-car. “I’m sorry,” I say to Jenny. “I don’t know how you’re doing this.”
“I just stare ahead and pray hard,” she says, gripping the wheel tightly, not taking her eyes off the road in front of us.
Evidently it works. The skies go from menacing to dreary. The torrents fall behind. And we get to the Lexington airport, where Jenny walks me in even though there isn’t anything we can do or anywhere we can sit — just another set of security doors.
We smile and hug.
Bye, Jenny Bea!
2. A Late Departure From Lexington
It is a hot summer day. The concourse air conditioning isn’t working. But this airport has a calmness about it, and they are giving away cold bottles of water. Eventually we board early, since there is air conditioning on the plane.
As we sit waiting at the gate, a storm approaches. I recognize it. Our departure is delayed.
I’ll never be sure what really happened, but after the storm passed, there was some kind of delay. I looked out the window and saw five people standing around a wagon stacked with suitcases, one of which was mine. It wasn’t raining. There was no loading of the bags. Just standing around. And then the pilot said we were waiting for fuel. And later he said that there was a delay authorizing the fuel truck. All the while, the suitcases were still sitting outside.
Eventually, of course, we leave — quite late.
3. Flying Over Cincinnati
On the first part of that journey, I am to fly from Lexington to Chicago. The plane levels off above the storm clouds.
Wait. I look out my window to the left. I see the afternoon sun. This means I’m looking west. And this means, we’re flying north. But wait… from Lexington you don’t fly north to get to Chicago. We know this, right? So what’s going on?
Wait. North of Lexington is… Cincinnati. Maybe if there’s a break in the clouds, I can look down and see… And there is is below me — Cincinnati airport. And the Ohio River. And across the river, there are the stadiums.
I know that town. If I drive around west… yes, there’s the interstate. If I follow that highway… yes, there’s the power plant with the billowing clouds of steam. And if I keep going…
Somewhere down there is my mother’s house. I try to get my bearings. I try to find Coleraine. I try to find the Little Miami River. I can’t. But down there somewhere, right down there (I could almost point at it) is my mother’s house.
Hi mom! Hi Ken!
4. Flying Into Chicago
Afternoon became late afternoon. Our plane turned west. Evidently that evening’s flight plan didn’t involve taking the hypotenuse. We were flying the rise and run of a triangle to get to Chicago.
I had a book, and I stuck my nose in it.
By the time I looked up again, the skies had cleared. But wait… we were still flying west and there was no sign of Lake Michigan. When you fly into OHare, you approach from the east. We know this, right? And when you approach from the east, you necessarily fly over the water.
I look out my window. Farm fields. No Lake Michigan. Still going west.
Wait. We’re over Indiana flying west supposedly on approach to OHare? How does that work?
I am confused. I strain to look across the plane out the other windows, to see if there was any Lake Michigan out there. Can’t tell.
And then the plane begins to turn north. Turning. Turning. 90 degrees. So we’re heading straight north now.
Wait. You don’t approach OHare from the south? And sure enough, there’s Midway. No way we’re on approach to OHare from this direction.
But then we turn another 90 degrees. Heading east. Yep, there’s The Loop. There’s Navy Pier. There’s the ferris wheel. Look how serene those sailboats are on the water. Heading east. Flying out over Lake Michigan… Still heading east… Chicago has receded behind us. No more sailboats. Just wind on the water and whitecaps. If this goes on much longer, we’ll pass over Michigan.
But I can see a line of landing lights from the east. Other planes on their final approaches to OHare. One, two, three planes, one after the other. And now we’re talkin’… We bank sharply left. 90 degrees. Another 90. And now we’re on final approach. Flying west with Lake Michigan below us. This is more like it.
And wait. Of course, we’re going to pass over Park Ridge, over my brother’s house. I strain to get my bearings. I can’t calibrate. I see the Rosemont Horizon. I see the forest preserve. I see the Des Plaines River. No sign of Knight Street. But they’re down there somewhere. Right down there.
Hi Ben. Hi Vicki. Hi Evan.
5. A Late Chicago Arrival
Despite what they tell us, there is no ticket agent to guide us to connecting flights. And there are no flight monitors anywhere. Five gates down, I look up my flight information. There it is: Austin, departs at 7:30am. Wait, what? Departs tomorrow morning!
I missed my flight. United Airlines is of no help except to say it was due to weather and to toss me a voucher with an 800-number to call to find my own hotel at a 50% discount.
I text my brother, who’s in Canada but says to call Vicki.
“Hi Dave,” she says.
She can’t pick me up at the airport. “Just take an Uber,” she says.
I take a taxi.
“You’re going where?” he asks, barely audible.
“Oak Park,” I say.
He’s not happy about the short fare, but he’s stuck with me. And ten minutes later, we’re there.
I hop out of the cab. I hug Vicki. I pay the taxi driver. We start to walk in. Then I turn and knock on the guy’s window.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Because that wasn’t much of a tip,” I say, and hand him enough to make the short fare more tolerable.
“Thanks,” he says. Then honks, “Really. Thanks!”
6. Another Late Chicago Arrival
Vicki and Evan and I talk for a while. Evan shows me his portfolio. I marvel at the furniture he has selected for his room. But at this point, I am beat. (Remember, this was the day that I started out doing Jabberwocky and rockets to eighth, seventh, fourth and third graders, although that is now a distant memory.)
Before long, I retire to the spot in their basement that I have come to know so well over the years.
This is one of the joys of growing old: coming back to places that you’ve been to so often with people who’ve shared so much of your life. And another joy of this is: I sleep so well in the cool darkness of that basement.
I quickly fall asleep.
Screeek. Slam! The upstairs door opens and shuts. There are voices. Foot falls on the floor. I throw off the blanket and hop out of bed. The un-turn-offable laundry room light lets me pull on my pants and button my shirt without falling down. I run up the steps.
No one’s there. I run to the second story.
Liza’s in her room, just having arrived with a friend from Colorado. They drove together non-stop, finished with a summer research program (prairie dogs? fish?) and preparing for another in the Caribbean (coral? fuzzy worms?). Evolutionary Biology suits Liza well.
“Hey,” I say to her.
She turns around.
“Whoa,” I say. “You’re not Liza!”
OMG, I came so close to hugging Liza’s friend who probably had no idea I was there. She would have been so creeped out. I am so glad when Liza walks in from the hall.
“Liza!” I say.
“Uncle Dave!”
We hug. And within a couple minutes of that, I’m back in that sleep-inducing coolness-darkness of their basement.
7. Morning Flight Home
The alarm goes off at 4:30. At 4:45, I wake Vicki up. Within minutes, we’re on the road to OHare. But something’s not right.
“Vicki,” I say. “Did you mean to get on the freeway going east?”
“This is the way to OHare,” she says.
Except that the morning star is rising in the east, and it’s ahead of us. And except that a line of planes on approach to OHare is heading toward us. And if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that their final approach is westbound, which means that OHare is behind us to the west.
“This is the way,” she says. And I’m getting visions of being downtown in The Loop at rush hour and missing another connecting flight.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
She reaches for their GPS on the dashboard. I reach for the phone in my pocket.
She punches at that GPS to get it turned on or calibrated or whatever you do with those infernal things. Could they have been more incompetent in designing the user interfaces on those horrible gadgets?
“I think you need to turn around,” I say.
She’s thinking I’m wrong. I’m thinking I’m right. But we need to be clear here, it is she who has lived in this town, in that house for the last almost 20 years.
Then my phone speaks. It says to turn around and head west.
The oracle having spoken, we turn around, head west, take the OHare Airport exit and get me to the plane on time.
“Thanks Vicki,” I say at the curb. I mean, she put me up overnight, and she got up at this god-awful hour to drive me to the airport. And here I am. Fired up and ready to go. Because this is the last leg of my trip, and what could go wrong?
The rest of the trip was… uneventful. I had a book, and I buried my nose in it.