Planes, trains, and automobiles

From today’s travelog (I’d meant to do these as audio posts, but audblog was having issues this morning):

Washington National Airport, 6:45 a.m. EDT — That’s me, pushing the envelope of procrastination. I’m leaving for California today, and I had put off packing until this morning. I woke up around 5 a.m. which sounds early, but really isn’t considering that gave me only half an hour to get ready. I had showered, was partly dressed, and in the middle of packing when the phone rang. It was the airport shuttle driver, waiting for me in front of my apartment building. Doh! He was early.

“Can you give me fifteen minutes?” I asked. We haggled for a bit and settled on ten.

Airline travel consists of a series of hurrying up and waiting. So here I am at National Airport, a little frazzled, but slowly calming down. I’ve already checked in, and now have a whole hour and a half to kill until my flight leaves. I’ll probably get back to the book I’m currently reading, Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. It’s almost appropriate, isn’t it.

California, here I come. Eventually.

Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport, 9:55 a.m. CDT — Well, at least I got a last-minute first-class upgrade. Breakfast on the flight was good, though after this morning’s frantic sprint out of the house, I would’ve eaten pretty much anything. Sigh. Another hour and a half ’til the next flight.

This terminal is office-space generic. I could be anywhere. Then again, I didn’t have very far to walk, from gate G2 to F6, so there isn’t much to see. I’m sitting in the waiting area, across the corridor from a small food court with a few airport eatery staples: Cinnabon, Burger King, California Pizza Kitchen ASAP, etc.

Okay. I think I have a copy of GQ to keep me occupied. It’s got a fall fashion preview. Oh, if only fall weather were here already. At least I’m going to the Bay Area, which my mom likes to call “naturally air-conditioned.”

San Francisco International Airport, 1:30 p.m. PDT — Here I am! This connecting flight was about three and a half hours long, and I slept most of the way, but I was awake long enough to catch some sights. From my window, one remarkable view flying over the northern Plains states was the pattern of, I don’t know, crops perhaps, in circles and rows, all fitting together and looking like so many pie charts and bar graphs in varying greens and browns from our cruising altitude of thirty-thousand feet. The other remarkable sight was right next to me: the cutie in seat 4B. Rowr.

Daly City, Calif., 2:30 p.m. PDT — Ah, home sweet home. Despite the fact that SFO is mere minutes from our house, I decided to check out the much-awaited, brand-spanking-new airport BART station. Getting to it is a bit of a hike. From the arrival/departure level, you have to descend to the parking garage, go through a tunnel under the roadway, take an elevator up to the fifth floor, and take the AirTrain monorail which, as it makes its loop around the various terminals and garages, finally brings you to the BART station. Whew.

I rode BART to South San Francisco (yet another new station), where my parents were waiting for me. So here I am in my old room at home now. Anyway, it’s time for me to hearken back to one of Proust’s obsessions, sleep. Mmm, nap.

Tomorrow: SF pride! I may not make it out there in time for the parade (in which case I can just watch the coverage on KRON 4), but I’ll try to meet up with some friends and check out the festival in the afternoon.