A last-minute decision to change my packing strategy caused the problem. I second-guessed my decision to use a tote bag instead of a backpack. That blankety-blank backpack became an albatross around my neck, er, back. I loaded it with every electronic device I own except a laptop plus everything else I might need in case of getting stranded midway. Add to that a big, heavy, bulky winter coat (carried, not worn) and snow boots on my feet. I hope you DON'T get the picture. It wasn't pretty. This was on a day Fresno was enjoying balmy 74 degree weather.
Add to that two (2) bags to be checked. I could barely move.
In addition to "normal" clothing, I'd packed a pair of snow pants, a balaclava, two complete sets of thermals, heavy gloves, heavy socks, light socks (as an underlayer), snow hat, Yaktraxx, an extension cord (to plug in my electronic gear, since hotels never have enough plugs, especially near the beds), heavy sweaters, turtlenecks, a pair of lace-up shoes and a pair of loafers. Oh, and an assortment of hand, toe and body warmers.
What I didn't take was a lighter weight, short-sleeved shirt for the trip back to Fresno. (The temp yesterday in Fresno was an even balmier 84.) Or one collapsible trekking pole for balancing on Anchorage's icy streets.
Struggling with the backpack, I clambered aboard the totally-full plane to Salt Lake City. I shoved the #@%* backpack under the seat in front of me and laid the #@$* coat on my lap. My feet, in the snow boots, barely fit into the remaining floor space. And there I remained for the better part of 2 hours.
The flights from SLC to Seattle and then Seattle to Anchorage were every bit as crowded and cramped.
In the Seattle airport there was a layover of a couple of hours, so I took out the race guide I'd received from Iditarod Trail Committee and read it cover-to-cover. Finally we boarded for the last, longest, leg of the flight--just as crowded and just as tightly-configured. I truly felt it was the longest flight of my life. I couldn't sit still, yet couldn't move. And the bloody backpack still constricted my feet, which by now were not at all happy to have snow boots on them despite the fact that I'd worn the boots a lot at home without a bit of discomfort.
After an eternity the flight attendant announced our pending arrival. Suddenly he said, "folks, we're going to prepare for our landing right NOW." That was a little strange. My seat mate and I looked at each other with question marks in our eyes. Trouble with the plane? Stuck landing gear?
When the plane taxied to a stop, the flight attendant took the mic. "Please remain in your seats. Do not move. We have a little issue we have to handle before we deplane." Again my seat mate and I exchanged looks.
Two security officers made their way to the back of the plane and returned escorting a very drunk, handcuffed fellow between them. I hadn't heard any commotion, so it was a complete surprise.
When we were able to exit, I retrieved the two bags I'd checked and limped my way out of the airport to hail a taxi. Of course they were located across the ice-covered road in a special shuttle/taxi lane. I prayed a lot on that short jaunt that I wouldn't slip and make even more of a spectacle of myself.
The taxi ride was uneventful, thank heavens, and I arrived at the Westmark Hotel with much thanksgiving. At the counter ahead of me were two passengers I'd seen at the Seattle airport.
"Are you in the Road Scholar program?" I asked them.
"Yes, and I saw you reading the Iditarod book," one of them replied. "I wanted to ask to look at it, but I didn't."
"You should have," I replied. "I'd have gladly shared."
Small world, I thought.
I made my way up to my room and collapsed in relief. Of course I didn't fall asleep until 4 am. That's the way it goes.
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