In the beginning...

(Written beginning on U.S. Airways flight from Phoenix to Oakland, and finished up later on Saturday, 6.19.08)

Already disoriented having seen very little of my eyelids and whole lot of fellow plane passengers in the past (how many has it actually been?) 15 or so hours, I’m just thanking the heavens that I’m on this plane and will soon reach my first actual destination. Aaahhh… sunny Oakland, California. Can’t stay long! But it’ll be good to meet 2/3 of my traveling entourage and hit the road, jack. Seriously, after all that’s gone down (and almost NOT gone down) in airports, I’ll be delighted as hell to crank the key of our minivan. A descriptive recap of my unsmooth segue into this trip (quite cinematic, if you ask me):

12:00 a.m. Climb into bed with a chatty, but altogether worn out Ms. Stimpson…going to sleep in the same room makes me nostalgic, for it’s very reminiscent of our dorm days, and I wish we had more slumber parties into our adulthood. But at this time, I know I need more slumber than party before the hellacious traveling day awaiting me, so I attempt to shut up and sleep, already.
12:45 a.m. Ash is quiet, and the street’s fairly quiet, but my mind’s still racing, imagining what happens next, and then after that, and what happened back then that led me here. For someone who typically konks out, inebriated or not, within ten minutes, I had nonesuch luck last night.
3:00 a.m. I notice LED read and groan silently…sure, I’ve been in and out, for the last couple hours, but why oh why haven’t I just been out? I was feeling silly and frustrated, and much like a school kid with her first day outfit laid out, headband to Keds, as if to hop in at first light.
4:30 a.m. Alarm sounds. Up and at ‘em. Throw on clothes, throw bag in car, pour travel mugs of gut-scorching coffee.
5:30 a.m. Take the wheel.
Approx. 6:30 a.m. Realize I’ve been going atypically slow in the dark and fog and am further from airport than ideal, Put pedal to metal, while laughing and listening to an old “Lunch Ladies” radio show on cassette.
Approx. 6:45 a.m. Stop laughing when I see cop in rearview throw on harsh patriotic lights. Pull to the shoulder and feel like I will puke all over the place, and miss my flight, to boot.
6:55 a.m. Pull gingerly off of shoulder into traffic with a speeding ticket that was unfortunately issued, but graciously reduced, for pity, I think, by the nicest police officer in the land. Still, though, I might puke at any second and I’m late as hell.
7:10 a.m. Get to woman at International U.S. Airways counter, which is accepting domestic travelers on account of the winding lines (at dawn, who knew?). She is click clacking her falsies on the keyboard, pretending to hurry for me, but not doing much of the sort, and instead throwing in the proverbial towel when "it won’t do what it’s supposed to." Psh, technology. Some higher-up helps Click Clack get me a pass and check my bag, and I thank them both profusely and run to the check point.
7:18 a.m. Getting to the front of the long security/TSA line, I take my first glance at the boarding pass I’m clutching like my last dollar, which reads “Stevens, Lydia”—WHO?! Am passed on through when agent says, “They messed your name up...bad” and shoes me along. In stress and haste, I foolishly figure that any boarding pass is better than none, and run to the gate as Lydia Stevens.
7:25 a.m. Upon approaching ticket taker, Lydia is informed that “we’re not accepting standby tickets yet, ma’am” and so she stands behind some jerk-off jousting for a first class seat, nearly tearful and still nauseated, imagining that the plane she’s supposed to be on will pull onto the runway before her eyes.
7:30 a.m. Celia Stephens regains sense of self when she explains multifaceted error to second ticket lady, patient and kind despite being visibly fatigued after first class jerk-off. I feel like kissing both she and the woman who takes my ticket, smiling, and says, “all squared away?”
7:45 a.m. (EST) Take off as scheduled, due West (and then Southwest) to Phoenix. Recount this morning tale and future plans for exploration of the U.S. with wonderful armrest sharer, Monte B, from Redmond, Oregon. His wife (15 years together this October) and two boys (13 and 10…really smart, responsible kids) can’t wait to see him this afternoon, since he’s been gone all week on business (the concrete business) in New York. He’s dreading the drive from Portland to Redmond, which will turn directly into a guest appearance at his wife’s company BBQ. C’est la vie. I’m about to drive halfway back across the country!
9:04 a.m. (MST) Arrive as scheduled in Phoenix. Sweet, I have about 45 minutes till I need to board my next flight. It’s not too huge an airport, and all I need is a coffee, so this should be easy.
9:35 a.m. Coffee purchased, with a cinnamon scone for good measure, I settle in at B15 ahead of schedule. It’s unmarked, but I triple check the boarding pass, and I’m in the right place, so I talk to Mom, check NYTimes.com and sip on my coffee leisurely.
10:00 a.m. Subconsciously, I must’ve thought “Shouldn’t this crowd be boarding by now?” But I sat dumbly, feeding my face and ogling alternately at family interactions and McCain/Obama news chatter, until I overhear a smiley new dad (in a floral button up, not coincidently) chirp regarding his little one, “She didn’t get mobile until this week, and it’s like, ‘Really, couldn’t you have waited till after Hawaii?’” WHERE?!
10:05 a.m. I’m running, not so leisurely now, and hating the cinnamon scone only half digested. Backpack is heavy. Christ, my gate had been changed to the very gate I exited an hour prior (A14). Would’ve been nice to know that then.
10:09 a.m. Sweating through my V-neck and severely flustered for the third or fourth time since daylight, I am the last person to board the correct plane, the one heading to Oakland, where my comrades (fingers crossed) will meet me and the journey will begin.
10:25 a.m. My headphones are plugged in, so as to bar me from talking to another soul until I absolutely must, or at least can, having caught my breath and regained composure. (I can’t believe I’ve made it within a mere couple of minutes BOTH times today. I deserve a few raps on the knuckles, for certain.) My AC vent is full-blast, and I figure that the bread to this messy sandwich (a pretty, hip-hop blasting twenty-something and quiet middle-aged, Middle Eastern man) hate me for being “that girl” right now.
10:55 a.m. Remembering with a giant yawn that I, well, WE, have to get to Salt Lake City tonight. Oy.

(Later recap, now in the van.)

12:33 p.m. Land safely in California after peering over Middle Eastern man to catch the mountain panorama upon descent. Feel a little emotional by the scuene (a West Coast newbie), feel very honored to be there. After all the morning’s hang-ups, I’m feeling refreshed and jolted by arrival to the other side of the country.
12:40 p.m. Discover that my gigantic black duffle bag was not on my plane, but rather traveled with the illusive “Lydia Stevens” to Boise (where I’d have ended up, moron that I am, had I not made good at the first ticket counter…still, my checked bag holds everything but my toothbrush and Macbook and a couple paperbacks, so my stomach drops at the thought of going without all its contents for godknowshowlong).
12:50 p.m. Arrange, with the help of a wonderful should-be U.S. Airways Employee of the Year, for “godknowshowlong” to be approximately a day and a half. I will pick up the bag in Omaha Sunday night. Not sweatin’ it too bad.
1:10 p.m. Talk to Kurt and David and realize they’re a bit twisted around in the Bay Area, too, having missed a key BART exchange. So much for leaving around 1.
1:20 p.m. Suave young dudes are running the Enterprise rent-a-car (at an inconvenient remote location), and though they’re friendly as can be, nothin’ is easy and it takes me a good hour to get the vehicle we requested to pick-up at noon. First, I’m urged to take some new, shiny red Ford space car, which, though roomy, would certainly draw attention to we hippies speeding across the country. Then my choice white minivan, unassuming and spacious, is found to have a broken headlight. No I will not go to Midas to get the part with your non-English speaking associate (!!!!). I accept another van (has it been there the whole time, while we shot the breeze?) with more miles on her, but I’m affable and grateful, all the same. (Just get me with my boys and STARTING this thing!)
2:45 p.m. After much ado, I get to meet my boys and start this thing. They’re both awesome, and energized, and Kurt takes the wheel with great gusto as we try to head East. Only it takes an hour for us to get out of town, with unfamiliar interstates and distractingly gorgeous scenery surrounding us.
4 p.m. We’re all hungry, so we stop for a greasy fast lunch/dinner at JimBoy’s Tacos in Yuppieville, CA. Back in the van.
6 p.m. We just listened and sang along to “Abbey Road” and it hinged us as a trio, like nothing but a masterful album can. Can’t wait for Erin (and my blessed bag) in Omaha.
6:01 p.m. But we gotta get to Salt Lake City tonight. And we’re still in California. It’s glorious, and I’ve rendered the Appalachain Mountains cheap knockoffs compared to the Bob Ross-esq views before us (see --->). I’m soaking it all in, appreciating everything so as not to take a single breezy breath for granted. But we’re still in California, and gotta get to Salt Lake. Oy.