Chicken Bus, Redux

Luckily, my aforementioned transportation exploits worked without a hitch. (See previous Chicken Bus edition.) JJake also gave me a ride to the airport on Wednesday morning, so I didn't have to schlep my stuff back to the light rail station at 0:dark:30. I thought her giving me a ride might ruin my green travel street cred. But I'm sure her Saturn wagon is really fuel effecient.

Let me say though, I've never been so glad to dump my bags in my life. I'd been "in transit" in one form or another for nearly 22 hours. When I'd arrived at the Chelsea Lodge, my stay for the first night, I said I was here to drop my bags until I could check into my room. When he told me my room was ready now, I could have kissed him. Not really. It is the Chelsea Lodge. He wouldn't have been all that interested. But just to get into my room and wipe a wet wash clothe on my face felt like heaven.

My friend Suzy told me that there's nothing more empowering than being alone in a big city. So I was a lot of big talk about being alone for a 1-1/2 days, but I was a little nervous. Fortunately I felt really comfortable in my hotel, with my toilet down the hall and the shower in my room. (This led to a spirited discussion the next evening. I'd rather share a toilet than share a shower. Shilpi, however, would prefer to share neither!) I had my little single bed, desk and little 12" flat screen TV. I was set.

So I went to lower Manhattan and got my my theater ticket for later that evening, putzed around down there and made my way back to the Chelsea Lodge to get all dolled up for my big night out. By myself.

I'd forgotten to leave myself time to get some dinner, so after a shower I hopped the subway to Times Square. Being pressed for time, I looked around to find something quick to eat. I've heard David Letterman talking up the Jamba Juice so I went in and got some dinner in a cup. (Berries and bananas, soy milk and protein powder)

The play was called Boeing Boeing (http://www.broadway.com/gen/show.aspx?SI=560739 ) and starred Bradley Whitford (from the West Wing) and Christine Baranski (from Cybil-as in Shepard, not the eight personalities, Sally Field thing). It had recently won some Tony awards and was fun and silly. I had a great time. I walked out of the theater at 10:45pm. This was the moment I'd told everyone I'd take a cab back to my hotel. But here's the thing. I would have waited forever for a cab, so I walked over to 9th Ave. (one way, going south) and caught the bus back to 23rd St. (a highly trafficed street with lots of people) and used the busy thoroughfares to walk back to my hotel. Not for one moment did I feel creeped out. There were people all around me (granted, they were young 20's/30's cruising the bars-I was invisible to them) and I knew where to go.

My chicken bus tale isn't feeling very "reduxy" right now. The wrap up to the tale of transport (leaving out a reunion with friends and a fantastic wedding that is so deserving of it's own blog entry) was all the Minnesota people at the wedding trying to fly home. Everyone flying on Northwest Airlines had their flights cancelled. My flight, on Suncountry, was supposed to be the last of our group to leave, but I was the only one to make it home to Minnesota that night. "Night" is a euphamism. I arrived at 1:30am. But I was happy to be there. We were delayed by about 2-1/2 hours, but we didn't care. As we were all scrambling on board to get our seats on this very full plane (which included some people who were dropped from NWA flights) we were crossing our fingers that we'd get to leave town. I sat in my seat, next to a nice young man from Edina, MN, and I noticed a skateboard punk woman carrying a laborador puppy. No kennel carrier, like Paris Hilton would use for her chihuahua "Tinkerbell". This dog was loose. Not technically loose, like running down the aisle of the plane. It was on a leash and in its owners arms. I love dogs as much as the next guy, but all I could think after the chaos of our departure, after phone calls from friends who'd been sitting in their plane in line to take off for 3 hours only to have them cancelled, I'm on a fricking chicken plane. This is like vintage 1970's Aeroflot crap, with livestock in the plane.

Let's just say that I'm so glad my next trip is on a train. We can pack our own cocktails and bring them in a cooler. I'll be bringing some wine. I'll be travelling with Nancy Mac. She's totally bring beer. I think the only wild animals on board will be our children. But I'm sure they'll be on their best behavior.