After Saturday’s unusually warm weather and bright sun, Sunday dawned cold and cloudy. I got up first, followed soon by Rey and then Anne. Wasting no time, Rey started loading his car, while Anne packed him a lunch. I helped him carry the microwave out to the car, but since we had already carried the snake back to my car earlier, neither of thought that the microwave warranted the same level of effort. We bade him farewell, as he drove off to eastern Tennessee. We’ll miss him. Rey called later to say that he had safely arrived.
After Rey left, we got Dave up. He had a noon flight. So we thought that we could fit in breakfast at a diner before we took him to the airport. Dave packed quickly and I picked up his itinerary, just in case we needed it. Checking it one last time, I got an OMG moment, followed by a profound sinking feeling. His flight had left Saint Louis an hour ago. It was his connecting flight in Detroit that left at noon.
Starting to regroup, I got online and checked on the availability of flights. The Sunday after Thanksgiving is the busiest day in air travel for the entire year, so I wasn’t all that hopeful, but there were flights available, albeit for a cost. I then called Travelocity, our booking agent, and they said that the airline would honor the ticket with the following conditions, it would only be honored for Sunday flights and there would be an additional rebooking fee.
I then switched to the Delta website. The booking had been with Delta Airlines. Their site showed two flights from Saint Louis to Rochester, the first at two and the last at four. Rather then driving to the airport, I decided to call Delta first. I navigated through the automated phone system until I finally got a human being. I explained our situation and the operator offered up a 10:50 flight through Cincinnati. That gave us about an hour and a half until flight time. I took it. The forty-eight dollar fee seemed almost inconsequential by that time.
We piled into the car and sped towards the airport. The memory of a similar, but ill-fated, race to the airport that Anne and I made last spring on our way to NYC was foremost in my mind. We had tried to make a similarly tight connection and failed. That time we ended up stranded in Saint Louis all day long. This time things were different. Dave made this flight, which left on time and eventually deposited him safely in Rochester. Thank God, for a clear eastern seaboard.
After we got back home I went for a bike ride in the Park. After the hubbub of the race to the airport, the bike ride was relaxing. The Park was empty. I pestered Charles, the Great Horned Owl again, but none of the photos seemed blog-worthy. I got sixteen miles.