mustangs and side trips
A bit out of order, but.
My winter vacation started with a cancelled flight. After two hours of waiting at DIA, through announcements that our plane had a water leak and that United was searching for a replacement plane, the staff announced that the flight was cancelled.
This has never happened to me before. I got in line with the other 200 people who were supposed to be on a non-stop flight to Dulles, hoping to reschedule something that wouldn't eat too far into my short visit to David's place in WV. So I ended up flying into Chicago and catching a connecting flight into National. While I waited to catch the flight to Chicago, I called the car people and changed the car rental reservation. No problem.
Now I've been to Chicago. If a stop-over at O'Hare counts. I don't think it does, since I keep hearing about what a cool town it is.
My flight on to National was no problem. Even an empty seat next to me, which makes for a bit of room to stretch out my legs.
Somehow my luggage was able to catch a plane to Dulles, even though I wasn't.
When I went to pick up the rental car, I learn that there are no economy cars left. My options: Plymouth Journey or Ford Mustang. I go with the hot rod, without considering the possibility that I'll need to return to Dulles on Monday on slick, curvy roads. Luckily, that possibility fails to materialize.
I hop in the Mustang, drive from National to Dulles to pick up my luggage. (It was either that or have them ship it to me, FedEx. Or leave it at Dulles until I could pick it up just in time to send it on to Phoenix.)
After getting lined out with luggage, I finally headed for the hills of West Virginia, a mere six hours after I was scheduled to land. At 1:40 am (EST), I finally pulled into David and Courtney's driveway.
My winter vacation started with a cancelled flight. After two hours of waiting at DIA, through announcements that our plane had a water leak and that United was searching for a replacement plane, the staff announced that the flight was cancelled.
This has never happened to me before. I got in line with the other 200 people who were supposed to be on a non-stop flight to Dulles, hoping to reschedule something that wouldn't eat too far into my short visit to David's place in WV. So I ended up flying into Chicago and catching a connecting flight into National. While I waited to catch the flight to Chicago, I called the car people and changed the car rental reservation. No problem.
Now I've been to Chicago. If a stop-over at O'Hare counts. I don't think it does, since I keep hearing about what a cool town it is.
My flight on to National was no problem. Even an empty seat next to me, which makes for a bit of room to stretch out my legs.
Somehow my luggage was able to catch a plane to Dulles, even though I wasn't.
When I went to pick up the rental car, I learn that there are no economy cars left. My options: Plymouth Journey or Ford Mustang. I go with the hot rod, without considering the possibility that I'll need to return to Dulles on Monday on slick, curvy roads. Luckily, that possibility fails to materialize.
I hop in the Mustang, drive from National to Dulles to pick up my luggage. (It was either that or have them ship it to me, FedEx. Or leave it at Dulles until I could pick it up just in time to send it on to Phoenix.)
After getting lined out with luggage, I finally headed for the hills of West Virginia, a mere six hours after I was scheduled to land. At 1:40 am (EST), I finally pulled into David and Courtney's driveway.
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