The road to Phoenix was long for me (read through the end of the post to find out just how lengthy), and it’s going to be long for many of you.
I just got an e-mail from Connie Wuerth about the 20 teenagers and eight adults in her seven-car caravan that’s leaving for Phoenix from Boise today.
You might see the group of Cole Valley Christian High School juniors as they leave town today. They’ll be the ones in the cars painted “Fiesta Bowl or Bust.”
If you want to add your travel tale, shoot me an e-mail at email@example.com. Include your name and contact info and a little bit about what you plan to do while you’re in the land of the sun (which, by the way, was rainy and overcast on Thursday).
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It’s official: All planes lead to Phoenix.
After a travel day that began at 8 a.m. Thursday and didn’t officially finish until 7:30 p.m. when I was biting into my Huevos Rancheros at Los Olivos, I’m finally in Phoenix.
And painfully reminded about why I don’t usually travel during the holidays.
I got here via San Francisco and a two-hour layover that stretched into three.
Holiday and Fiesta-bound travelers: I feel your pain.
Yes. There are a select number of you lucky enough to fly direct from Boise to Phoenix.
The rest of us have to go the creative route.
I didn’t spy any overt Broncos fans on my flight from Boise to Frisco, but I did spy streams of Bronco T-shirts heading to gates beyond mine.
One man was hopping a plane to L.A. and renting a car to drive the rest of the way. Another was heading through Vegas.
I pity the fools whose tickets route them through Denver.
(The news for Denver travelers isn’t good this morning: Click here to read about that particular brand of fun).
Jessica Wood, a Boise-based Bronco fan, e-mailed me about the acrobatics her group of 10 is going through to get to Phoenix.
They’re scattered about on different flights today after scrambling early Thursday to get their flights through Denver rerouted elsewhere.
Three of the clan will be driving through Las Vegas.
Here’s my own painful travel-to-Phoenix story.
I won’t bore you with my flight from Boise to Frisco in which I sat in the very last seat of the plane (the one seat that doesn’t recline).
Let me go directly to the agony of getting from San Franscisco to Phoenix.
First of all, the chipper announcer at the gate kept telling us “just a few more minutes.” That stretched into more than an hour.
Then when us cranky passengers finally got to board, that same chipper announcer kept rejecting travelers trying to board with a “3” on their boarding pass when she had only called for those with a “2.”
This included a woman who looked to be about 101.
This is what happens when every seat is full and airlines consider stuffing some passengers in the overhead compartment to avoid the anger that comes when they overbook a flight.
Then, there’s the snot.
At least half the plane between Frisco and Phoenix was in full flu mode (probably picked up when they flew last week for Christmas). The woman in front of me coughed constantly.
The man behind me coughed constantly.
The man beside me sniffled the entire way. Thanks to the fine special effects in shows like “House” and “CSI,” I could picture the hairy, worm-shaped germs flying through the air in slow-motion, just waiting to infect me.
Then, midway through the flight, I heard those words no traveler wants to hear (above the coughing and the sneezing and the general spreading of germs).
A shaky sounding flight attendant came over the speaker and told the other flight attendants to take their seats. That’s when you know you’ve hit real turbulence.
All I have to say is that I’m glad I’m on the ground for the next few days.