Premonition - California, USA

Save This Page | Stumble It!

Amber and I were going to Egypt, an arduous task. Nothing we do ever turns out as planned. Don’t get me wrong, we mean well. It’s just that whenever we travel together, danger tags along. It isn’t even that the entire journey is perilous, simply the departure and arrival.

About a year earlier, I had convinced Amber to come with me to visit my parents in our hometown. My selling point was Sequoia National Park. The park is one of the country’s best and contains the largest living things on earth - giant Sequoias. It is less than 30 minutes from my parent’s house. We could spend a day hiking there. Amber, who at the time was trying to visit every U.S. National Park, found this irresistible.

The trip itself went well. We accomplished everything. I spent quality time with my parents; Amber had quality time with the sequoias. The travel however, was something else. On the way up to State Route 99, I got a flat tire. Not a problem. When we arrived in town, my dad drove us to the local Costco. I bought replacement tires and we had them changed. Case closed.

The next morning, we woke up early, hopped in my recently mended car, and went on CA Route 198 towards Sequoia. We parked, hiked, we enjoyed our day. Upon returning to my car, what do we see? The same tire - lifeless, deflated, splayed on the ground like a rubbery sleeping basset hound. Ok, so the problem is with the rim, not the tire. Still, it’s no big deal. Put the spare on, head down the mountain, call ahead to my parents, have them find a replacement rim, and get that changed in the morning before heading back to Los Angeles.

If I were with anyone other than Amber, the story would end right there. But Amber was along for the ride, so our plan began to slowly unravel. I couldn’t get reception on my cell phone. We decided to find a pay phone. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived in Three Rivers, a sleepy town that sits near, well, three rivers.

We pulled off the side of the road, onto the wide shoulder. While Amber searched her purse for cash, I got out, stood in the doorway of the car waiting for a truck to pass before heading to the bar across the street. I was between the door and the body of the car when an oncoming truck crumpled the door to resemble an accordion. It happened just like the movies - in slow motion. I saw the truck coming, the driver staring intently, not at the road, but at the activity outside the bar opposite me. I observed the truck edging nearer and nearer to the shoulder. I thought, boy, he’s getting very close, really close, in fact, he's hitting me.

That was the last time Amber and I traveled together. Now we were going to Cairo. I knew it would be a complex journey. We had to allow for a stop in Athens (Amber wanted to meet her high school friends after our trip). This meant we needed to book our flight to Cairo as two separate round trips.

Starting from different cities (Portland and Los Angeles) caused complications. Add to this the astronomical cost of flying to Athens in August, a fear of delayed foreign connections that would result in missing each other. Plus, we had to be creative when booking the tickets. We came up with a good plan, given the circumstances: meet in Chicago because I was able to get a great fare from Chicago to Amsterdam (on Singapore Air). We each had existing frequent flyer vouchers which helped. We had a discount fare on KLM to the Greek capitol. We could hop across the Mediterranean to Cairo, as both Olympic Air and Egypt Air have several daily departures - all this for $1,000.00 each.

It all seemed logical at the time. Sitting on the Southwest flight to Chicago-Midway (with a change of planes in Las Vegas), I remember being excited to reach Cairo. I visualized a scene from an Indiana Jones movie. I could picture the red line of our flight path being drawn across the map on a movie screen, bouncing from one exotic place to the next, finally landing in Cairo where there would be a slow dissolve and fade-in to the real adventure at hand.

Then I noticed Pete Rose. That's right, baseball icon Pete Rose, the man with more hits than anyone in the history of the game, but banned for life from entering the Hall of Fame because he bet on the sport. My vision of Indiana Jones was violently morphed into an image of Rose, rounding third at the 1970 All-Star Game; running full-tilt, lowering his shoulder, and nearly decapitating Cleveland catcher Ray Fosse, as he scored the winning run in a meaningless game. The play resulted in a separated shoulder for Fosse, an injury that would effectively end his career. Rose said of the incident, “I play to win. Period.”

No one realized at the time; Rose was talking about playing financially, as well as on the scoreboard. On the plane all I could think of was, "He is never getting into the Hall of Fame if he keeps going to Las Vegas." Step away from the gambling, Pete, put the dice down and slowly back away. After parting ways with Pete, I changed planes for my flight to Chicago and met Amber.

We were corralled at the check-in area with the rest of the passengers - a group that included about 50 Dutch teenagers who looked like they were right out of an ABBA video. They were annoying. I think the girl behind the counter was sharing our frustration. Before I knew what was happening, she was telling us that we could not carry our backpacks on the plane. That wouldn't do. We did not want to deal with the hassle of checked bags, especially on this, the first of three international flights.

Using solid reasoning, Amber tried hard to convince the airline employee why she should let us carry our bags on the plane. It didn't work. The resulting argument included cursing, threats, and heated exchanges on many different topics, including the true weight of a kilogram. Finally Amber emerged victorious. Her victory did not include me, though. I explained not wanting to go through this scenario in Amsterdam, to which the airline clerk suggested checking the bag through to Athens. There I could pick up my baggage and check it on the flight to Egypt.

We arrived in Amsterdam's Schipol Airport, the nicest airport I've seen. It is clean, offers numerous travel services, a large selection of food and duty free items. And that's before you get to the attached shopping mall! It also has a casino with table games. I was so amazed it didn't register that this was my first time in Europe. Anyway, we did what we were supposed to do to get on our flight to Athens. Upon arrival, we made our way to baggage claim. After 15 minutes, the conveyor belt stopped. Half of us were still without our luggage.

"Due to a mix-up in Amsterdam, a bin of bags got placed on the wrong flight. If you would follow me, we will get your contact information and have your bag forwarded to your accommodation when it gets here tomorrow morning.”

Cursing inwardly, I followed the group to the KLM baggage counter. The crowd was complicit, walking over to the desk and calmly filling out their paperwork. I did the same, but when the agent asked where in Athens I was staying, I knew I was in trouble. (We were only in Athens for several hours, to connect with our flight to Cairo). The agent smiled weakly, not reassuring me. I turned to Amber and said, "I'm never going to see my bag again." I glanced down at the date of my return flight. It read September 11, 2001.

Save This Page | Stumble It!