san francisco

My flights to San Francisco were the most problematic I’d had. Up to then everything had been pretty much right on time, with no delays of any kind. On the way from Portland, the pilot announced early on that there was fog in Long Beach, but that he expected it to clear up by the time of our arrival. If it didn’t, he added, he had taken enough fuel to circle the airport for a while. I was sitting just behind the wings; as we came into land, I felt a sudden surge of power from the engines and saw the flaps retract. The aircraft started to climb, and sure enough, the pilot had decided not to land because the clouds were below the 500-foot minimum needed. So we turned circles in the sky for an hour or two until it cleared enough for us to land. As we approached the terminal, I didn’t see a single other airliner around. I told the pilot that he must have done something right if we were the only plane around.

As you might gather from the fact that ours was the only plane there, there were going to be a lot of delayed connections. On the positive side, I had a long time between my flights, meaning that my plane might very well get in so that I’d be on time. Unfortunately, the lounge was crammed with people waiting for flights and security informed us that we’d have to leave the secure area. Just what I want—to go through security twice in one day. I killed time on my computer and by watching football. They were only letting a flight or two at a time through the security line, and I never heard them announce my flight. It was still supposedly on time, but I could tell it was going to be too quick a turnaround for them to pull it off, since the plane didn’t land until just a few minutes before my departure. By the time I decided to go through security, there was a huge line, my flight was leaving soon, and they were pulling people from my flight to go to the front of the line. Regardless of what your parents and teachers told you, sometimes procrastination does pay off.

I landed in San Francisco just a few minutes late and met with Regina, who was nice enough to let me crash at her apartment in San Francisco. Even though I’d never met her before. (I know her dad from the cricket team he and I play for.) She was also an excellent tour guide. She drove me to Twin Peaks, which has an amazing view of downtown San Francisco:

portland

I arrived at Portland at 6 or so. As with Seattle, it was a piece of cake to go from the airport to the city. This time it was $2.35 on the train, which dropped me off a few blocks away from my hotel. I checked in, dropped my stuff off, and then headed to the hotel bar for dinner. I ordered a burger and a beer. As I ate, a man (white, middle-aged) came in and asked that one of the TVs be changed to one of the games in the WNBA championship series. I remarked, and both the man and the bartender agreed, that it was undoubtedly the first time in any bar that a WNBA game had been requested. After dinner, it was time to do some laundry.

seattle

After Los Angeles it was time for a trip to Seattle. This meant a chance to cross Washington off the list of states I’ve been to. I booked a room at a Travelodge near the Space Needle. It’s a piece of cake to take a train from the airport into the city, and it’s cheap, too; just $2.50 (possibly less, depending on how far from the airport you’re going). There was a minor inconvenience; the hotel was a little bit of a walk from the last train stop, and I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going—I couldn’t remember if my hotel was at 200 6th Avenue or 600 2nd Avenue, and my GPS was still “acquiring satellites” and wasn’t aware that I was in Seattle, not Long Beach. I walked down 2nd Avenue, through a neighborhood filled with bars and restaurants; twentysomethings sat on patios with happy hour drinks in hand. I finally made it to the hotel (which was on 6th Avenue) in what would presumably be just enough time to make it downtown for the Mariners game that night. I asked the front desk how to get there and the clerk was very helpful in telling me what bus to take, drawing it out on a map, and so forth. I hopped a bus, and when my GPS finally started working I found out that my hotel was actually just 2 miles from Safeco Field. Seattle—or the downtown area, at least—is surprisingly small for such a large city. I felt as though I was on the northern fringes of the city, with the stadium at the south end, but a relatively short walk separated the two. But a 40-minute walk would have made me late for the game, and I was already on the bus anyway. I got there, then had a short walk past Qwest Field to Safeco. I bought a ticket from a scalper for $5 and made my way in.

southern california

On Monday my uncle took me for a ride in his golf cart around the retirement community. There are a bunch of different clubhouses with a variety of different activities for the residents. We stopped for hot dogs at the golf course clubhouse, which had this amazing view of the area:

Thanks to the fees the residents pay, they get incredibly cheap greens fees at the course. A round of golf (with cart) is $8. (It’s $25 for a guest, which looks like a good deal for a course that seemed to be in very nice shape.) We didn’t play any golf, but he did take me to the driving range to hit a few balls. It was nice to get some practice in, as I’m unlikely to be playing much during this odyssey. I borrowed a few beat-up old clubs from the shop and hit the ball pretty well (by my standards, at least).

six flags magic mountain

After my jaunt home for a couple days, it was time for the West Coast swing of my trip. I’ve read about a lot of people who are trying to take a lot of red-eyes just to skimp on hotels, but I don’t really see the point. I’d rather sleep in an airport than take a red-eye for no reason. So I grouped up all of my West Coast destinations, and then stuck a trip to Chicago in before heading to the East Coast.

My trip west started with a trip to the Northeast. Unfortunately, JetBlue’s service from New Orleans is still limited to flights to New York and Boston. So I had to head to JFK on Saturday to get a connection to Long Beach; that flight wasn’t even a non-stop, but went to Salt Lake City. And we ended up having to get off the plane in Salt Lake anyway. Four cities, four time zones, and a few thousand miles just to get from New Orleans to California. (I actually could have had a non-stop from JFK to LAX, but Long Beach was closer to the relatives I’d be staying with). Upon arriving at Long Beach, I picked up my rental car. I was offered either a Sebring or a Jetta; I took the Jetta, expecting it to be more fuel-efficient. I then drove down the 405 to visit my aunt, who lives in a retirement community in Orange County. (Her brother and his wife live a few blocks away in the same development.) She made me a chicken sandwich for dinner, and I went to bed knowing I’d have a long day on Sunday.

new orleans

Originally I had hoped to come home at least twice during my 30 days of flying, hoping to catch another Saints game. For various reasons, it didn’t work out like that, but I knew there was no way I could miss the Saints’ home opener and the unveiling of the World Championship banner. On the Boston-New Orleans flight I sat next to another AYCJer, and I offered him a ride downtown (the only usual options to get from the airport are a sketchy bus, a presumably adequate shuttle, or an overpriced taxi). Getting off the plane I met three more AYCJers and made them the same offer. My mom picked us up at the airport and took us to our house; I gave them a round of beers (either Abita or Zea’s) and then took them to Shortstop for po-boys.

Shortstop is perhaps not as well-known as some of the other restaurants known for their roast beef po-boys, but I grew up on them. Their location in Metairie on Transcontinental (two blocks off Airline) isn’t far from where I grew up, and isn’t far from where I live now. It’s not the sort of place a tourist (especially one without a rental car) would be likely to visit, so I figured it was especially appropriate to bring the guys I’d just met here for some off-the-beaten-path New Orleans cuisine.

Shortstop:

My po-boy:

After that, I dropped them off in the Quarter and went back home hoping to take a nap before heading to the Superdome.

boston

After getting up bright and early to go to the airport for our flight from Pittsburgh to Boston, we arrived at Logan and met a couple of people who would be sharing a hotel room with us and/or joining us at the game. We took a shuttle to one subway line, than transferred to another subway before arriving at our hotel. Fortunately we were able to check-in early, and then we went for a meet-up at the Union Oyster House, which calls itself the oldest restaurant in the United States. We sat at the oyster bar and waited for the other half of the group. I’m not an oyster guy, and even if I had been, I don’t think I’d have wanted to pay $13.95 for a half-dozen raw oysters. Nor did I want to pay $4.95 for a Miller Lite (even if I liked Miller Lite); nicer beers were another dollar more. So I nursed a glass of water while telling one of the shuckers that I’d wait till we went upstairs and got a table to order food. He took pity on the two of us at the bar who weren’t eating yet and brought us some cornbread. Now, I’ve always thought of cornbread as a southern thing. But it turns out that at least one place north of the Mason-Dixon line can make damn good cornbread. It was wonderful. While we were still waiting for the rest of the group, a few of us went outside and walked around the Holocaust memorial (right across the street from the restaurant). It’s one of the few landmarks I can recall from the visit I made to Boston back when I was living in Worcester after Katrina. It was just as impressive and moving upon a second visit. If you’re ever in Boston, it is not to be missed.

pittsburgh

I made a trip to Pittsburgh for one real reason: to see PNC Park. The Pirates may be terrible, but the park is widely-renowned as a gem, and the pictures of the stadium with the skyline and the Roberto Clemente Bridge in the background had always impressed me. And the fact that I could catch a game where they were playing the Braves (my favorite MLB team, although I don’t follow them too closely now that they’re not on TBS anymore) was an added bonus.

One of the nice things about doing AYCJ is meeting people from all over the country. I admit it is a little bit sketchy to split a hotel room with people you’ve only just met, but it’s a good way to save money. And even if you don’t want to do that, it’s still nice to meet people for a ball game or drinks or a meal. I met two AYCJers at JFK while waiting to connect to Pittsburgh: Vanessa, a bartender/travel agent from Staten Island; and Erika, a cop from Chicago. After we landed in Pittsburgh, we met up with one of the cop’s coworkers, Chris, who was flying on United since his mother works for that airline. We went to our hotel (near the airport), then took a cab to the stadium. Sure enough, the views did not disappoint:

two days gone, 28 to go!

I didn’t realize quite how tough it was going to be to blog when I’m going non-stop. I’ll give fuller posts with pictures as soon as I actually have the time to sit at my computer, but the first two days were busy, busy, busy.

Tuesday: 6:30 a.m. flight from New Orleans to JFK. Get a free sweatshirt from JetBlue’s AYCJ kickoff party. Also eat some yummy (and free!) iced donuts from Dunkin Donuts. Wait for flight. Meet two people I’m going to Pittsburgh with, drink at airport bar. Get on plane. Meet another guy who’s going to the Pirates game and sharing a hotel with us. Go to game. Go to Primanti Brothers. Go to casino. Go to bar. Go to mountain with breathtaking views of downtown. Get back to hotel at 3:30 a.m. Wake up at 7 a.m. to fly to Boston.

more planning

Many parts of my schedule more or less worked themselves out. I knew I wanted to hit San Francisco for the Saints game, so it made sense to pencil in a West Coast swing for the preceding week. Fly to LA on Saturday, visit Six Flags on Sunday, visit relatives on Monday; then fly to Seattle on Tuesday and catch a Mariners game Wednesday night. That left me with a decision to make: I wanted to get to San Fran on Saturday, so if I left Seattle on Thursday I had two nights to hit up another city. The sensible thing would be to visit somewhere else on the West Coast. For me, the choice came down to two cities: Portland or Las Vegas. I’d never been to either, but I’d heard good things about both. Portland seemed like a really cool city, easy to get around without a car; Las Vegas, is, well, Vegas. Ultimately, I was swayed by the promise of Portland’s microbreweries; according to Wikipedia, the city has more microbreweries than anywhere else in the US. That clinched it for me.

I also knew I wanted to visit a friend of mine from grad school, who now lives in the Tampa Bay area. That necessitated a weekend trip while the Rays were in town. So now I had a couple of days in between leaving San Francisco Tuesday morning and heading to Tampa on Saturday. Rather than fly all the way across the country, why not stop in the middle, in Chicago? I’ve connected at O’Hare before, but I’ve never stopped in Chicago, so I’m looking forward to it. And it also means a chance to see a Cubs game at Wrigley Field.