Trans: DEN, CO to SAN FRAN, CA- Feb 13, 06
February 13, 2006
I woke up early to ride in the “fresh” Colorado climate for an hour before gathering my luggage and loading up the car for the trip to the airport- and I got to thinking how nice it’s been to actually stay in a house for a tad. Over the last couple days I’ve developed a since that I actually belong. It’s a rather enchanting feeling really, but it’s kind of in the wrong place, I couldn’t deal with living in Boulder. It’s just too unpredictable, dry, high, and a bit too yuppie. It does have nice riding though, nice plains too.
Aside from the packing this morning, I recently purchased a new phone charger for an inordinate amount of money. It turned out that the charger didn’t work very well, so I decided to take it back (they’ve got a 14 day full refund policy), & I wasn’t willing to part with that much money for a charger anyway. So I checked the internet to see if there was a Car Toys store in Boulder- and there was. So this morning after packing and riding, I rode once more into town, went to the Car Toys and bought a used charger for $6.99 that actually worked & returned the one that I had previously purchased for $38.99. How’s that for frugal intuition?
The rush to the airport went smooth, but after that all bets were off. First my bag was too heavy so I had to divvy some out into my carry on (among that divvied was that of my cycling tools) to avoid the overweight charge. Then as I went through security I was accosted for the metal tools... but nothing was confiscated!? Once I made it to the gate (45 minutes advance of my flight) I learn that my flight is canceled & am told to go down a few gates to a flight leaving 30 minutes prior to mine also to San Francisco (15 minutes prior to its departure) to see if there are still seats available. Of course they’re all taken (the rest of the passengers from my flight must have arrived at the gate a good hour and a half early to do some waiting) and I’m delayed for an hour and a half.
I arrive in San Francisco and am greeted by a jubilant Ben who proclaims that in the time he spent waiting for me to arrive he got the front tires changed on the team mini-van. Two miles later we get a left front flat. He calls ‘em up and they give him a classy “we’re closing up and we don’t have any staff here…” We change the flat on the side of the freeway at night. I end up finally arriving at the hotel at 8:45, four hours later than scheduled. But it was worth it, a solid life lesson in the art of changing Dodge Caravan tires.