Because Hank the Dog had marked my bed, we (Corwin and I) had scrubbed and steam-cleaned my bed, and it was still damp. I woke at 2:45 before my alarm and climbed out of the guest bed. I might have slept a few hours.
I had multiple alarms on to remind me to wake and to call Joan S, who was kind enough to rise too early with me so I could arrive in NYC around 3 in the afternoon. I took a quick shower and was soon dressed in a T-shirt to go under my floppy sweater. I had, forgetting to put that in the blog yesterday, packed and used my smaller bag for a week’s clothing, which is 1/2 a folded suit carrier. The smaller one works for short trips.
I was ready early, texted Deborah, who rises around 6, and we talked and texted. Joan S appeared, and I loaded my bag, my red Nike gym bag, and my carry-on into her car. I remembered to turn off the AC and turn down the water heater. The mail hold was in place via their website. Joan and I headed across Beaverton with no traffic and soon took the usual ways, none busy, to PDX.
The usual drop of chaos even at 5 on a Tuesday (it is summer), and I grabbed my stuff and headed into PDX with a wave and a thanks to Joan S (thanks again, Joan S!). I headed to Delta’s bag drop and remembered to take my phone back after putting on my bag tag. There are long lines, but not for what I need. There are a lot of folks with issues who need a Delta agent. Never saw that before.
Security lines are short, but something is strange again: the line seems slow, and the number of bag scanners is low. I hear the woman with “Lead” on her TSA shirt thank other agents for “doing a solid.” I suspect they are understaffed and people are staying over their shift. I manage to complete the process in ten minutes or less, but I worry that it will be a mess soon.
My gym bag is selected from a more thorough search, and my snack box of chicken salad is flagged, found, tested, and returned. The agent tells me that round metal items, like a can of chicken salad, look like something more insidious without naming the threat; I was told this as an explanation. I thanked the agent for keeping us safe from chicken salad, which got a smile, and left.
Grasso is my go-to for breakfast. The woman at the counter called me a regular, and we agreed that, as I was going to JFK, I should get their “PDX to JFK” breakfast sandwich. I had that with coffee, found a seat there, and started on yesterday’s blog. I wrote until 6-ish and then packed up, thanked her and the cooks, and found my gate.
Bob P called out my name, and I turned, and we walked together to our gates. We had worked together at Nike under Aboo years ago. He was off to see some family in Boston while I was headed to NYC for Hope 2026, a Hacker’s Convention. Bob P has followed me on Facebook, and we checked in and were happy to hear that we were staying well and enjoying retirement. He went on to his gate, while I sat at mine.
Boarding was the usual process at Delta, and I was soon in my Comfort seat and on an emergency row. I agreed to help and to follow crew directions. I asked how to open the door and was told my understanding was correct, but that I should not do it without explicit instructions. I smiled and said, “Certainly.”
I talked to Deborah, and I booked my Christmas trip to Michigan while we taxied on my phone. The choices are reducing and the costs increasing. I need to lock that flight in soon. I managed a direct flight on Christmas Day, my usual travel day. Returning the first Tuesday in 2027.
I watched a movie, The Devil Wears Prada 2, which I had seen in theaters, and then nodded off a few times. The middle seat remained empty for the flight to my and the other passenger in the aisle seat’s delight. I paid for cheese and fruit after hearing that the sandwiches were running out. I ate that a few hours later. First class gets a meal, but for $500 and more for that nice chair, I enjoy my package instead. That is a lot for those chairs and the meal.
I watch a foodie NY Times show on local food. It is stopped by landing. JFK is usually a long walk, and I soon found my way to my bag and got directions to the AirTrain. I got the wrong one, I thought, but corrected that and soon arrived at Jamaica Station, paying in confused, long lines. My first NYC jostling. I asked for help at the train and bought my ticket for just under $8. I ended up on the stairs carrying my bags while being knocked around a bit by folks running up the stairs, and the person behind me hitting me with her bag. We both made it to the train with our bags. Welcome to NYC!
Sweating, I took off my sweater. I enjoyed the train and gave my ticket to the conductor, who put holes in it and took it. Next, we arrived, and everyone piled out. More staircases. Also, the gap is large enough to mess up my bag. I have to force it over that. I wait and am near last when I carry my two bags up the stairs.
Penn Station has escalators, and I managed to take the wrong exit and enter the momentary confusion of NYC. I head and walk around the block. I spot the hotel, finally, and I remember how to move and manage in NYC. I have not been in these blocks before, as far as I remember.
Check-in is complex, as I have two reservations, and the effort to merge them costs me another $30 (for a room with a view for my first two days), but it is managed with the proviso that I must get my room key again on Thursday. Later, I thanked the desk person, and that got a smile.
I took a shower, the reservations were merged, and I unpacked, and I will keep the room all week. Feeling more human, I headed outside. It is hot and muggy, or, in other words, NYC in August, and I walked the blocks nearby to see what there is for food.
Cat S will join me around 7:30 after work. I notice a few places. The New Yorker Hotel, from 1929, is near The Garden, and many places are bars that fill up before and after an event and have the same bar food. I am intrigued by Lady Wilde’s Libations, but alas, the menu is limited, and the prices seem unlimited. Now just a maybe. An Irish Pub, or something like that, gets my attention as the better option.
I return to the hotel, which has options too: a 24-hour Diner, a pasta joint, and a steak place offering a porterhouse for $159. Hmmm. Maybe a pub. Cat appears on time, and she agrees to chat, walk, and look for a place. She does not know this block either. The NYC Stout is busy and seems to have a decent set of choices. It is too loud and packed, but outside there is a QR code for delivery. Nice!
But there is a waiter too, and she helps us get water and later food. We thought we ordered sliders, but they did not appear, and we got our food: an excellent club sandwich for Cat, a deconstructed pot pie for me, and a beer. The travel starts to wear on me. We talk and enjoy each other’s company, even with the jet lag taking over some.
We headed out with Cat only a few blocks from her train back to Roosevelt Island. I was soon back in my room on the 33rd floor, too tired to do much more. Sleep came quickly, though I woke at 2 and had trouble sleeping, but I finally slept through a bad dream and woke just before sunrise at 5:45.
Thanks for reading
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 