I would never die for my beliefs because I might be wrong.
-- Bertrand Russell
Arriving late at Albany airport Monday night, I hustled to the rental-car counter. At smaller airports, things often close after 11:00 pm.
"You made it," the rep said as I handed over the license and credit card. "I've got you reserved in a compact, do you want to upgrade to an SUV?"
"Why would I do that?" I replied. If the vehicle had four rubber wheels and one for steering, that worked just fine -- why spend more money?
"Well you're kind of, ah, tall and they're forecasting snow tomorrow. It's only $25 to upgrade."
"Just give me what I rented, I'll be all right."
Giving myself ninety minutes to travel twenty-five miles, I felt all right the next morning until driving directly into the yawning maw of a vicious, spitting snow monster. The closer I got to the company's facility -- a ski resort -- the more the monster roared. Today's session, in fact, had been rescheduled twice due to inclement weather and, given the conditions, probably should have gone for a postponement hat trick.
Knuckles squeezing the steering wheel went from flesh colored to red to white as the compact car -- a dumb decision -- slid along "roads" that would have caused the most grizzled West Virginia ice trucker to break out in a cold sweat. During an eternal half hour spinning across the winding, white, two lane, often degrading into one, state highway, the speedometer barely broke twenty, which seemed to be nineteen miles per hour too many.
Managing to somehow arrive at the facility ten minutes before the session with clean undergarments, I found the company's VP, Brad, on the lodge's second floor.
"We should have canceled," he said looking out the gigantic windows into the blizzard. "Out of the three dates, today is the worst of all of them."
The weather cleared up, but that evening's return flight still delayed. An overnight stay near Detroit Metro airport led to another form of degradation at breakfast the next morning.
"Where'd you come in from yesterday?" Dave asked as we sat in the Hilton Garden Inn restaurant.
"Ah," I replied searching the memory banks and finding a complete white out. "You know what, that's a really good question."
"Can't remember where you were yesterday, huh?" He replied with a laugh. "Well, I hate to say it, but I've been there, too."
****
Tomorrow: degradation Delta style
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