The Endless Travel Part of Traveling and Sleep-Deprived Ruminations, LIVE from Delta Sky Lounge

When you live in Bend Oregon you become very familiar with getting up in the middle of the night to go to the airport – and who is organized enough before a trip to go to bed at 8:00? So at best one enjoys 4-5 hours of sleep and that’s if one isn’t obsessing about whether a 4:15 am pick-up for the 30 minute drive to the airport is early enough for a 6:00 am flight when one is checking a bag and going to Scotland. You guys I was obsessed. I texted friends for their advice. I hoped that TSA Pre-check and my first-class ticket (more on that once-in-a-blue-moon situation later) would save me. I couldn’t change it because the driver was taking someone else at 3:15 am, someone who was clearly following the standard, time-tested advice to arrive 2 hours before a domestic flight and 3 hours before an international one. This slightly irritating person who arrived at the airport an hour and a half before me was a wise rule-follower (AS AM I) who would not take a risk of making an unforced error that could ruin a trip. Literally nobody suggests an hour and fifteen minutes which is what I thought sounded reasonable at the time I booked because I obviously suffered a mini-seizure.

The Bend airport has many flights leaving at the same time in the wee hours which can cause a spectacular logjam. There are so many flights that people often accidentally get on the wrong plane, as we have no jetways – a NYC friend likened our tarmac-only access to “living on a farm.” To that very point I looked for articles offering advice for smaller airports but the same guidelines held. I was doomed and got very little sleep as I wallowed, rolled and basked in said doom.

Perhaps it is worth adding that my critical thinking abilities have clearly taken a hit over the past two years. I’ve flown out of my airport a billion times. I know it stem to stern. I also know the only difference between a domestic and international flight as far as my airport is concerned is they look at your passport instead of your drivers license. And yet still I spiraled.

So I arrived. To a sea of empty counters. Nobody. I waltzed up to the sweet young Delta agent and noted how quiet it was. He said, “You missed the rush. Just a little while ago there were 300 people in here.”

So, you guys, make your own decisions, feel like the badass that you are and walk up to that empty counter like you planned it all along.

A few more hours in this weird lounge place and I’m off. See you in the Isles.