We Got To The Portland Airport Safely

After our flight from SLC, we found ourselves at the Portland airport for much longer than we had anticipated. We were surprised at how chilly it was as we patiently waited in the line for a taxi to our hotel. Now, remember we were already nearly 4 hours late getting to Portland because our flight had been delayed a number of times in SLC. We were only sixth in the taxi line, but almost forty-five windy, freezing minutes later, we were still still standing there and still sixth in the line. Where the bleep were the taxis? My butt was frozen and my dentures chattered. Eventually, we finally scored a taxi without pulling any dirty tricks. It was early evening and we simply wanted to get to our room and vegetate for a bit, then go out to eat.

What we did not know at that point is that the Portland area was experiencing an unusual snow and ice storm, especially for this time of year. Honestly, it didn’t seem nearly as gnarly as most of the freakish Utah storms I’ve driven in. But for Portland, this storm was a bigly deal. Once we were on the road to the city, it was a ride of inches. We were going nowhere slowly. On the bright side , we were warm. It took us probably an hour to drive maybe 2 miles. We were at a 4-way intersection at the foot of a hill and we were undeniably stuck. Cars were stuck all around us. Our taxi driver tried valiantly to dig us out of the predicament, but he was also part of the problem because he didn’t seem to know any of the tricks for getting unstuck in snow. He didn’t understand the art of rocking the car as you lightly give it gas. And, yup, he was a desperate pedal-to-the-metal wheel-spinner. The snow was flying high and wildly from our taxi tires. Because of insurance concerns, we couldn’t offer to try to drive us out of snow and ice. We waited. We didn’t move for at least another hour. You can see the taxi fare meter at $100.06 in one of these photos: we went nowhere, and the fare kept adding up. But we were warm. This is the place in the story where I must admit I had to strategically get the lower half of my body far enough out of the stuck taxi at one point to relieve myself in the darkness. Our driver had called his friend to bring another taxi with bulkier winter-driving muscles to come rescue Suzanne and me. We waited some more, and the second taxi dude eventually showed up—unstuck and warm—a ways down the block. (FYI When we switched into the second taxi, the first taxi driver said we owed him nothing. But he had worked so hard for so long to get us unstuck that we couldn’t not give him a robust tip.) We transferred ourselves and our bags to the heavy-duty taxi, hoping our hotel hadn’t given our room away already because we were long past our check-in time. Suzanne had called the hotel earlier to let them know we would be very late. Even so, messages don’t always get to the right people, so you don’t know for sure until you show up. The second taxi delivered us to our hotel safely and without problem. For exactly $100.

At the Hotel Lucia, our room was waiting for us exactly as reserved. We knew our hotel did not have its own restaurant, so as we checked in, we asked if any restaurants nearby were still open. We needed to grab some dinner. They were not. Everything had closed down earlier than usual because of the storm—in order for workers to get home before the weather situation got worse. Our hotel clerk told us the Hotel Lucia had agreed to give rooms for the night to some restaurant workers who couldn’t get home in the storm. In return, the restaurant manager sent trays of the day’s leftovers to the Hotel Lucia. Our hotel clerk told us we were welcome to some of the gourmet food the hotel had been given. We jumped at the generosity, and a clerk brought up two overflowing trays of a variety of yummy foods right to our room. Everything was lukewarm, but we did not complain. In fact, I ate at least four slices of some of the best prime rib I have ever tasted. All in all, we had a rather bumpy day getting from SLC to our destination, but it ended with a prime rib cherry of generosity on top.🍒

Leaving for Portland

We hadn’t flown anywhere for three years, and then I had the brilliant idea to buy Bruce Springsteen tickets for his concert in Portland, OR, which was scheduled for February 25th. Since Bruce wasn’t coming to SLC, the closest places we could catch him were Denver or Portland. We talked about it and realized the safer “weather” choice for flying in late February was Portland. Statistically, that’s true. Unfortunately for us, we were flying in a plane, and not in a statistic. To be fair, during the week of our flight, it wouldn’t have mattered what city we had chosen for our destination: most of the country was pelted with freakish snowy weather. When I woke up on the day we were scheduled to fly and checked the status of the flight we would be taking later that morning, I saw we had a slight delay of thirty minutes. So far, so good. Bow Tie o’ the Day was ready to go.

At the SLC airport, we sat down in the boarding area at our gate with plenty of time to spare, and then we began our normal airport routine. We people-watch, which is the best free entertainment there is, because people are, well, so peopley. Then we take turns wandering through the airport shops while one of us stays planted with our bags at our seats. I buy us a bunch of airport-priced Diet Cokes and snacks to see us through our waiting and our flight. To be completely honest, I bought a couple of “just in case” of books, which is also a traditional part of our waiting-in-an-airport routine. And finally, we take turns making one last pit stop in the ladies room before boarding. We were ready to board the plane when we we were hit with another flight delay, and another, and another. That’s right: 4 delays. It was a long day in the belly of SLC International Airport. I must admit there was music to entertain us—since we were sitting close to a newly minted sister missionary who just happened to be nervously humming LDS hymns for hours on end. Bless her little heart. Yay for her. Hours later, as we at finally boarded the plane for our journey, I kept my eye out for the humming young missionary—saying my own little prayer that our seats were nowhere within earshot of her anxious humming. We lucked out on that wish. The flight to Portland—to see Bruce—was on.