Loyal followers of this blog will recall that last year we took our grandson, Charlie, on a baseball trip. We previously took his older brother, Owen, on trips to Canada and Panama. Last year was Charlie’s first excursion with us and because he is a big baseball fan we invited him to join us on our quest to see all 30 MLB parks. Last year we visited Dallas, Texas and saw the Astros beat the Rangers in a very exciting game. My most vivid memory from that game was the 3 women sitting in front of us who drove from Houston to see their Astros. They went bananas when Jose Altuve hit a crucial home run late in the game. They stood up and sang “Jose, Jose, Jose” to the music of Ricky Martin’s hit “Ole, Ole, Ole”. Even more exciting than that was seeing Astros manager Dusty Baker in the hotel lobby. Charlie got to chat with the skipper and get a baseball signed.
From there we traveled to Chicago and saw the Blue Jays beat the White Sox. The Cubs were out of town so we had to be satisfied with a tour of Wrigley Field.
This trip we will see the Blue Jays again but this time it will at Rogers Centre, their home park in Toronto.
Since we will be leaving the country we made very sure that Charlie had his passport. I realized that for Canadian travel you can use your passport card instead of a regular passport (see below).
I didn’t want to have the hassle of carting around the regular passport so I just brought the card. Patrice stupidly brought both saying “Just in case”. Well one of us was indeed stupid, and it wasn’t Patrice. When we went to check it we were told that the passport card is only valid for entrance by land and sea, not by air.
I immediately dropped everything and headed home in panic mode to get my passport repeatedly saying to myself “I am an idiot, I am an idiot.” Good thing Patrice wasn’t with me because she’d would have been saying “Yes, you certainly are, you certainly are!” No, she wouldn’t say that, she’d yell it.
If you’re not familiar with LAX the American Airlines terminal could not be located further away from the place where you pick up cabs (an area named LAX-it). So I took off running keeping my eyes open for a taxi dropping off a fare nearby. Initially I saw a car that had some sort of transport lettering on the side but the driver said he wasn’t a taxi. I next saw a couple getting out of a car; I asked if it was an Uber but they said no. I started to run again. Then I saw someone getting out of a Tesla. I asked if it was an Uber and they say YES! I was in business. I knocked on the passenger side window and opened the door asking if he was an Uber driver to which he said “No!” I asked again in disbelief to which he again said no but this time he added, “I’m a Lyft driver”. I hopped in, told the driver my situation and begged him to take me home and return to LAX for a cash payment (not a time to mess with the Lyft app). He agreed and we were off. Traffic wasn’t bad going home. He kept obsessing about putting my address into his gps and I just wanted him to drive as quickly and as safely as possible.
Luckily I was able to shut off the alarm and open the garage door when we were approaching our place. I grabbed the passport and rushed back to the Uber, (I mean Lyft), resetting the house alarm from the car. The trip back wasn’t as easy. Traffic wasn’t horrible but it was definitely heavier than my first ride to LAX this morning. When we arrived at LAX, cars were at a standstill and I received a message from Patrice saying that they cut off check-in one hour before the flight. My Uber, darn I mean my Lyft, was due to arrive at terminal 4 at 7:15 only 40 minutes before our flight. I texted Patrice, “What are our options?” She didn’t reply, I presume because the options she was considering were divorce or murder.
The Lyft driver (see, I can learn from my mistakes) dropped me off. I handed him enough cash for him to take the rest of the morning off and have a great story for his wife when he got home. I sprinted to check-in and found Patrice and Charlie right where I had left them. It was then a sprint to the Bradley terminal gate 159. For some reason apparently you can no longer check-in at Bradley for American Airlines flights. So off we went, Patrice, Charlie and me running to the international terminal. I took Patrice’s backpack and my own to allow them to run ahead. Unfortunately they weren’t able to get there much quicker than I was (amazing how fast someone can run when they’ve made the bonehead move of the century).
We arrived at Bradley and learned something very helpful for this and future flights. Previously after checking in we would walk to the right to go through security. Today we saw there’s also an entrance on the left and it had virtually no travelers so we got through security in no time.
Then there was the run to the gate. Signs said gates 151-159 this way. Of course 159 was the last gate. I’m still in sprint mode and my thoughts were 1. Are we going to make it to the plane? and 2. I’m I going to have a heart attack?
We made it! We boarded and took our seats. Patrice sat with Charlie and I sat across the aisle with a pilot hitching a ride home to Chicago. I explained what happened and apologized if he had to breathe through his nose. He then told me he had Covid 3 weeks ago and couldn’t smell a thing. There’s a sobering thought for you.
Our flight from Chicago to Toronto was much less eventful. After check-in at the hotel we had a lovely dinner at Scaddabush Italian Kitchen & Bar Front Street (200 Front St W Unit #G001, Toronto, ON M5V 3J1). Apparently this is a local chain but we found it very good. The entrance to the restaurant has a sign that says they make their pasta daily. We thought it was delicious. Charlie, being the Italian cuisine expert, of course ordered the chicken tenders.
We are now relaxing at the hotel ready for the umpire to yell “Play ball!”
By the way, I’ve apologized to Charlie and Patrice for my stupidity this morning. They both forgave me for being an idiot.
Patrice here: He is definitely an idiot but still quite lovable.
Robert Reiss Travel Blog and Other Ramblings 