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Crazy Travels: Just Call Bob
By Stacey Bowman
Winter conferences can sometimes prove tricky when the weather doesn’t want to cooperate, as I definitely discovered on my trip to a January conference in the Northwest this year. My troubles began before I even arrived, with a heavy fog descending over Denver’s airport, forcing me to spend the night there and take off the next morning in a plane so tiny I could see the pilots from my seat.
After landing in the small regional airport that serviced the conference, I assumed my travel headaches were over and done with. The conference lasted two nights, so on the third morning, six other conference attendees and I dragged ourselves into a shuttle bus headed back to the airport.
Even that early in the morning, we felt nervous for the approaching winter storm we’d been warned was coming. We hustled through the one-line security check to be informed our flight was canceled today and we were welcome to stay and fly standby. However, the gate agent also announced that she could not guarantee a departure until Tuesday. It was Friday.
Trying not to panic, the seven of us went to the AVIS counter to rent a car we could drive to the next major city. This was followed by more bad news, since that particular AVIS only rented local cars.
Just when things looked desperate, the rental agent suggested that we just call Bob.
After being warned Bob was “a little grizzly,” we learned he might be able to rent us a car. Normally, he only rented to hunters, but in such an emergency, it seemed he would be our best bet.
So Bob was awakened at 6:30 in the morning to come to our rescue. An old man with a Russian cap and a black briefcase, Bob agreed to rent one car to four people to Denver and one van to me and two other people to Minneapolis/St. Paul – an eight-hour drive.
Standing in the sleeting rain, I first realized what kind of a drive this was going to be when the side door to the van wouldn’t open. Further investigation revealed the van was missing the entire panel of the side door.
But at that point, I wasn’t that picky. So we took off in a van with over 250,000 miles on it and a tendency to vibrate violently when it hit 80 miles per hour. Thankfully, a guy I had never met in my life named Shane drove me through the freezing rain all the way to the Twin Cities.
At the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, I went to the counter to get the ticket that I was promised by my ticket agent at the conference airport. However, the Minneapolis agent announced there was no reservation. I had made the eight-hour drive for nothing.
I’m not going to lie; I died a little inside right then. I laid my head on the counter only to hear a slap. When I looked up there was a ticket on the counter. The manager had found me a seat.
Though I had to give one more “this can’t be happening” plea to my brother-in-law to come fix my car when it broke down on the interstate to Lexington, Ky., my prayers were answered as he fixed my car and I arrived safely home. I will always remember grizzly man Bob as the hero who saved me from being stranded for five days away from home. Thanks, Bob.
If you have a Crazy Travels story you would like to submit to the Group Travel Minute, please email it to eliza@grouptravelleader.com.
