A Wheel Spy Story

For this particular trip to Reno, I had to lug two boxes of books (one with about 65, the other about 30) along with the required two pieces of take-on luggage. On the way to Reno, I stopped at Denver, CO., for a few days. Because I drive to the airport by myself and usually get a rental to drive to my friend's house, I had no help with the extra boxes. So I had this brilliant idea of buying a Walmart luggage cart, with sturdy wheels.

First of all, I tell people that I'm four foot four all the time. Let me tell you, it doesn't matter that I'm five one or four four, lugging two bags and two boxes is a painfully slow and horribly uncomfortable thing to do. I had to make two trips from the airport parking lot (and was I glad it's Boondock International Airport where I live) and have to move these boxes up and down the aisle to check them in.

THEN, the nice check-in old dudes won't let me check in the luggage cart thingie with the two boxes. "Why?" I asked. "They're dangerous," the man told me. "How so? Just tie the bungee thing around one of the boxes...what's so hard about that?"

Nope. Too dangerous to have a Walmart wheel-along attached to my box of books. Yeah. So I pulled my little suitcase and my other carry-on went over one shoulder, and yes, stupid Wheel-Along became Bounce-Along with the rest of me. And it bounced against my thigh, my back, my knee...anywhere to remind me that a ten lb thing could feel like a twenty lb thing after walking down a concourse.

In Denver, I had to lug these boxes with me across three lanes of traffic, got on the Dollar Rent-a-Car bus, and then had to move them slowly into the building so I could get the vehicle to transport them. I gamely did all this without a complaint. After all, I had my dandy Wheel-Along and so it wasn't the weight, just the inconvenience, and this is what authors do...take books with them to signings.

Had a grand time in Denver, but had to repeat the whole exercise again. It was becoming a chore. At least I didn't have to carry any boxes on the trip home, since we were told the exact # to bring for the booksellers. Kewl. The thought cheered me up.

So I struggled with the Wheel-Along one more time after checking those boxes to Reno. Since Denver Airport was BIGGER than Boondock Airport, I cleverly used the Wheel-Along for my shoulder bag. Aha! You see? Less pain. Less shoulder sagging. Less muscle cramps. With that in mind, I didn't mind the awkwardness of moving two wheeled things at the same time (I mastered the exercise of pushing one while pulling the other) and even when the escalator became sort of an adventure to get on (almost tumbled over because four wheels behind me seemed to make the weight distribution a bit uneven, especially to a four foot four girl), I still smiled at all the security people, the airline ticket people, the gate greeters, and assorted other people who looked at me with concern and pity.

Had a fabulous time in Reno, ONCE the boxes were handed over to those in charge of books. Ahhhh...damn boxes were out of my hair. Ooops. I forgot about the Wheel-Along. I seriously considered throwing it away but my friend convinced me not to. So I took it back up to the hotel room with me and Wheel-Along bounced into first my knee, then the wheel jammed right on the bone on top of my foot. I didn't scream, but my whole foot did. I looked down and there was a small gash that didn't look so serious. So why the hell was I unable to put my weight on my foot? It hurt. Like hell. Some nice-looking men in cowboy hats hooted at my sexy walk, calling me over for a drink. I gritted my teeth into a smile. After all, they thought my new limp was sexy.

The rest of the Reno Expedition was fun and then it was time to go home. With my two usual carry-ons. And yes, Wheel-Along baby. I considered throwing it again. Then I remembered Denver IA, with its concourses, was coming up (Connection Flight to Atlanta). Okay, I'd take it with me.

Everything went well at Denver International Airport...I arrived two hours early for once, got my boots shined by my good friend there (her name's Munch and if you see her, you will know why!), got breakfast, strolled to my gate and got on, with nary a Bounce from Wheel-Along. Cool, I was getting the hang of it.

This was when things started freaking. My friends had always told me they'd never travel with me. I kept telling them that it was Delta, not my weird propensity for travel adventures. I'm still sticking to this excuse. After all, it always happens near or at Delta's Atlanta hub.

Atlanta wouldn't let my plane land. We floated in the air, flying round and round for half an hour before the traffic controller gave the green light. It took another fifteen minutes to land. I was panicking. My connection flight was about to take off in about twenty minutes. The plane landed and you know it usually took a good ten minutes to go to the gate. The pilot made it in seven. I had 10 minutes left by the time I deplaned, trampling on all those people in front of me who thought a four foot four desperate woman couldn't possibly trample on them. Wrong.

I hauled ass. Forget about wheeling the luggage. I put the strapped thing with Wheel-Along still attached to it over my shoulder and started to run. And run. Down the escalator. Bump Bumpity Bump down the steps. Bounce-bounce against the back of my head. Needless to say, I wasn't anywhere as graceful as a gazelle. Squeezed into the train and nearly got beheaded by the sliding doors because Bounce-Bounce-Along was sticking too far out. Five minutes. I leapt out of the train like I was Wonder Woman, with a big Wheel-Along on top of my head like a tiara and was the first on the escalator, so no one was in front of me.

Have you ever ran UP an escalator with two pieces of luggage and a Wheel-Along bouncing on your back? In high-heel boots? In sort of winter-ish clothes? No? Don't try it.

I reached my gate! There were people there! I was about to yell out in relief and then I saw the stupid words scrawling across the screen. Little Rock, Ark. boarding now. What? What? Where was ze plane?

I managed to gasp out something decipherable to the airline ticket person and she said the gate I was looking for had been changed and it was too late anyway...the plane was probably leaving. I had 30 seconds left. There was NO WAY I was giving up at 30 seconds...the new gate was only TEN gates away.

I did my wild run again, this time actually yelling, "I'm with the Amazing Race! Get out of my way!" to those stupid people ahead of me. Bounce, bounce, bounce went Wheel-Along strapped so securely to my shoulder bag. Ow, Out, Ow, Of, Owwwwww!, My Way, dammit!

I reached the new gate. They were just locking it up. The ticket guy took a look at me and either took pity at me or was so filled with admiration at my unique way of running that he paused in the middle of cutting me off forever. Or maybe it was that marvelously sexy limp, who knows?

But he stopped.

"Am I too late?" I gasped in a sexy growl, my body language poised in that urgent way of someone who would be turning into something nasty if he said "yes."

Staring at me, he shook his head and took the soggy piece of thing that was my ticket out of my hand. I MADE IT!

I walked through that tunnel that always reminded me of Star Trek and got on the plane, obviously the very last person coming on. Everyone looked up to glare at me as if it was my fault the plane was two minutes late. Their glare turned into something else when they saw me with my luggage of mass destruction wrapped around me.

The flight attendants smiled at me and said, "Hi, how are you?"

I was hot and sweaty with a stupid Wheel-Along now tangled in my sticky sweater and hair, so of course I WAS FINE.

"There isn't any more space in the luggage compartments for your carry-on, unless you want it way back behind your seat," one of them said sweetly. "Why don't you let me check it in and you can just pick it up at Baggage Claim?"

"I don't care what you do with anything on me, actually," I said/gasped/panted. "I made it on the plane. Here, you can throw all this out the door, if you like."

Somehow or other, I convinced them that the Wheel-Along was not a permanent implant in the back of my head. They took it, along with my carry on, and suddenly weightless, I floated down the aisle like Count Dracula in that movie with the horrendously bad Keanu Reeves acting (the guy couldn't even change his expressions when three sirens were licking their way up his body, but that's another topic). You know, the one in which the Count had this huge B-52s hairdo and long, long fingernails. My hair, at that point, probably looked just as challenging, and with nothing bouncing on or against me and nothing to hold on to (including my sanity), my fingernails were probably hanging down to my knees.

I sat down on that last seat. Two old men stared at me. Maybe it was my hair. Or that sexy limp. Or that wild-eyed seductive look. I didn't care any more.

I was HOT. Sweaty, breathless, hot, sore, everything. HOT! It was suddenly raining perspiration in the airplane, now that I've stopped running.

I turned to the old dudes. "Hope you don't mind," I said, "but it's too damn hot to be wearing this sweater."

And I took my top off. Yup. Right in front of those two old men. They didnt say a thing all that time. They were probably admiring all the bruises on various parts of me, courtesy of Wheel-Bounce-Along. I calmly wiped myself dry with my little face towel and pulled out a teeshirt from my handbag. Ah, I had been smart enough to buy a teeshirt and stuff it into my carry-on. Or I swore I would have sat through that last hour from Atlanta in my bra.

I made it home, Wheel Along and all. And the next day, I went back to roofing. It was a tough day because my muscles were aching from the adventure.

Then today, I found that I couldn't turn my right hand a certain way. Puzzled, I started looking at my wrists, which were really painful, during lunch. The bone on the right wrist had swollen up to double the size of the one on the left!

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what had happened. But I'll bet a hundred bucks it had to do with a certain twisted piece of metal called a Wheel-Along. The rest of the day was a test of my ability to carry and handle tools without turning my wrists. I even taped it up with duct tape at one point.

The last eventful thing tonight? Ranger Buddy's truck got stuck in the mud. Guess who was helping to push it out? And yes, lots of wrist action....

Don't tell anyone that I was beaten up by a Wheel Along, will ya? Remember the people in the beginning who told me it was a dangerous thing? Well...I shoulda heeded their warning.

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