Rockets travel nightmare

http://blog.chron.com/ultimaterocke...o-play-and-cover-three-games-in-three-nights/

Jonathan Feigen

In the competition to determine the worst travel nightmare – and a back-to-back-to-back is a pretty obvious playing field – media almost always beat the teams and their fancy charter flights.

The Rockets, however, gave me a good run for the money. In fact, they might have the edge, but only because I outsmarted the very angry woman at Continental who by now has probably shouted at dozens of other paying customers who made the mistake of calling her.

The Rockets and their fancy charter flight did not land in Houston this morning until 12:30 a.m. There had been some grumbling about having to deal with TSA at boarding, which for those on the fancy charter flights is not as tough as trying to get into Toyota Center on a weekday morning, but apparently is not routine, either.

The problem, however, came later. The Rockets landed at the wrong airport. Because of the fog, they had been diverted to Bush, which would not be too bad, except their cars were at the fancy charter flight terminal at Hobby. At that hour, it was not easy to get cabs to their terminal for the 40 or so members of the traveling party.

The last cab left Bush at 2 a.m. With fog so dense that when they made their way past downtown they could not see a building, it took 45 minutes to get to Hobby.

From there, they had to find their way home, which for those living in the more far-flung suburbs, could have taken much of the night. The drivers in those luxury automobiles crawling down the Southwest Freeway early this morning were likely more than a little grumpy. The email I received describing the journey, from someone that had to drive only from Hobby to downtown, arrived at 3:50 a.m.

It’s no wonder Clyde Drexler only attends home games.

For me, the challenge began at about 7 a.m. when word came from Continental that my flight was delayed because of the fog in Houston. One thing you quickly learn is that once a flight is delayed, it will likely be delayed again. And again. Mine was delayed two more times in the next hour. Then, it was cancelled.

By 7:30 I was able to reach a Continental agent, who at that early hour had already apparently had a bad day.

“NAME!!!???’

Jonathan Feigen.

“CONFIRMATION NUMBER!!!???”

I avoided the urge to ask why she needed my name if she was going to ask for a confirmation number anyway.

“CITY!!!???”

Now wait a minute. You have my name and confirmation number. Do you really need to ask to what city I’m traveling? For that matter, why did I punch in my frequent flier number if you were going to grill me at the crack of dawn?

It was soon explained to me that it was my fault for dropping my giant bag of fog over Houston. Sorry about that.

Eventually, she snarled that my flight was the only one to Houston on Saturday. No options. And there is fog all over Houston. (She shouted that, too, but I couldn’t handle more caps.)

Travel often enough and you learn what to do in these situations.

Hang up. Call back. Talk to someone who had their bran.

Of course my flight was not the only flight of the day. For that matter, while on hold I kind of figured if the fog in Houston delayed my flight, it probably delayed an earlier flight, too. I could not make the switch myself since by then that early flight was supposed to have departed, but eventually, I was told that the 6:15 a.m. flight was still in Memphis and I could standby if I could get to the airport fast enough. No sweat. No desperately needed coffee either, but no sweat.

The 6:15 a.m. express jet flight, not to be confused with a fancy charter, went wheels up at 10:45.

All in all, not too bad, despite the drill sergeant on the other end of the line first thing in the morning. As travel travails go, this one is a magic carpet ride. I’ve had 11 hours on a tarmac in Newark. I’ve arrived in Miami 10 hours late after an unscheduled layover in Miami only to find the hotel filled with a pre-teen cheerleader convention, which is a Thanksgiving Day contest to see who can yell loudest and push most buttons on the elevator.

In fact, the goofy back-to-back tests to come (Charlotte to San Antonio, D.C. to Houston) with connections on the day of the game could be much tougher.

Still, I’m not sure who had it worse on Saturday. The Rockets did travel on their fancy charter, but that’s an awfully late night. I squeezed into the express jet, but I knew it could have been much worse had I believed the shouting agent on the other end of the first call.

I’ll give the team the win on this one, but not because their travel challenge was so much worse. In a few hours they have to play the Atlanta Hawks. For the Rockets, that will be three games in as many nights. I’ll just sit there, write whether their defense is the way it was against the Spurs or Grizzlies and ring in the New Year with another few gulps of coffee.

Besides, this is all Matt Bullard’s fault anyway. Before the trip began, he sent a text suggesting I write a blog entry about the travel hassles of the back-to-back-to-back. I told him I did not expect any hassles until he jinxed me. It turns out he jinxed us all.

Thanks, Bull. How was that drive 3 a.m. drive from Hobby to The Woodlands?

 

I agree. Its hard to really sympathize with people who make millions to dribble a basketball.