Flight to Aussie.

Finally! Off to Aussie. I am so happy to escape the brutal Georgia winter and numerous hours I had already begrudgingly spent indoors on the bike trainer. As I may be talking of the weather half-jokingly, recent events speak for themselves. Preparing for this trip was relatively simple: pack bike, pack clothes and get to the airport on time. Done. Add a little Christmas and full-on training, not so simple anymore.
There was some last minute stress and panic but it all turned out fine thanks to my bro and roommate. Paul was able to drive mum’s gift to her, and Dan drove me to the airport early/on time. If there is ever a case for getting to the airport early, this is it…Expecting a long wait or some type of debacle, it was decided that getting to the airport at noon for my 4pm flight would be a good idea. Going to Cali for a connection to an international flight, two checked bags, one a bike (supposedly, all bags free). To me, this looks like a gaping hole for misfortune to peek its head in. As it so happens, there was nobody, I mean, no patrons at the check-in desk. It was five of the most super helpful AA ladies and me. My big worry would be having to pay extra for the bike --last trip to Oz, the bike didn’t make it and was an absolute nightmare-- and was probably the most stressful part of getting away. So, I steady myself, put on one irresistible Benjamin smile and approach the counter. Immediately the clerk begins to type and search away with my info. There were some questions to the other ladies and then more searching. This was taking longer and was seemingly more complex than your average check-in. The reason: freezing rain in Dallas on the way to LAX. At this point, the goal was to get me around the weather and to LAX on time. Ok, there is a flight. One flight. Will the bike fit? A call goes out to baggage for the new flight and after some deliberating, some measuring, yep, we are good to go. Great, and then, the dreaded, “you are aware that the bike will incur a fee?” "Why no, ma’am, I wasn’t." I booked Qantas purposefully, to be under their terms (ie, my bike counts as a free checked bag). "Occasionally," she says, followed by more searching…"Yes, your bike is free." Sweet! Oh, last thing, your new flight leaves in 30min!! Not in 3.5hrs. I have got to get moving. On to St. Louis and then to LA.
Despite the good news, as danger was being averted, all the searching and rearranging flights in the system must have been too much for it. The computer froze up when connecting the international flight on my boarding pass (only on printing the ticket, not my bags). This means, once in LA, I needed to take myself outside of the boarding terminals and over to the international check-in counter for Qantas and again through the dreaded TSA security. A real pain if you know LAX. A pain, but I had the time and was happy enough about my bike that it didn’t matter.
When I get to LA, there is some small, special and ridiculously inconspicuous place for AA passengers connecting to international Qantas flights. I figure, it can’t hurt to ditch the current inconvenient plan and try this option. And, indeed, it doesn’t hurt at all. They fixed up my ticket and bused me over, with a few other people, to the international terminal. No problems, no worries and never having to go through another TSA checkpoint. Just get on the plane and, officially, I am off to Australia.
My experience on Qantas was unparalleled (even that time I spent in first class –thanks Kat ;) The safest airline, no crashes…ever (Thank you Dustin Hofman), great meals (especially because they gave me extras) and a particularly good staff. Nothing more to be said. Except for the 18 hours of flying, it was splendid. Although, I was truly rewarded for all the flying at the end of all those hours. Sunny, 70s, breezy and my beautiful girlfriend, in a sundress, all came to meet me at the Melbourne airport. I’m back in Aussie ladies and gentlemen.
--With all the good on my way over, I did have one hiccup. Going through the TSA checkpoint in ATL I had to surrender my brand new roll stick, “The Stick,” massager. Evidently, a skinny, flexible, brightly coloured, 17in rolling pin is considered a weapon. My legs sorely miss it…