The World Science Fiction Convention is being held in Boston this year. It was a good reason to get out of town. We flew this time, rather than taking the RV, partially because the parking expenses in Boston would be prohibitive. Mary Ann had collected some free airline tickets and so we packed our bags and well before dawn, headed for the airport.
You have to understand that Mary Ann likes to wait until the last minute. I like to get there very early. I thought we were cutting it close when we left. The hiss-hiss-hiss noise after we hit a broken bottle on the road was a downer. Sure enough, a hundred yards later, she had to stop with the flat tire. I haven’t changed a flat in years, and I had never used the spare on the Surburban. I didn’t even know where the jack was hiding.
Still, it was a twenty-minute change, and we were back on the road. I was dripping with sweat, panting like a dog, and holding out my hands to keep from touching anything with them. They were black with dirt and oil from the exercise. We caught the plane with a few minutes to spare — I even managed to get my hands washed before we took off.
It was a easy flight — Austin to Nashville to Baltimore to Providence RI. We didn’t have to change planes, but I was painfully reminded just how uncomfortable airline seats were. Once on the ground we caught a ride over to the train station and rode on into Boston. There was little to do but check into the hotel and locate the convention registration. By the end of the day, I was dead tired. Cars and planes, and taxi’s and trains and subways, plus a good bit of walking. I was sorry that I couldn’t have fitted a boat ride into the mix.