The sunset of Part 1 left our weary traveller at the Philadelphia Marriott, approximately 500 miles from his final destination, without a suitcase, hoping for a better day. The next morning started well, despite a return to work clothing that I had been wearing in a hot airplane for most of the previous day. I endured TSA scrutiny unscathed, and wandered over to the gate denoted on my boarding pass.

What they neglect to mention about gate 16 is that it is a portal to another dimension: the loser gate. My first clue was the large woman alternatively shouting over a walkie talkie and at the massed line of people, her barked orders providing neither guidance nor order. Rather than a conventional gate, gate 16 led hundreds of people down an escalator to the bowels of the airport, huddled them together in an unordered mess, and then left them to wait for a bus that came every ten minutes. Like the “just off airport” Quality Inn US Air had tried to send me too, the loser gate was “just off” the regular terminal, and required a bus ride that was consistent with US Air’s usual scheduling MO: it arrived and departed when it damn well pleased.

Once the beat up bus arrived, glass doors would whoosh open as harried travels pushed past each other for space on the infrequent bus, while US Air staff looked on as one might observe the running of the bulls.

Once at the loser gate, things begin to look up. My plane was there, I had an exit seat, and we pushed back from the gate a few moments early so US Air could record an on-time departure. Once pushed back however, we spent 90 minutes on the tarmac due to some unknown reason.

I eventually arrived in Erie, PA glad to be on the ground and looking forward to fresh clothes. Standing like a lost child at the luggage belt, I watched as my fellow fliers retrieved their bags, until I was alone in the small baggage claim area and the conveyor eventually grated to a stop. As expected and feared, by friend and fellow traveller who had already survived two lost luggage incidents was back on the MIA list.

I filed a claim with the US Air agent on duty, who told me I should have demanded my luggage back in Philly, and that PHL was a “black hole” for lost baggage. Thanks for the comforting thoughts, pal. He said it would likely be on the next flight, which arrived at 6PM, two hours after I was supposed to be on the road blazing a trail towards Charlotte in a rented moving truck.

I met my aunt, picked up the truck, and noticed that fine aged cheese and I now had more than our humor in common: I was beginning to smell a bit ripe. Borrowing my aunt’s car, I made a beeline towards my favorite store for cheap clothes: Kohl’s. I got a funny look from the counter girl, standing in my cuff link-adorned Thomas Pink shirt, custom tailored pants and shoes, smelling bad, looking frustrated and depositing an odd collection of replacement clothes on the counter. Since I had to load the truck that afternoon, and fulfilling a long-suppressed desire for the “militant college-football hiker” look, I had selected some cammo shorts, hiking shoes, and a Texas Longhorn’s T-shirt. I’m not much of a college football fan, but apparently Texas paraphernalia is not a big mover in Erie, PA, since the shirt was less than ten bucks.

I returned to my aunt’s house, changed and headed to my grandfather’s to load up the truck, the original intent of the trip. All missions accomplished, and now funkier than James Brown in his prime, I bid Erie adieu and pointed my truck south.

About two hours outside Erie I got a cal from the Erie airport. They had found my bag! Not wanting to add an additional four hours to my trip, they said they would send it to Charlotte and I would have it the next day. Tearing down the highway (if doing 55 in a rented moving truck that shook violently about 57mph can be described as tearing) it seemed my ordeal was nearing it’s end.

To be continued…

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