Air travel woes seem to be getting worse and worse

Flying used to be fun! Looking back at those past 14 years of chronicling my peripatetic ways, more often than not have I delighted in the magic that flying entails: You get on a plane, you sit back and maybe enjoy a drink or two, and then—before you know it—you've arrived at your destination. IRROPS, the cute acronym for irregular operations, were seldom encountered, seat upgrades were plentiful, and the airline staff were mostly friendly, competent, and genuinely happy with their chosen career.

But, even before the pandemic, things started to change bit-by-bit and they get progressively worse, especially if you were not one of those elite passengers who are minor or major VIPs in the hierarchy of the masses that are moved between points A, B, and C. Then COVID-19 hit, and the bottom fell out: Fewer flights mean higher prices, crowded planes, stressed-out passengers and flight attendants, and just a generally crappy atmosphere. Being someone who is loyal to an airline by flying it is no longer enough: You need to spend money (beaucoup) with an airline's co-branded credit card to achieve that coveted elite status that may, just may, give you preferential treatment.

Line in front of DFW's Terminal B Admirals Club

So, when the weather once again played ugly this past week over wide swaths of Texas, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and surrounding states, airtravel pretty much melted down in Dallas/Ft. Worth. Months earlier, I had booked my flight from Lubbock to GSO, also known as Piedmont Triad International Airport, the closest airport to Danville, VA, that is served by American Airlines. Building in a buffer (after all, I do know about our springtime weather in these parts) I had scheduled my departure for 10:24 a.m., which should have given me plenty of time to make it to GSO, pick up my rental car, and drive to the Airbnb in Danville that the race director had rented for our crew.

Of course, none of that happened. One delay extended into the next, with us boarding and then deplaning our aircraft twice. Ground holds in DFW were to blame, and around 1:30 p.m. our flight was cancelled for good. I had already been working the AA app chat when it became clear that we might face worse than a half-hour delay. At this point it became clear how insufficient the communication between air traffic control, the airline, the people who staff the chat, and the Lubbock gate agents was. Everybody seemed to have different information.

Somehow I weaseled myself onto another DFW-bound flight, scheduled to depart LBB sometime around 4:30 p.m. that would connect me to RDU (Raleigh/Durham), about twice the distance from Danville as GSO, but that was OK. I'd arrive around 10 p.m. and would drive two hours and be able to work the first day of the race on Friday. In Lubbock, I had to exit the secure area to reclaim my luggage, like everybody else whose flight had been cancelled. Luggage, you ask? Well, at this point I asked myself the same. Whenever I can, I fly just with carry-on, but since this was a three-day race and the flight was about as straightforward as they come, I had decided to pack a few extra things, among them evening pajamas to lounge with my fellow crew members at the firepit of our Airbnb as well as my spice kit because we were all planning on a bit of a vacation after the work was done, including home-cooked meals.

Rechecking the baggage took at least an hour, if not longer. The LBB airport was chaotic, with people stranded already into their second day, only one ticket agent on duty (the others were at the gates inside the terminal or moving baggage back and forth), and a general feeling of helplessness. At least nobody got pissed off and started a Facebook moment. Patience and a certain sense of humor help in situations like this (but there were definitely more police officers present than usual).

If possible, try to fly with nothing but carry-on!

After several delays our flight finally took off, and the captain assured us that despite the extra hour or almost two the vast majority of us would not miss our connections because no planes had moved in Dallas for hours. And that was true: Looking at the large electronic boards listing the flights it became clear that probably 95% were either delayed or cancelled. To get into the Admirals Club took twenty minutes because they were so crowded; the terminals were clogged by people camped out since there were no available seats. I've never seen anything like it.

OK, let's make a long story short: Our flight to RDU suffered the same fate as so many others. After numerous delays the flight finally was cancelled at 11:45 p.m., at a point where our arrival had been forecast to be at 3:40 a.m. I immediately booked one of the few remaining hotels in the DFW area, got into a vastly overpriced Uber ($70 for a 20-minute ride), and spent the night in better shape that many of my compatriots. Chatting with AA resulted in my being confirmed for a late-afternoon flight the next afternoon to RDU, but I was also on the stand-by list for one of the earlier departures.

When I arrived back at the airport on Friday morning I went to an Admirals Club where I happened to come across an amazing agent who was able to confirm me for a stand-by seat on a delayed flight to GSO, my original destination, that was going to take off in 30 minutes. I was assured that my luggage would be retagged (remember, a few seconds earlier I had still been going to RDU?) but that it might not make it onto the same flight but arrive later. I did make my flight and got to GSO by noon, early enough to complete a missing bag report and pick up my rental car and head for Danville. (I probably had changed my reservation with Budget at least half a dozen times!)

By 2 p.m. I was at the race venue, in time for the Pro riders' short track competition.

I had worked the Anglers Ridge race last year, and I knew it was going to be a small event and we'd be overstaffed. Nevertheless, I was glad to get there and of course everything was well under control. I had never worked with the UCI's chief commissaire, Jim, from Canada; there was a second Jim from NC who was our Finish Judge, and of course I had worked a gazillion times with my old friends Justin and Judy. With only something like 50 Pro racers we were overstaffed and had a hard time looking busy....

Of course, I was expecting my baggage to arrive within the next 24 hours. Modern scanning technology shows us where the bag is located, and for the next three days it did not budge from the baggage office in RDU. I called AA, I chatted with half a dozen agents, I even tried several times to call the baggage office directly—nada. Our Airbnb had a washer, so I didn't run out of clothing, and fortunately it stayed dry and warm so that I didn't need my hiking boots or raincoat. But I started to doubt that I'd ever be reunited with my stuff.

There's really not much to tell about the race; for the remaining two days our crew of five went through the motions, talking to lots of racers and the few spectators, and wondering how the race director can afford to put on such a small event (which requires, per regulations, a crew of our size, and we had already cut two other referees before the race after petitioning USA Cycling!).

Justin had brought along his wife, Morgan, and their little boy, Landon. Generally that would be seen as a bit unusual, but with Justin's crazy travel schedule (he had just returned from the World Cup in Nové Mĕsto in Slovakia) and the Airbnb it all made sense. We all had such a good time together!

The PCP of the 2024 World Championships in Andorra, Justin, creates the start grid with Comet while being supervised by his son

To bring this to its proper conclusion, after dropping off my car in GSO on Monday morning I went back to the baggage office where I had completed my delayed baggage claim. After telling the agent, Latrice, my story she tried to call the RDU office once more, also worrying that the bag would just be forgotten. And miracle of miracles, this time somebody picked up the phone, the bag was retagged and later that day put on a plane back to DFW and then LBB, and after my bike ride on Tuesday it was delivered to my front door. 

It is Wednesday evening, and my carry-on is packed for my flight tomorrow to Montana and the next race. It's just a one-day affair, and I think I have used up all my bad karma for a while and things will be smooth as butter. Well, we'll see!

Jürgen