Ground Stop or Go

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If there's one sure thing in life, it's that air travel is never a sure thing. This evening, after a brief yet startling national "ground stop" of all airplanes within the borders of the United States, it seems things are up and running again. I dont care for that phrase. Ground stop. It sounds like the answer Cookie Monster would give if you asked him if he could land an airplane. "Me no worry. Ground stop plane."

As I sat watching the news tonight, my Travel Eve, I considered my options if this national crisis continued. My itinerary takes me from Dulles Airport in Washington DC up to Toronto, then south to Brazil and Argentina, then another flight from Buenos Aires to the southernmost tip of the continent. Thirty-one hours total, arriving at dawn Monday morning. But DC to Toronto was supposed to be the easy part, the no-brainer. Not even the start of the actual adventure. Like not performing the musical because we lost the sheet music to the overture. Everything else was in international skies, with no ground stop whatsoever. Just get me out of the country.

I supposed i could drive to Toronto, hop aboard mid-itinerary, and be on my way. Drive eleven hours? Over night? Leave my car in Canada? It wasn't technically impossible, I guess. I had driven that path before, all in one bounce (not including the Canadian leg), I could do it. I supposed. Drive or fly or get stuck at home? It all felt familiar. 

Many Christmases Past, Becky and I would travel north to Rochester or Lewiston to visit my family for the holidays. Usually over the weekend between Christmas and New Years. Every year, we debated whether we should drive or fly. Do it ourselves or let someone else do it for us? Each mode had its pros and cons.

With flying, we were at the whim of the weather gods, not only in Richmond and Rochester, but oddly enough, the Philadelphia weather god as well, because that was always our connection. Sunny in Richmond, dry in Rochester, good to go, right? Nope, stormy in Philly would sink the whole deal. Moreover, our travel agenda was set in stone weeks or months before we heard a weather report, just adding to the risk. With flying, I never felt like Master and Commander, more like a piece of cargo.

 Going by car, on the other hand, allowed us to control our fate. Last minute decision: Is it safe to drive? Should we leave earlier than planned, or maybe later, or maybe break it into two short driving days. I remember one year when we cancelled at the last minute due to bad weather. A sad decision, but at least it was our own. But driving seemed to cause more psychic wear and tear. Ten hours huddled in a car through the Alleghenies, acting as pilot and co-pilot. Seemed like a chore, like being forced to wash the dishes after your own birthday dinner.

As the news announces the lifting of the national ground stop, I decide to stay put for the night. Stick to the original plan. If all goes well, 24 hours from now, I'll be lifting off from Toronto Pearson Airport, heading for the bottom of the world. Master and Commander indeed.

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