Flashes of Panic

Everything that can possibly go wrong, will, unless it doesn’t.

In Hartford, we can’t confirm a seat for A. on the Chicago to Indianapolis leg. And the flight is showing as delayed by two hours, which is alarming because that would mean a 1:30 A.M. arrival in Indianapolis, followed by the seventy-odd mile drive to Terre Haute.

Upon arrival in Chicago, however, we are able to immediately get confirmation on the on-time flight. I’m not sure where Hartford was getting their data.

Upon arrival in Indianapolis, our luggage is not on the carousel. The attendant looks at our claim checks, and tells us that our luggage did not miss its connection in Chicago: it never got on the plane in Hartford. (Unbelievable.) However, it was routed through Washington and is due in… ten minutes.

While we wait, I go to fetch the rental car. No compacts left at ten minutes to midnight. How about a mini-van?

The truck stop on Route 70 midway between Indianapolis and Terre Haute has… well, everything, pretty much, including auto parts and the Pennsylvania Dutch red licorice I used to get on Route 15 south of Harrisburg.

I have had tea at the Java Haute and seen a sign for The Square Donut. I have had my picture taken at The Crossroads Of America.

Now, since the phone line in our hotel room won’t support even a tolerably usable dialup connection, we’re sitting in the ISU library, basking in the high-speed wireless waves. And I have work to do.