Never mess with The God of Adventure. I neatly sidestepped most of his tricks in the last month, but in the end, he won: I am not, repeat NOT, in India.

Cue snickering from above.

I’ve dreamed of visiting India for years but the timing was never quite right. This time, I was determined to go: My friend Pooja is getting married and I promised to be there.

Traveling 8,000 miles under the nose of The God of Adventure (TGoA, for short) is an exercise in extreme problem-solving:

  • The Leg can’t stand a 25 hour trip? Bite the financial bullet and go business class. Warn the airlines that you just might need a wheelchair.
  • Nothing to wear? The bride’s having wedding outfits made for me, in Bengaluru. They’ll be waiting for a final fitting when I land.
  • Mandatory work meetings rescheduled for your day of departure? Dig a little deeper (Saturday flights cost extra) and fly out the previous weekend.
  • Need a last-minute visa to India? Move heaven and earth to get one.
  • COVID restrictions? Get the latest vaccinations, then take a certified COVID test 48 hours before departure, just to be sure.
  • Not sure of your web connections for work meetings? Subscribe to month-long mobile access.
  • What if the unthinkable still happens? Ignore your wallet and buy travel insurance.

I was PREPARED. No way TGoA could screw this up.

“Oh yeah?” he said, “‘Hold my beer…”  and he DROPPED AN AIRPLANE ON MY HOUSE.

OK, it wasn’t a WHOLE plane, just part of one. And it didn’t really land ON my house; it hit a couple of miles away, in a physics teacher’s backyard.

Alaska Airlines Flight 1282 took off from Portland International (PDX), headed for California, on Friday, January 5. At 16,000 feet, a “door plug,” a section of fuselage that fills in an unneeded emergency exit door, came loose. Apparently misunderstanding its role (to be a wall, not a door), it exploded out of the aircraft, along with sundry seat parts, carry-ons, electronics, and the shirt and jacket of a 15-year old boy. (The passengers, thankfully, hung onto the boy or he would have been part of the door’s exit strategy).

The FAA grounded the planes in question, Boeing 737-9 MAXes.

In one week I was taking an Alaska Boeing 737-9 MAX up to Seattle to start my India trip.

Uh-oh.

I called the travel agency, who told me not to worry, they’d reschedule my flight once Alaska Airlines officially cancelled it. Alaska didn’t admit the cancellation for far too long, and the agency advised me to call the “booking airline” (Qatar Airways) directly to reschedule. “We can’t see the cancellation; you’ll have to call Qatar.”

Qatar duly rescheduled for the next day (Sunday). Alaska canceled its midday Seattle flights, so my comfortable 1:50 PM departure time was now 7AM…meaning I needed to leave the house by 4:30AM to catch the flight, and I’d have an 8-hour layover in Seattle.

OK, well, I’d just write blogposts in the comfy QA lounge until takeoff. Take THAT, TGoA.

“Really?” he grinned, “Let me introduce you to my good friend, The God of Weather…”

Portland weatherfolk had predicted a mild, snowless winter this year. But I confirmed my Sunday departure, and suddenly their forecasts changed: “An arctic blast will arrive this weekend..dangerous travel conditions…”

The storm hit early Saturday morning, hurling snow, ice, and trees. Winds hit 70mph (although our anemometer only clocked 51 before it shut down). Snow depth was deceptive; wind blew the snow into low spots, creating drifts a foot or two deep while leaving bare spots on the ground. The bare spots filled with ice.

Broken tree limbs covered the snow; one whole side of a backyard fir was denuded. Trees demolished our friends’ houses and closed roads. Our house lost power–and heat–around noon Saturday, and temperatures dropped to the low teens. Good thing the backyard was now filled with firewood, because the generator wouldn’t start. Ice began forming on the bathroom sink.

Come to think of it, the last time I was traveling to a wedding, The God of Adventure got involved BIGtime. (Jen and Ron in SoCal–remember?). Hmmm…maybe he just doesn’t like weddings?

Bengaluru was becoming a distant dream. We gave up trying to fix the generator; I dove under so many blankets I couldn’t move my legs. Even so, I was packed, travel clothes hanging by the door, rarin’ to go.

I’d called for a Lyft that never came and no wonder: “ODOT warns you to stay OFF the roads. Do NOT interfere with road crews trying to restore power.”

At the height of the storms, 524,000 Portland-area households lost power. Some STILL didn’t have power 11 days later.

At 12:46AM, I called Qatar Airways to reschedule and asked them if we could just eliminate the PDX-to-Seattle leg. Qatar would only schedule me on the Alaska Airlines flight but I was pretty sure other options were available. “Yes, we can do that,” said the Qatar rep, but after 45 minutes, he gave up. “We can start your journey at Seattle if you can’t make the Portland leg. But our computers are having problems with this, since we’ve already rescheduled you once. Can you call back later?”

Seattle wasn’t iced in–if I could just get there, I’d be fine. I started seeking alternative means of transportation.

Driving? Probably not–northbound roads were closing or closed, and we’d still have to get past the downed trees in the neighborhood to reach the freeway–but I kept it in mind.

Would the Alaska flight actually get off the ground? No way to tell–Alaska’s phone lines had been jammed, with two-hour plus hold times, for days. The website said the flight was still on time…but it had also said that long after my original Saturday flight had been canceled.

I needed to leave the house in the dark, by 4:30, to even have a hope of getting there. Not much chance, given the high winds hurling ice at my windows, that crews would have the roads cleared that early.

And, to be honest, I was afraid. Like it or not, I had a disability that made me vulnerable: One slip on that ice and The Leg and I might part company forever. Doctors had warned me that another leg injury would be unfixable, so this time, it would mean amputation.

Daylight might change things. Roads MIGHT be cleared a little closer to noon. There WAS a Delta flight with seats available, leaving around 1:00pm. (They weren’t flying those now-notorious 737-9 MAXes). Qatar said it couldn’t reschedule me onto anything but Alaska going to Seattle, but could I buy a Delta ticket on my own?

I reserved that seat, and continued looking.

Amtrak? “Well, we should be able to keep the tracks between Portland and Seattle open,” said the Amtrak guy, “So if you can get to the train station, you should be OK.”  I bought a ticket on the 10:30 train.

I pretty much spent the night in a blanket cave, on the phone with airlines, travel agents, and Pooja.

At 4:10AM, I called Qatar. “Hey, OK, I’ve checked. Let’s chop off the Portland-to-Seattle leg of my trip. I’ll find a way to get to Seattle on my own, and just plan on leaving from there.”

“Well, we COULD have, if you’d called ten minutes ago. We can’t make changes 3 hours before the flight departure and you missed the deadline. Now you’ll need to rebook the entire flight for Tuesday, going through LA. and the only available seats are in first class. That will be another $7,000 please.”

HUH? “But I did call you for this, at 12:46AM!!!! You told me to call back later.”

“Sorry, we’ll have to open an investigation to see if we can still reschedule it. Do you think you can get to the airport anyway? If you don’t get on that 7am flight, you’ll be a ‘no-show’ and we’ll have to cancel your entire trip.”

“But the roads are impassable!”

“In that case, we’ll have to wait for the results of the investigation, usually two to three days. You might want to ask your travel agent about a refund. Or you can pay the $7,000 and go Tuesday…”

I watched the clock as it swung around to departure time. 7:00AM. (The flight actually left the gate at 7:15AM)

Sigh. I was officially a “no-show.”

Nathan shivered awake the next morning with new purpose. “I WILL get that generator running.” He built a fire in the fireplace (I kept it fed with downed branches while he worked, shivering under a mountain of clothing layers), and MacGyvered.

No doubt about it, if you’re ever trapped on an arctic island, keep a Resident Carpenter-Blacksmith handy. This guy is a genius.

“I think the gas is bad,” he explained, and laboriously cleaned out the generator’s tank, siphoned out some trustworthy gas from his truck, and refilled. The oil had a problem and needed to be changed. Then the spark plug was ruined. Then…I’m not entirely certain what all he did, but after a long, frigid while I heard the blessed rumbling of the generator.

The kitchen illuminated. The furnace started. The TV blared. I knew Nathan was good but…HOW IN THE HELL did that man connect the generator TO THE WHOLE HOUSE?

He tromped inside with a mile-wide grin just as I realized: Our power was back on. “NOW we can get warm!” he announced, triumphantly.

I pointed to the lights. “Uhm…power’s back on. 30 seconds ago.”

“You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!!”

It took a couple of hours for the house to go from 35 degrees to a less shivery 55. I kept talking with the travelfolk–maybe I could fly out on Wednesday and only miss a LITTLE of the wedding? But the news got worse and worse.

“Yes, it WAS an additional $7,000 to go out on Tuesday, but now it will be another $10,500,” said a pleasant lady from India, “I’m sorry; maybe you should wait for the investigation?”

Any hopes I had for India died with the next weather report: Another ice storm was approaching, what Portlanders call “the silver thaw.” We weren’t going anywhere until at least Friday afternoon. By the time I got to India, the wedding would be done.

“I’ll bring your new clothes with me after the wedding,” Pooja said gloomily. I dove into my suitcase, dug out the box of handmade Portland veganish chocolates intended as a host gift for Pooja’s parents, and handed it to Nathan.

“Start eating,” I said.

It’s Friday afternoon, and unless you have chains, no point in negotiating the ice rink that is the PDX road system. Our hill is very steep; ODOT slid by with a snowplow, took one look, and left.

My focus is on diving back into work, fighting with the travel agency and Qatar Airways to see if I can get a refund, or at least some travel vouchers for a different trip. So far, trip insurance notwithstanding, it’s not looking good.

Any day now I expect an angry mob of Portlanders to land on my doorstep with a frozen bone to pick: Next time I want to tweak the nose of The God of Adventure, could I please do it somewhere else?

I’m trying to keep this lighthearted, but this is actually pretty serious stuff. People have died of hypothermia, falling trees, ice-borne accidents, and electrocution from downed powerlines. PGE crews are literally risking their lives to restore power, and a plane that falls apart mid-air is no joke; had it been higher up when the door plug failed, and the seatbelt sign was off, passengers would have been sucked out of the plane.

The city’s “warming stations” can’t keep up with the frozen homeless folk, and this is a financial nightmare for employees and small businesses still struggling after COVID lockdown: Until people can get out, they won’t earn.

I’m depressed about missing a fabulous trip, I had a miserably cold weekend, and I’ve lost more money than I ever thought I’d spend on THREE vacations. But I’m alive, and warm, and fed, and so are my loved ones. I’m lucky.

Take care, friends.