D-Day (Departure Day) Sunday Sept 1

It's here, after 6 months of anticipation: we leave today for Europe, to start the Raid Alps. Air travel, especially long-distance/trans-oceanic, can be a trial. But I'll take a long hop across the Pond to a multi-leg domestic flight anytime. Here's the day's itinerary-- after we reach ORD:

My plan for the duration: enter a persistent vegetative state, aided by a) downloaded videos, if needed; b) books on my tablet; c) music, to listen to on d) noise-cancelling earbuds; and last, but not least, e) drugs (Rx only, seriously) to help me sleep. Once dinner service is over I put on a sweater, recline the seat, prop my feet on my "personal luggage item," pop my meds, and say, "goodbye, see you in Switzerland." Then hope for the best, maybe 4-6 hours of sleep. The worst: relax in my chemically-induced relaxed state and listen to calming instrumental music. 

But the start of my day in Madison: woke shortly after 3a with my head buzzing with the little things I'd forgotten: need to pack just-in-case cold meds; do I have enough anti-inflammatories? Do I have backup parts for my hearing aids? An aside: as I've entered my 8th decade I find I have a growing list of so-called assistive devices: eyeglasses and contacts; hearing aids; orthotics; stretchy bands and stretching straps; and a cache of what I call "old-guy meds:" statins, vitamin supplements, sleep aids, GI-regulating tabs, and the afore-mentioned NSAIDs. 

Counting, sorting and labelling two weeks worth of meds is one of the more tedious tasks in preparing for a few weeks away from home. No room in my rolly bag for my foam roller. 

When traveling domestically I also usually pack my own coffee and coffee-making supplies, as nothing ruins a vacation like bad coffee. When traveling in Europe, however, no problem-o, as it's hard to find bad café on a continent where the drip pot is a foreign object.

All done and packed, breakfasted-- by 7a, time for--what else?--a bike ride, on a glorious fall-ish morning. Speaking of general relativity: one week ago, when Carrie and I had completed the "heavy lifting" portion of our packing and trip prep, she observed that the week would go slowly-- which it did not, until yesterday . . . and today . . . when the time seemed to d-r-a-g. Now at 90 minutes to departure (from home) the time will accelerate until we're dashing around to get out the door by 1:45P. 

FINALLY! Out the door, into the car, I39 towards Chicago O’Hare, for an abbreviated version of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. No trains,

but we did Uber from long-term parking to Terminal 5. Relatively painless traverse of TSA, and surprise! A relatively quiet gate to wait for our flight, and a glimpse at our home—if you can call an aluminum tube hurtling through the sky 7 miles above the ground at 550 knots a home—for 8 hours and 35 minutes.

We struck gold with legroom; wishing now I was a 6 footer: 

But we did have the dreaded screaming toddler one row back and two seats over. Dante’s 3rd circle.

You know the rest of the story of my day, a long one with my space, pace, and face (“lower your mask please”) controlled and limited by someone else, the price we pay to arrive at distant destinations. 

The Hotel Baud was as good as advertised, and as nice or nicer than any hotel we stayed in on the Pyrenees ride.

We’re not at the Holiday Inn Express.

And apologies to Murray, but I’ve got a better roommate this year.

The bros started arriving and rebonded over local bier on the terrace, nobody wanting to go out to a restaurant—and fall asleep in their expensive entree.