I called to get my machine account reset, but I had to do a completely fresh installation. I wasted a couple of hours on this because the beta server is still so busy.
I finally got all of the modules I changed checked in and wrote Dean a letter to let him know what was done and what wasn't. I ended up getting out towards the airport around 1030. The taxi driver was a compelte goof, of course. He was this really weird Scandinavian guy who kept saying "Ja, all de way crossin' de knntree is fun". It was something else. In the silence between these Nordic outbursts, I tried to relax about work. It's hard to really mellow out and forget that so much has to be done when you often feel like you're the only guy who could do it before it would be too late and wouldn't be worth doing.
I used to talk to cab drivers, but now I need the time to think.
The flight was thankfully uneventful. I slept a lot on the way to Chicago, but the flight was late into Chicago. Out of Chicago, we were overbooked and had to taxi all over the place because they thought they burned too much fuel and had too much weight on the plane. I'm not sure I understand why they overbook flights all of the time, nor do I understand how they can suddenly decide the flight is overweight as we go taxiing around the runway.
There were lots of businessmen flying from Seattle to Chicago. One who sat next to me was even bigger than me; it was very, very uncomfortable. On the flight from Chicago to Norfolk, the flight was almost perfectly empty. I sat across the aisle from a very pretty girl but she kept listening to her CD player so I couldn't chat her up.
I found my way to John's Subruban in the parking lot after I got my luggage. I still had jeans on; the heat, even after landing at 11pm, was oppressive. My luggage was last off, and that made me very nervous. Somehow, it seems I always travel with really expensive stuff. Even though I didn't have a portable for this trip (thank God!) I did have a thousand dollars of leathers and boots, and my brand-new helmet, and my camera and walkman.
And all the paperwork and the license plate for the bike.
The Suburban is an amazing vehicle. I really had to climb up into it; I couldn't just hop in there. John left some money for parking and a tiny flashlight— that was a lifesaver. I couldn't find the ignition switch or figure out the buttons on the radio from touch alone. I'm amazed I agreed to let John FedEx me the keys to the Suburban. But, there I was driving it.
Thankfully, nobody was parked behind me and I could drive sloppily. On the way out of the lot, I hit a huge speed bump and bounced for hours. The drive wasn't bad; the highways around the beach came back to me after a few miles. Parking at John's condo, though, was nerve-wracking. Again, the parking lot was mercifully empty.
I went in and had two Heinekens. John left me some directions and a shirt from his golf team. I got to wear this cool, black shirt that says "Ballbusters" on it.
I called John in Arizona, and he said he'd call Dave for me to see if he'd give me a ride to the dealer. John couldnt' get in touch with Dave, so I went to sleep. I was very tingly, but fell asleep suddenly.
Finished on 5 July, 1997.