In which I have a ridiculous day

“Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous,“ I muttered, gazing out the panoramic south windows of the terminal at Rochester – Monroe County (NY) airport.

The woman at the table next to me overheard my comment. “That’s it, then,” she said. “Yes,” I said, “all that for an hour.” “It’s a good thing he didn’t stay to lunch!” she said.

In many ways, the afternoon and evening have been utterly ridiculous.

After a particularly successful week at the client site in Rochester, I had an opportunity to depart the station about 40 minutes early. After my weekend trip to Niagara, I have been interested in the geology of western New York, especially the phenomenon known as the Niagara escarpment. The Niagara escarpment is the high ground or bluffs south of Lake Ontario through which the Niagara river has cut a gorge with Niagara Falls at the south end. Similarly, the Genesee River has cut a gorge through the Niagara escarpment on its way toward Lake Ontario. The town of Rochester was sited at the point where the High Falls spill over the edge and drop into a gorge cut through the Niagara escarpment.

I was in search of the High Falls; I had seen signs directing the curious in downtown Rochester. I happened to be on the Inner Loop, a tiny ring road around downtown. I saw the sign too late. This meant that I had to do some extra driving, but I did finally find the place. The drive was complicated by the presence of an abnormal quantity of police cruisers and motorcycles. Something was obviously afoot.

The falls were interesting, not only for the geological phenomenon. Rochester was founded at this place primarily because the falls were seen as a power source. As a result, masonry buildings that have long ago been abandoned flank the cliffs at the falls’ end of the canyon. The structures were built into and atop the cliff walls; the works of humans and the works of Nature morph into one another not unlike the cliff dwellings of the American southwest. There is a certain organic quality to the transition between masonry and shale.

Returning to the Inner Loop, I again remarked upon the unusual police presence. This was beginning to look odd. I called Chris, who did a little research (he’s often my substitute for wi-fi connectivity when I’m in the car) and discovered that Dick Cheney was visiting Rochester. Due to arrive at 4:30, the local constabulatary had kindly cleared I-390 from the airport to downtown for his caravan. How…nice.

This of course meant that no one else had the right to drive on the highway into downtown - the highway that they had bought through their tax dollars. Nice. It seems that self-serving, war-mongering, hyperbole spewing politicians with bad aim get the highway to themselves, displacing probably tens of thousands of their constituents in the name of security. Ridiculous.

This was bad enough. When the south-bound traffic began to slow, I started to get mad. Dammit – if I’m late to the airport, I’m gonna be really mad. Fortunately, slow was the worst of it. The police presence on the road between the interstate and the airport was causing people to drive badly. Cops everywhere, turning into odd back-entrances, parked along the road. It was just 3:30.

When I dropped off my rental car, I discovered that Budget had charged me a rediculous $80 for fuel. I had to get them to dig my original rental agreement out of the trash to demonstrate that I had already paid $38.08 for the fuel purchase option. They did of course issue a $50 credit, but still...

I knew weather in Chicago was slowing down incoming flights, and my flight was probably one of those. The ticket agent kindly re-routed me through Washington Dulles. It meant that I had three hours at Rochester to kill, and it meant that I was getting into Denver three hours late, but hey, I was getting home tonight. Which seemed better than getting stuck in Chicago until Saturday.

As I sat at my Washington-bound gate, the wisdom of the new route became very clear. The Chicago-bound flight was first delayed half an hour, then an hour and a half, and ultimately five hours. The later Chicago-bound flight was cancelled, causing a great deal of activity across the concourse. I suspect that my Washington flight filled up at that moment.

And full it was. The airlines tend to fill flights to a ridiculous level nowadays. I had a center seat for the flight; at least it was an exit row. I tried to get a better east, but no luck.

While I was in the air for the 3:40 to Denver, Orbitz notices kept piling up on my cell phone. As it was, I was delayed three hours, but at least I didn’t have to sleep in Chicago. Had I kept my original flight, I would have arrived in Denver at the truly ridiculous hour of 1:30 am.

Overnighting in Chicago would have been ridiculous, but understandable due to the weather. What I still don’t understand is how one man, one citizen of the United States can justifiably consume so many resources and disturb the routine of many, many fellow citizens. I don’t care if that one man is the vice president of the United States.

Standing at that window, I considered the cost of Cheney’s visit to Rochester. The private airplane (unmarked, of course). The disruption to the other flights arriving or departing (no planes can be moving on the tarmac while the veep’s plane is arriving or departing) and the people who were sitting on those planes, waiting. The cost of the police, sheriff and highway patrol officers who were blocking off the highway, protecting one person rather than the thousands in the community. How many victims were made in Rochester in one afternoon? The residents who could not get where they were going; the people made late to work, or to flights, or to pick up their kids at school. The cost of the bad-ass black SUV that escorted that unmarked plane across the taxi lanes to the runway. The cost of airport staff who also stood by as escort service. The fuel involved in getting him there, and back, and running all those extra “security” vehicles such as the police cruisers. The PR effort to get the word out to the community not to park vehicles on roads near the airport.

"Utterly Ridiculous," I said. I, too, am glad he didn't stay to lunch.