Getting there can sometimes be more than half the traveler’s battle

A vacation, by definition, is a period of rest from work and study — a time to rejuvenate the “batteries” with a positive charge. Images of a Florida vacation — sun, surf and sand — swirled in my head, as I dashed in sub-zero temperatures across a parking lot to the Portland Jetport.

Vacation frustrations dogged me the entire day. Near Gardiner, my vehicle shed it’s muffler. I saw it summersault in the rear-view mirror. And when I tried drowning the exhaust roar by turning up the volume on the radio, a cell disintegrated. Static replaced music.

Once inside the Delta terminal, my family and I learned that our flight was being delayed an hour. That gave us more time to purchase another $2 bag of popcorn, and other outrageously priced airport goodies. I am convinced that airlines and airports have a secret pact to delay travelers.

Safely in the skies headed for Boston, I asked for something to wash down the salty kernels of popcorn lodged in the back of my mouth. “Sorry, it’s too bumpy to serve drinks and we’ll be in Boston in 10 minutes,” the steward replied. I mustered up whatever moisture I could and swallowed hard.

After collecting passengers in Boston, we resumed our flight to Florida. About an hour after my initial request for a drink, I was given a glass of Coke that had more ice than soft drink. Two swallows and the container was empty. For a snack, the steward handed out tiny bags of peanuts — one per traveler. I fondled the bag for several minutes, trying to find the weak point of entry. No luck.

I reached into my vest for my Swiss army knife. A nervous-acting lady two seats from me stared in disbelief. I could read her thoughts: “How did this nut get on the plane with a knife?” I tried relieving her fears by saying, “Oh, the knife is too dull to puncture the bag. I’m just using the pliers to open it.”

She slouched back in her seat and continued wrestling with her peanut bag. I considered offering her my knife, but she looked as unstable to me a I did to her. The Persian Gulf War had a way of fraying nerves. My wife ripped her bag open with her teeth — a barbaric, but effective method — and spilled all six nuts on the floor. I think perhaps bags of penauts are not as much a snack as they are an adult pacifier.

My family and I flew from Portland to Boston to Washington to Atlanta to Melbourne, Florida. We landed and took off so many times I had the pre-flight steward talk memorized. I could find the exists blindfolded. I even figured out a way to open a bag of peanuts in less than five minutes.

During a two hour layover in Atlanta, an imposing security guard named Leroy created a stir overy my spotting scope, an optical lens designed to magnify a distant object 40 to 60 times. Granted, it is shaped like a miniature Scud missile with dark caps on each end.

“Ah, what do you have wrapped in your coat?” Leroy asked. “It’s my spotting scope. I’m going birdwatching in Florida,” I answered. “Oh, is that right?” Leroy asked skeptically, “Then why is it wrapped in your coat?”

I answered, “I’m cushioning the optics.” After reading a snack bar menu at the opposite end of the terminal through the scope, Leroy moved on without another word. Twenty-five pairs of eyes were looking at me, some sneaking a peak from behind a newspaper.

My wife offered little support. “Security guards have been watching you closely in every airport and it’s not just the scope. Your Arab-American nose is raising a red flag. You should unwrap the scope and wrap your nose in a handkerchief until we get to Florida,” she suggested.

The stress of the flight continued after we landed in Florida. I stepped up to the Thrifty car rental counter to pick up a $99-a-week economy car (a polite name for a sardine can on wheels). We were given a Mitsubishi Mirage, a small car appropriately named because when the driver stands back 20 feet, it nearly disappears.

The Thrifty clerk was certainly not thrifty with the calculator and bill — she didn’t stop writing and adding for several minutes. “Excuse me, what are those extra charges?” I asked with a forced smile.

Smacking gum, she answered, “Oh, there is a $2 a day surcharge for Florida road use. That adds up to $12 for 6 days. There is an 8 percent airport user tax and a 6.5 Florida state tax. Your final bill is $129.”

“Wow,” I replied, “that’s a 30 percent tax.”

“Sorry, I don’t make the laws. Have a nice day,” she said with a forced smile. I felt like a fresh squeezed Florida orange — drained to a pulp.

When we finally reached our bedroom, the temperature was a sultry 80 degrees with 80 percent humidity. No sooner had I turned out the lights than the mosquitoes started buzzing around the pillow. I turned the lights on and they disappeared. We played that game for a few minutes until I disposed of them with the swoosh of a pillow.

With the latest challenge successfully concluded, my wife cuddled up to me in a romantic fashion, paying little attention to the local television weather forecast.

“Well”, she said affectionately, while wiping the perspiration from my forehead, “What are you thinking about?”

I answered, “I am wondering if you packed my long-johns. It is supposed to be in the 40s the next several days”.