Mini-Tour Madness, Part II

The next day of the mini-tour dawned bright and fresh. Well, actually, it didn’t quite dawn, because I had to be up at 4AM to get to the airport. Fortunately the hotel was close, I printed out my boarding pass right in the business lounge, and as soon as I checked out there was a shuttle to take me along. The driver was a jolly plump man, and we talked about how expensive it had become to live in Seattle. It was plenty expensive when I lived there lo those many years ago, and my sister and Psynde had both remarked on how prices had jumped in the last two-three years.

Anyway, there I was at 5AM, commending my soul to God as we were on the freeway to the airport. The whole rip took less than ten minutes, and after ambling in and getting patted down–

Oh, wait, you want to hear about that? Well, it’s simple. The six silver bracelets on my right wrist don’t come off. They’re welded on. I’ve learned it’s best just to warn someone before I go through the metal detector. Plus I’m on some sort of List when I travel, so even if the detector for some reason doesn’t go off (as I found out a while ago while flying to New York) I’m still patted down. I’ve finally just decided it’s literally my duty to be a bright spot in a TSA employee’s day.

Anyway, after being patted down by a very nice young lady, I was free to roam the concourse. The first thing on my mind was coffee, and there at Starbucks I encountered one of the reasons I hate to travel–rude people. In my experience, the workers are rarely, if ever, rude. No, the problem is someone who thinks the world owes them something, in this case a middle-aged woman who was trumpeting her displeasure that this Starbucks didn’t have breakfast sandwiches. She finally just took her coffee and yogurt and lumbered away. I tipped the girl dealing with her double just to make up for it.

After shaking my head and dosing myself with caffeine and a turkey sandwich (hey, breakfast is breakfast) I ambled toward the departure gate and found Richelle had beat me to it. We had an hour and a half or so to wait, and we spent it relaxing and getting a good gossip on.

There was a bit of oddness–we circled a bit at the very end of Seattle’s air control, because Oakland’s control was having some “communication problems.” Fortunately the problems cleared up within five minutes, but it was still a little…well, thought-provoking, to say the least. The flight wasn’t full, so we could shift to an empty row as soon as the seatbelt light went on–I joked about our travel karma being good, and Richelle told me not to say that and jinx it. She took the window for a hard-earned nap, and I stretched out and read until we touched down in Ontario, California.

I had no idea there was an Ontario in California. It gave me almost a heart attack when I looked at the itinerary for the first time. But there is one, I’ve seen it, and we were greeted by Frau Becker, our media escort. Who is like the Mr. Wolf of media escorts. As soon as we landed we were in good, capable, brisk and efficient hands.

It was a relief. Because I don’t travel well at all.

We had just enough time to get a bite to eat and freshen up (the biggest club sandwich I’ve seen in a decade is at the Airport Sheraton in Ontario. Try saying those last four words really fast five or six times) before Frau Becker picked us back up and got us to the Carnegie Cultural Center, a beautiful old building that also, I believe, houses the Upton Public Library. The windows in the building had that rippled effect old glass has, and I’m sure there’s a quiet librarian ghost or two walking those halls.

We heard the crowd, but we were not prepared. There was over a hundred and forty people there, and my stage fright was so bad I almost blacked out when I got up to give my reading. But some of them laughed in the right places, and I made it back to the table to sit down without falling over. I don’t know if Richelle was as nervous as I was–she’s impossibly graceful during events. I envy that. (Do you hear me, Richelle? ENVY.) The Q & A afterward was a lot of fun, with Richelle and I doing our double-trouble best to entertain and also give information. Unfortunately the microphone hissed like a snake every time I touched it. C’est la vie.

And the fans! They were so kind, and so excited! One brought Richelle a T-shirt she had decorated herself, and a jar of Scorpio origami. I met quite a few that had read some of my stuff. I was kind of a little worried that I’d just be sitting looking lonely and desperate while Richelle signed, but thankfully there was enough to keep us very busy. People are very very kind.

And there were pictures taken. I was seriously wilting and I don’t photograph well, but the fans seem to like them. Anything for the readers, man. *cringes*

Special props go to the staff of Mrs. Nelson’s Toy And Book Shop for organizing the event and making things go smoothly. Richelle and I literally had nothing to do but sign and interact with fans. Everything else was taken care of very smoothly.

Richelle waited until we were at dinner in Rosa’s–oh man, that was an odyssey in and of itself to find a restaurant near the hotel–to tell me that flashbulbs had been popping while I was reading. I didn’t notice, mostly because I get up in front of people and my world narrows to the book I’m reading from. This is a good thing, because the stage fright is overwhelming and crippling. I’ve learned to put up a good front, and it helps to have a friendly face up there to look at instead of the crowd.

Frau Becker had a lot of interesting stories about film and production (though I confused Avatar with The Last Airbender, she was kind enough not to look at me like I was stupid) and the food was good, but both Richelle and I were exhausted. So it was back to the hotel.

That’s the thing about tours. You go to interesting places, but most of the time all you see is hotel, airport, event location, and the inside of your eyelids when you pass out. There literally isn’t time.

Five minutes after we’d reached our rooms, Richelle knocked on my door. I leapt for it, thinking she needed help. But no. The publishers had sent almond-scented champagne and a cheese plate. Now, Richelle and I didn’t know the publisher had sent it–the note had gotten lost somewhere. Still, we threw caution to the wind. It was champagne. We each had a glass or so, eventually debated the advisability of doing so, decided we didn’t care, then I stumbled back across the hall to my room and fell asleep. A very full night.

Little did Richelle and I know we had our most interesting flight around the corner.

But that’s the story for tomorrow.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.