And so it begins. It seems the travel God’s are not without a sense of irony. We leave Southern California on the first day of sunshine in three weeks.

I swear there wasn’t a single cloud within a thousand miles of OC this morning. It’s like someone went and Windexed the sky. Last night? When I had to drive first to Riverside and then to Mira Mesa? Thunderstorms all the way to San Diego.

The blue, however, did nothing to keep our flight from leaving on time. We sat and waited in John Wayne for a solid hour before departing, eating into our three hour layover at DFW. DFW, however, appeared to be socked in with the same relentless thunderstorms that slowed my trip to SD last night, and our plane was forced to land in Abilene to refuel, scenic, cosmopolitan Abilene, apparently the dust capitol of the Midwest as the ground was barely visible until just a few hundred feet from the tarmac – a detour that would chew up the rest of our layover.

That plan for lunch at TGI Fridays? Poof.

It appears that the gods of travel are also keenly interested in my physical fitness, for immediately upon our exit from the plane, the booming voice of the DFW archangel announced the final boarding call for our connection to Buenos Aries. The ONLY connection to Buenos Aries.

And so begins the 33 gate dash.

Travelers, take your mark.

I’m surprised the announcement didn’t include the crack of a starter’s pistol, but then again, that probably wouldn’t go over so well in an airport. Of course all the diving bodies would have made the run more direct, but no matter. We made it.

What does matter is that Elaine has to sit next to sweaty, hungry, cranky, quite possibly flatulent Jimbo after a dinner of dried fruit, Balance Bars and airline food, for more than eleven hours.

Anyone want odds on the luggage arriving?

PS: It’s already more fun than work.