Adventures with Holly & Bryan

I pressed my face to the dark plane window, watching the baggage carts drive around the tarmac in the glow of streetlights. We’d long since passed the initial delay estimate, and the weather app on my phone showed an ominous snowflake over our destination: Seattle. That was almost never good.

I wondered vaguely if we’d get home tonight. Occasionally in Seattle or Portland, a heavier-than-average snow storm will just shut down the whole city. It makes sense—it snows once or twice a year, so investing in snow-plowing gear really isn’t a priority.

When I was a kid, this was an ideal reality. I remember winter mornings with the TV tuned to the weather station, all of us crowded around. We’d watch school closure notices flick by at the bottom of the screen, waiting to see if ours would make the list. When it did, we’d spend a glorious morning out having snowball fights.

The key with the snow, though, is that it’s not good if you’re not already at home.

Eventually the plane took off. It was well after midnight when we landed at Sea-Tac Airport. Snow was falling thickly out the window, and in the dim light our prospects looked bleak.

“What time does the light rail close?” I asked tentatively.

My mom grimaced. “10 PM.”

I felt our chances drop substantially. The train was really the only way of getting around that was impermeable to snow.

“We just have to get to the city,” my dad said bracingly. “Then we can take my car from the office parking garage.”

I pulled up Lyft and Uber on my phone. Fares had ballooned to $140. I hesitated. That just seemed unreasonable.

“Let’s look around a little, maybe see what the taxi or airport shuttle situation is.”

But the situation was not good. A serpentine line of stranded travelers wound around the semi-freezing parking garage near the taxi stand. It was a few days after Christmas, and holiday travelers continued to pile onto the line as we watched.

Searching in her bag, my mom pulled out a few pairs of socks and handed them out to my dad and me. We were returning from visiting my brother in Hawaii, so we were fairly severely underdressed. We gratefully pulled the socks onto our hands.

“I’m going to get the $140 Lyft,” I said, teeth beginning to chatter.

The Lyft app twirled, indicating it was pairing us with a driver. I momentarily felt relieved. We were going to get out of here.

Then a notification popped up: request canceled due to lack of drivers.

“Oh no.”

I tried Uber, but the result was the same.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then someone said what we were all thinking: “We’ll just have to stay at the airport until the light rail opens at 5:30 am.”

We retreated back inside. For the first time, I noticed how many other people were in the airport. It wasn’t the normal airport bustle of busy travelers hurrying to check bags or get to the security line. Instead, little clumps of people were arrayed here and there around the perimeter walls, leaning against luggage stacks or makeshift pillows made from bundled-up clothes.

Every couple minutes or so, a screech like a smoke alarm sounded, and a loudspeaker cycled through a series of announcements.

Ever prepared for traveling, my mom rummaged in her bag and pulled out her chainsaw-grade earmuffs and an eye mask. My parents began to prepare to sleep, and I pulled out my laptop. The next day was theoretically my first day back at work from the holidays, and it was unclear whether we’d even be home by then. Best to get in a couple of hours’ work now.

My mom said something then, and we both turned. The general gloom morphed instantly into hilarity. Check out the video below for the full effect!

5:30 am found us huddled on the light rail platform with a cluster of other hopeful travelers. The snow had continued to fall overnight, and we were, if anything, even colder than the night before. I rubbed my sock-clad hands together and shifted my weight from foot to foot.

Then the train materialized. As we stowed our luggage under seats and settled into the heated interior, I felt a deep sense of hope and relief.

But we weren’t home yet. The light rail drops off a couple miles from my dad’s office, where we could get his car to finish the journey home. It’s a nice walk in normal times, right along the Burke-Gilman bike path. But when we emerged, shivering, from the light rail stop, we found that two miles looks substantially different when it involves rolling suitcases through thick snow wearing Hawaiian clothes.

In some trepidation, I opened the Lyft app.

This time, miraculously, it worked. I watched the little car icon coming nearer, my confidence slowly growing that it would actually arrive. Our 10-minute Lyft ride clocked in at $40, but at that point I didn’t care.

It was just before 7am when we pulled into the driveway at home, cold and disheveled, but grateful…and with the most excellent family Christmas photo.