The Sports Literature Association Meeting at the University of North Carolina--Chapel Hill, 1994: an Exercise in Fragmentary Autobiographical Narrative (Reflections from 25 Years of the Sport Literature Association‪)‬

I don't remember going to the airport, waiting at the gate, or getting onto the plane. I certainly don't remember the airline I flew on, or the number of the flight. But I do remember that the flight to Durham, North Carolina took 2 hours and 10 minutes--although in the context of lived time, it took agonizingly longer than that. Time in the air always passes slowly for aviatophobes. I sat at the back of the plane, on the right, in blue seats; no one sat next to me. That was a blessing. The New York Times crossword puzzle only lasted so long. I rented a car for the duration of the conference, a mid-size rental that, by some quirk of fate, was unnecessarily upgraded to a luxury car. Who drives to a SLA conference in a black Lincoln Continental? The only other time l used the car was when I drove back to the airport. I regretted my largesse.