Quaker Meeting House (QMH) was on a bus with the men's basketball team on Thursday morning at approximately 3:45 a.m.
 
The destination? A quick run to the airport. From there, a 6 a.m. flight that would take the team to Miami. After that, a quick puddle jump to St. Thomas, Virgin Islands where the team will compete in the Paradise Jam this weekend. The eight-team tournament starts on Friday and the Quakers will play Northern Iowa that evening at 6:30 p.m. (5:30 in Philadelphia).
 
The team was slated to arrive on the island mid-afternoon, then head straight from the airport to the University of the Virgin Islands arena where the tournament will take place for a practice. After practice, the team would be taken to its hotel and settle in for the night.
 
That was the plan. On this day, the plans were torn into a million little pieces and instead what ensued was arguably the craziest, most ridiculous, most hilarious, most frustrating and most absurd travel day that QMH has ever been a part of in nearly a quarter-century in this job traveling with teams.
 
Where to start?
 
OK, so first there was a player late to the bus. It was scheduled to leave at 4 a.m., but was delayed and didn't leave until 4:15 a.m. Not a great way to start, but given how early it was there was little chance that the bus would encounter traffic or there would be a rash of people ahead of the team at the ticket counter. Sure enough, the team was at Terminal A-West by 4:30—where they were told that they needed to go to Terminal B. The bus was gone. Time to walk. Outside. In the brisk, cold November morning air.
 
OK, a snag but not terrible. And when the group walked into Group B at about 4:40, there were only a few other people and the team was led to an open counter for a group check-in. All was well!
 
Until, suddenly, it wasn't.
 
The group waited…and waited…and waited. There was a lot of talking going on at the ticket counter, but no action. At some point, QMH looked at his phone, saw the time was 5:12 a.m., turned to one of the coaches and said, "we're gonna cut this closer than I thought." More time passed, without action. No boarding passes. No IDs being handed back out. 5:12 became 5:23, then 5:31, and kept ticking. "We might miss this flight" became "we are going to miss this flight" became "what happens if we miss this flight? What do we do?"
 
Head coach Steve Donahue had arrived at the airport ahead of the team, so he was already checked in and at the gate along with radio analyst Vince Curran. Literally everyone else in the group—15 players, two student managers, two assistant coaches, six staff members and our radio play-by-play man for the weekend—was at the ticket counter. (One other player and an assistant coach will fly down to the Virgin Islands on Friday, due to class commitments back on campus.)
 
Finally, at about 5:40 a.m., the first few tickets came rolling out. They were distributed along with IDs, and the players were told to hustle right to the gate. No stopping for food. No bathroom breaks. Also, do everything you can to hold up the plane. Tell them we are on our way!
 
Nobody made it. Oh, a few people got through security, but in short order the word came back from Coach Donahue: the plane doors were closed, and it was pushing back from the gate. American Airlines was not holding the plane for us. They weren't waiting.
 
At the recommendation of the ticketing folks, everyone was called back to the ticket counter. Even those who had gone through security. We would have to start fresh, all 26 of us.
 
So what was the issue? QMH will never truly know. He's not sure anyone will. What he could gather was that the team's travel agency was blaming American, and American was blaming the travel agency. There were likely other factors in play. But the whole experience was incredibly frustrating.
 
(How up and down was the experience? At one point, the women at the counter were given Penn Basketball t-shirts to thank them for their help resolving the initial issue. Later on, after the flight had left and the players had been called back to the ticket counter having already gone through security, the shirts were quietly pulled back off the counter. QMH thought it was a baller move. Also, in QMH's opinion, justified.)
 
Now the game was really on. There are no direct flights to the Virgin Islands from Philadelphia, at least not through American. There was another flight to Miami that left at 8:15, then a connection to the Islands. There also was an 8:45 flight to Charlotte, then a connection to the Islands. Could the entire group find seats on those flights?
 
Not even close. For one thing, the flights to Miami and Charlotte were only part of the puzzle; there also were the flights from those cities to the Islands. For example: there were eight open seats on the flight from Philly to Miami, but just two on the flight from Miami to the Islands. So two players were sent to the 8:15 to Miami.
 
There were four, and then five, and then eight spots that opened up on the Charlotte/Islands connection, so more players were sent. After all, it was looking like a real possibility that things might not come together on this day, and we needed to make sure we had enough players to, you know, play the game on Friday night.
 
In the meantime, director of operations Brad Fadem—who earned every bit of his paycheck on this day—was busy toggling between Penn's travel agents and the American ticket folks to figure out how we were going to piecemeal this group over to the Islands in time for the first game. At one point, he walked past QMH, phone to his ear, and said, "our travel agent thinks she can book the rest of us on JetBlue. But it's not a pretty picture."
 
At this point, the group was five players, the managers, and all the staff members. Sixteen people in all.
 
So we sat in the ticket counter and waited for…something. Official confirmation from JetBlue. Some further action from the American folks. QMH walked the length of the terminal time after time, just to pass the time and stretch his legs.
 
Around 11 a.m., QMH got an email from the Paradise Jam folks letting QMH and his SID colleagues know that they had a photo account that could be used for social media: "we have started populating it with photos of the teams arriving at the airport today." That prompted several funny comments about the tournament folks eagerly anticipating the Penn team coming off its plane and instead getting…Coach Donahue and Vince Curran. That's it.
 
Actually, that was one of many funny conversations while we sat around waiting. There were conversations about the inefficiency on display at the airport. (Seriously, it was crazy how many employees weren't working while we were there. QMH's favorite was the guy who was hidden under a stairwell in one of the wheelchairs. Every time QMH walked by that stairwell he was either asleep or on his phone. This literally covered hours.) There were conspiracy theories about why we ran into so many issues getting on our original flight. Brad filled us in about the travel agency trying to fight American over who should pay the extra money we were being forced to spend to get everyone on all these new flights. Overall, the mood was pretty upbeat, given the circumstances. Even Brad seemed to be keeping an even-keeled disposition, at a time when he had every right to be losing his mind.
 
That said, at one point Brad talked himself into calling a charter company to see what it would cost to get the group over there. No one else in the group dissuaded this effort. We had to consider all options, right? It was beginning to feel that desperate, we were going to consider shelling out nearly $50,000 to get 16 people over to St. Thomas. It was beginning to get surreal.
 
Eventually, though, the conversations turned to the fact that everyone was really hungry. After all, we were still in the ticketing area and it was after noon. (For those of you keeping score, we were at nearly eight hours.) So finally the group headed over to the Marriott for lunch at the hotel restaurant. While there, the JetBlue tickets officially came through and Brad was able to get them printed.
 
Finished lunch, left the hotel, got through security, walked to the gate. Another long walk, mind you, as we went through security at Terminal A and our flight was departing out of Terminal E.
 
Remember earlier in this adventure where Brad told QMH that we might get booked on JetBlue but it wasn't looking pretty? Here's why. This was the JetBlue itinerary:
 
*The group would depart Philadelphia at 2 p.m. for Fort Lauderdale, where they would have a five-hour layover.
 
*From there, the group would fly to San Juan, Puerto Rico, where they would have another four-hour layover.
 
*From there, it was a short hop to St. Thomas. Expected arrival time? 7:30 a.m. (6:30 Eastern) on Friday morning, nearly 17 hours after leaving Philly and a mere 11 hours before our opening game.
 
(QMH is writing this entry on a Word document, and he's already onto a third page. He hasn't even gotten on a plane yet. Strap in. We're just getting started.)
 
Throughout this misadventure, the weather in Philadelphia took a turn. Snow was expected on Thursday, and boy did it hit in a major way. Tiny, harmless mid-morning flakes turned into heavy, wet snow by early afternoon, and before you knew it the entire airport was blanketed by a few inches of the white stuff.
 
Now there was a fear within the group that we wouldn't even get out of Philadelphia, despite assurances by the pilot and the people at the gate. That said, the plane arrived at the gate a few minutes after 2, it was emptied and cleaned, and by the time it was filled up and ready to go to Fort Lauderdale it was almost exactly 3 p.m.
 
It's ok, we'll get in and still have a four-hour layover. Still plenty of time to chill, get the guys some dinner, etc.
 
The weather was still a factor. The snow had become sleety, and the plane needed to de-ice before taking off. Of course, QMH thought. Safety first! Especially given the long layover ahead, there should be no rush.
 
QMH closed his eyes and quickly fell into a deep sleep. About a half-hour later, he opened his eyes and quickly realized the plane was still in the Terminal E footprint. Almost immediately, the plane started moving again and QMH assumed it had been de-iced and was on its way to the runway.
 
So imagine his surprise when the pilot came on and said, "well, folks, we're really sorry about that. One of our wheels got stuck in an icy divot, and with the snow and ice we couldn't get ourselves out. But we have gotten outside help, we're out of the divot, and we're heading over to the de-icing area. It should be another half-hour or so before we get airborne."
 
(QMH will always remember this as the moment the trip officially became absurd. A plane held up by a divot? Ludicrous.)
 
During the ride out to the de-icing area, QMH's phone buzzed. It was a text from Coach Donahue. He had sent a picture from the gym down at the University of the Virgin Islands. The other guys had made it. They were at practice, a motley crew of ten.
 
QMH replied back with the latest adventure from his group, even though he was sure Brad was already keeping Coach informed. Nevertheless, QMH got a chuckle when Coach replied to his text with a three-letter text that, as the kids might say, was NSFW.
 
OK, so a half-hour here and another half-hour in de-icing. That means the layover will now be three hours but still plenty of time. How big can Fort Lauderdale's airport be?
 
Well, a half-hour became a lot longer than that. Our plane moved into a position where it was next in line to be de-iced. And suddenly here comes the pilot back on: "ladies and gentlemen, apologies. The de-icing trucks in our lane have run out of their fuel to de-ice the planes, and if we wait out here for them to re-fuel we will actually reach a fuel point that is too low to get us to Fort Lauderdale. So we are going back to the gate to re-fuel ourselves while the de-icing trucks re-fuel, and then we will come back out here. The whole process should take about an hour."
 
Wait, another hour? And what does that really mean? Are we going to miss our connection in Fort Lauderdale, is that actually becoming a possibility? Is this really happening?
 
Back to the gate, where we were told everyone needed to de-plane with their stuff. Because why not. The players were told to get food as quickly as possible, because suddenly the window for dinner in Fort Lauderdale was closing and the only meal all day had been the lunch at the Marriott. Brad was back on his phones, trying to figure out alternatives if we missed our connection in Fort Lauderdale. What hotels are available there? Are there flights to the Islands Friday morning? If so, is there room to get our entire group on them? A waiting game to get back on the plane, and a quick re-planing. (It was our second time, so we were in practice.) Back out to the de-icing area—no divots this time around!—and after about a half-hour wait in line we were under the guns and on our way. How does QMH know it was a half-hour? Easy. JetBlue has TV, and he watched an entire episode of Jeopardy! on ABC.
 
So once again the pilot was, shall we say, ambitious in saying the whole process would take an hour. It was closer to 90 minutes.
 
At 8:04 p.m., approximately 15 hours and 34 minutes after arriving at Philadelphia International Airport, the last members of the University of Pennsylvania men's basketball program were on a plane that was taking off and starting them on their way to the Paradise Jam on St. Thomas, Virgin Islands.
 
At this time, QMH has to thank the good folks at JetBlue. The group on the Philly to Fort Lauderdale flight, especially, was sympathetic to our plight. As we began our descent, the pilot came on and asked all the other passengers if they might wait until our group was off the plane, as we had about a 10-minute window to catch our connection to San Juan and it was almost literally all the way across the airport. As he said: "Gentlemen, your connection to San Juan will be at Gate G1. That's Golf 1. And I suggest you get some running shoes on before you leave this flight."
 
We landed. The pilot again asked the folks to hold for us. We moved to the front of the plane, many of the other passengers wishing us luck this weekend. As soon as we left the plane, we were running. And running. And running. It's amazing, when you're in a rush to get somewhere, how far away it seems. Every time we turned a corner, it seemed like we were no closer. When we finally arrived at Terminal G, of course we were at Gate 12 and had to run all the way out to Gate 1. Overall, it was probably a good three-tenths to four-tenths of a mile at a brisk pace. Maybe more.
 
But what a feeling to come around the corner and see a line of people still getting on the plane. JetBlue had gotten the crew running the Fort Lauderdale-to-San Juan flight to hold their boarding until they knew we were off our first plane. How great is that? So we had a few minutes to catch our breath, get some water, and maybe take a bathroom break.
 
It was also at this point that one of the members of the group said: "This made it official. I am pissed off at this trip." (QMH would never divulge the person's name, because he knows that this person would kill him if he knew he was being quoted here, but it rhymes with Sil Phamko.)
 
Overall, though, QMH again has to compliment everyone within his group for their demeanor throughout this epic trek. At no point were fingers pointed, or did people get snippy with each other. Everyone rolled with the punches. The players, especially, were upbeat and funny and never complained when it would have been easy to do so. It was a great indicator of the great people involved in this program and why there has been success in turning it around the last few years.
 
QMH is writing this while he sits in the San Juan Airport. No delays on this leg, so the layover will be the four hours that was originally given. He writes this sentence at 5:16 a.m. San Juan time. It will be posted when the group arrives, finally, on St. Thomas later this morning.
 
So there it is. The adventure for some members of the men's basketball program. The others have their own stories, of course. Two players were left to their own devices for a trip through Miami and a connection to St. Thomas, landing in the Islands a few hours later than expected. Some went through Charlotte and shared a flight with, among others, Director of Athletics Grace Calhoun and some other staff members. They will share these stories with each over the next few days, for sure.
 
And QMH can guarantee that, for the rest of their lives, everyone that was with him will never forget Thursday, November 15, 2018: The worst travel day ever. As Brad said to him, in one of the understatements of all time: "This day puts 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles' to shame. This was way, way worse."
 
It was so bad, that at some point it became epic. QMH is proud to be able to tell the story. Not that he'd ever want to do it again.
 
***
 
QMH'S REQUIRED READING: Honestly, nothing this week. You've read enough. Carry on with your day.