Sunday. Really thought I’d get to ride Sunday. I had to fly to Oklahoma City for a bicycle dealer meeting (yes, Oklahoma), and originally no way to ride before flying, with a 9am flight out of SFO. Chose the early flight because it was a nicer plane (787 instead of a Barbie Jet) and it was a couple hundred dollars cheaper. Good reasons, right? But Saturday night I’m looking things over and notice two things. First, I can do an SDC (same day change) at no charge to the later flight, because I have status on United, and second, well, the 787 was arriving from Taiwan. And I’m thinking, Asia, Corona Virus, would I rather get on a plane that was previously just a short hop away from the center of the Corona Virus, or one that came in from Reno? As an added bonus, the Barbie Jet flight leaves around noon, so I can get in a quick morning ride!

So I wake up at 7am, start to get dressed to ride and my wife says “Did you forget it’s daylight saving time today?” Oh. Crap. As it turned out, I could have gotten a ride in because my flight was delayed an hour or so, but even if you knew early enough that it would be an hour late, things can change to leaving on-time without much notice. And in fact things did ping-pong around a bit, at one point my flight being two hours late but in the end just under an hour.

The flight out seemed relatively normal, probably two-thirds full. SFO was definitely quieter than usual though. I was through security in maybe three minutes? And the Oklahoma airport? More on that later.

This was a very quick trip; in one day, out the next. When I checked in at the hotel, I asked the desk what time I needed to hail a ride for a 6:30pm flight. She told me 3:30. That traffic is really heavy that time of day. And I’m thinking, really? There’s nothing out here. 21 mile ride from the airport passing through something that looked like the stretch of 80 between Dixon and Sacramento. Yeah, right. When the meeting was over on Monday, I called for a ride at 4:30 and could have done 5pm or later. What passes for “traffic” in Oklahoma is a bit of a joke for someone from the Bay Area.

But the flight back was creepy. I knew things were amiss when I cleared upgrades for First Class on both flights. Not unusual for the flight from Okalahoma City to Houston; that wouldn’t be what we’d call an elite-heavy route. But Houston-SFO? That surprised me. That’s a very heavily-traveled route by well-off business flyers. But not too many flyers in general that night; both flights were less than 1/3rd full. And there was this feeling that the world was being rolled up behind me.

I would not, right now, get on a plane going anywhere. At least not anywhere that I didn’t mind getting stranded for a while. This Corona Virus thing is seeming to get out of hand very quickly. And yesterday the news was all about the National Guard creating a “containment zone” around New Rochelle, and then today we got the US not allowing anyone to enter the US who had been in Europe, cancellation of the NBA season, and finally, Tom Hanks and his wife have the virus. Tom Hanks. Mr. America. The everyman. Today’s Jimmy Stewart. I think Tom Hanks coming through this intact will be a very good sign to the country, as corny as that sounds. But if he doesn’t? If he became a statistic on the wrong side? It sounds equally absurd, but those feeling a bit frazzled around the edges might lose their grip entirely. Things could get really bad.

Boy do I need to ride tomorrow morning.

This morning started earlier than normal, and Thursdays already start earlier than I’d like. But today my wife and I drove to Dixon to put my mom’s husband, Robert, to rest. There was the usual wondering why it takes a funeral to bring interesting members of an extended family together, often for the first time, and too often for the last.

You go through the usual stuff, bringing the casket from the hearse to the outdoor pavilion where the service is held, hearing from his family (good people, even if they might cancel out my vote), and since he was in the military, the playing of Taps and the folding of the US flag, which is presented to the spouse of the deceased. In this case, the flag was first presented to Robert’s disable son, Rick, who then presented it to my mom. A very touching moment.

But the odd thing? After all this, you expect to accompany the casket to the burial site. Like in the movies. But even in death, perhaps especially in death, life isn’t like the movies. We are told (the couple of us who asked, because this wasn’t pointed out otherwise) that the body would be buried “sometime” during the day and it wasn’t something that they made any effort to encourage seeing. In fact, it was discouraged.

This.
Seemed.
Odd.

We found out that the burials are generally finished by 4pm, always by 4:30. So, after an extended-family lunch in nearby Vacaville, followed by a pretty disappointing trip to see what remains of the old Nut Tree and its train, my wife and I headed back to the cemetery, ahead of my brothers Tom & Steve, who were escorting my mom, to see if it was “safe” to bring her back to see where he’d been buried. (This after previously discussing whether there might actually be some good reason to not see the grave site.) To me, it just seemed terribly incomplete to leave Robert in the hands of strangers for the rest of the day. To say he was “laid to rest” by people who didn’t know him, his resting place unseen by those who knew him, seemed to not just lack a sense of closure, but forbade it.

Fortunately, my wife and I managed to find where he had been buried (not an easy task since nobody was in the cemetery office, but I got a bit nosy and found a hand-written ledger detailing the schedule of the day, including the specifics of his burial). Section 3, #425. It took a bit of walking through Section 3; it wasn’t clear where the numbers were written, nor was it obvious any work had been done in the section. Which, of course, meant I had walked right past it, in plain site. One of the few with any flowers placed upon the earth.

I called my brother (Steve) telling him we’d found the site and how to get there and, by the way, they’d better make tracks because it was 4:15pm and the grounds closed at 4:30. The last thing I wanted was to have my mom get so close and fail. Not going to happen. Thankfully, there were no gates anyway, and nobody posted to keep people away or kick people out. My mom got to spend some time at the site, and I think it was better for her that she was able to do so, than go back home and wonder when she’d be coming back.

The funny thing is, I’m not into burials; my intent is to be cremated, as my dad was. But if you are going to choose earthly burial for your remains, then, to me (and I’ve said “to me” many times here; I recognize others will have differing views), there is value, closure and peace in seeing his final resting place.

How strange to suggest it’s odd, unusual and not recommended to see one’s final resting place at the end of the day.