It's no secret that when I travel, inevitably, an almost unbelievable story will ensue. I've been sent to the wrong place, driven the wrong way down one-way streets, and ended up in situations that I had to literally back out of. So why should a trip on an airplane taking me to California be any different?

It was 5 a.m. on Monday when I arrived at the airport. Everything seemed good; I found a parking spot for my truck close to the terminal. Getting through the check point was a breeze, and I was early to the gate. In hind sight, I should have known that when things go right, something is about to go terribly wrong...

The downward spiral into air travel Armageddon began almost immediately after all the passengers on my flight were finally seated—this took roughly 20 minutes. We were getting comfortable when the flight attendant made the announcement that the plane was having mechanical issues and our departure would be delayed. OK, it happens, but what doesn't normally happen is when the flight attendant makes another announcement approximately 10 minutes later, explaining that we would all have to get off the plane and get on a different one. The process of how we were supposed to accomplish this task was explained thoroughly, and said process began.

We deplaned and proceeded to the new gate as instructed. We were informed before deplaning that once at the new gate, we would simply give the gate personnel our name and they would let us board the new plane—that was what we were told. What actually happened, though, is this: When we all got to the new gate assignment, we were then instructed to get in line just as we had for the previous, seemingly easy task of boarding the plane. No problem, stand in line again, check. Like good little followers of instructions, we did so and then proceeded to wait for permission to get on the plane. I must admit, I wasn't even surprised when permission didn't come. What we did eventually get were instructions that we all needed to proceed to the gate counter so we could all be assigned new boarding passes—it was at this time that I thought I saw a shepherd guiding us to the proper location. Anyway, after another 20 minutes of us sheep, err, I mean friendly, unopinionated travelers finally being assigned new boarding passes, we were allowed to board the new plane. In case I forgot to mention it, I had a connecting flight that I needed to catch, and I was beginning to have a bad feeling about getting to the next airport on time.

We finally arrive in Houston, and as my feelings were confirmed, the connection flight that I was supposed to catch had unceremoniously left on time—huh, there's a concept. What I didn't realize was that most of the people on my initial flight had the same connector. Now, if you have never travelled by air, you might not realize that this situation created a do-or-die condition. Those of you who have travelled by large flying tin can know that I am referring to the mad dash to the gate counter to see what upcoming flights are available. Apparently, this isn't a situation that requires tact. I knew this, because I saw all tact fly out the window, and at one point, I think I even got a little scared—and I'm married.

When the latest gate agent finally explained to me how I was going to reach my final destination of Orange County, California, all fear had been replaced by humor. I literally stood at the counter and laughed. Here's why. In order for me to leave Houston, I had to first fly to Austin. Just in case you don't have a globe, Houston and Austin, Texas, are within driving distance. This short flight resembled a roller coaster ride. We left the gate, went up, came down, and went to the gate—literally that quickly. At least I was getting somewhere.

Once in Austin, I would board a plane that would then take me to Las Vegas. OK, at least I was getting closer. Then the gate agent informed me that once I landed in Vegas, it would be a measly five hours until the plane that I would be flying on would leave Vegas for the next roller coaster ride into Orange County. What's a guy supposed to do in Vegas for five hours? I can already hear many of you yelling at the magazine explaining the possibilities, but since I don't usually drink or gamble, I hope you can see the irony in my predicament. Once again, these are the adventures that are “Travelling with Randy.”

Fortunately, I was able to get on standby and only watched three planes take off with me not aboard, but I did eventually get to my destination. I did happen to spend a couple of hours in the Las Vegas airport, and even though I have seen it a thousand times, walking past the kiosk that advertises fruits and nuts for sale seemed to help make my day a little better as I contemplated the various meanings of what that might mean.

It's official...I'll stick to driving where I need to go.