Travel blog: The Exhibition Excursion

I often get asked what it’s like to travel everywhere with the Utah Jazz, so here’s a little insight to how my first trip of the preseason went:

Last year, I missed a fun family tradition at Uncle Bert’s and Aunt Violet’s house because the Jazz were on their annual pre-Christmas road trip. The lockout canceled that this season, and I made darn sure to book a 9:45 p.m. flight to Portland so I could pig out on clairs and mint brownies, uh, I mean visit with my wife’s great family (really, they are great). The late flight was worth it.

I have three children, ages 7 and under, so having daddy travel so much can be difficult on them (even more troubling for their mom). The day before the NBA released its revised post-lockout schedule, my 5-year-old daughter told me how much she loved that I hadn’t had to travel as much this year. Talk about bad timing. (I softened the see-ya-next-summer blow by promising a large share of those awesome Biscoff ginger-cinnamon cookies Delta offers.)

I’d only been gone on this short trip for about 12 hours, when my wife informed me via text that my kids missed me and wanted to do a Skype video call.

Unfortunately, the cord my computer needed to have the battery life to do that was sitting in my bedroom, plugged to the wall 750 miles away. Next trip. And big thanks to the Blazers’ PR staff (shout out to Aaron) for finding a Mac cord to juice up my laptop, saving me $90 for an insanely priced Apple product replacement. Guess I better focus more on packing than clairs next trip.

I stayed at the same hotel as the NBA referees. This happens every once in a while. Thankfully, they don’t blow whistles at their hotels. Turns out, though, one of the officials (Gary Zielinski) is from Utah. I knew that, but I didn’t realize we went to the same high school. Go Kearns!

One airport shuttle driver reminded me of John Candy. He was friendly, shared similar physical features and was so goofy he made me grin. He also was genuinely bummed that a passenger-update transmission with a co-worker transpired while we apparently passed up one of Portland’s unique destinations: the smallest official park in the country. I would’ve had him go back, but it was approaching midnight and my hotel bed sounded much more enticing to visit. He also informed me that I pronounce Seventh-Day Adventist wrongly. Apologies. (Emphasis on the first syllable in ADventist.) At least I know to say Ore-gun, not Ore-gone.

It was midnight by the time I returned to my hotel after Monday’s postgame duties. That didn’t leave a whole lot of time to catch a few winks before my 4:30 a.m. shuttle pickup I needed for a 6:15 a.m. flight I needed to get to Zions Bank Basketball Center in time for the Jazz’s much-needed 9:30 a.m. practice this morning.

Fortunately, I made it in time for the shuttle, flight and practice.

Better yet, a couple of hours later, I was reminded of my favorite sound in the world — the pitter-pattering of little kids’ feet and the screams of “Daddy!” I thoroughly enjoy hearing upon returning from road trips.