The skating at Skate America was well worth watching. Even when a skater wasn’t all that great, I appreciate the effort. I never skated any better than the worst skater in her childhood, skating on local ponds that froze over in winter. I’ve never set foot on rink ice, and never even learned to skate backwards (of course,I was trying to do it the impossible way, but the whole crossover thing is beyond my abilities, I think. Who knows? I mean I danced for like 7 or 8 years. It should cound for something. But what I remember is fun, cold, and pompoms (with bells maybe?) on the toe of m y white skates. Do they still skate on the ponds at Keaney and Elizabeth Parks in Hartford? I dubt it somehow. But somehow I’ developed a passion for figure skating. My clear memories of enjoying what I was watching go back to Grenoble – Peggy’ Fleming’s Olympics. And while there were years and times when my interest waned, it never disappeared. Now, I’m as educated and interested a fan as you can be without having ever participated in the sport, I think. Besides, as I thinkI’ve maintained previously on this blog, figure skating fans seldom paint themselves with the team colors. (Shudder).

So Ray and I got to the arena Thursday and settled in to watch several hours of people zooming around on frozen water. Practices tend to be odd ducks to me since a) you know the skaters all have practiced this stuff a bajillion times before and b) it’s not even a warm-up as in some cases, the skaters weren’t going to compete for another day and a half. But one of the weird things about skating (which I detest0 is that you can show the judges your stuff well in advance and they can anticipate, when you actually compete, what your routine will be, will look like. Yes, they have help – cheat sheets and experts telling them stuff, but this is a scouting expedition. Besides, you gotta skate every day. You just gotta.

Within that first hour in the arena, my feet were exceptionally cold. Most of the food vendors were not bothering to open their stands on Thursday, but the coffee place was open and I got one of my first $5 lattes of the weekend. It helped. Not a lot. I did go over to a part ot he arena where the sun was coming through the glass and tried to set there for a while but my feel were just flat out freezing and little would help. This is, of course, one of the funsy things about sitting all day, and sitting in a wheelchair. You don’t get a lot of circulation down yonder. Still, we stick it out til 3, then went home. And in the 2 blocks to change buses, I got even colder. I don’t think I had gloves with me either. So Thursday night was not a lot of fun, as I got home at 5:30 and even when Stu got home around 7:30, I was still not warm, despite several attempts to get warm which included the warm zippered one-piece “teddy bear” suit I have, the slippers in the microwave, and getting into bed and turning up the heat. I mean seriously now! (Okay part of the problem was that I refused to um touch certain parts of myself with my frozen hands, which si why I hadn’t managed to take that off and put this on) (eep) I finally did warm up but I had to rethink my entire weekend and wardrobe. It certainly was cold in the arena, Ray confirmed it and it’s possible it was at its worst, since the place as so empty. But Thursday morning, I piled on lots of clothes. LOTS, including those silk things and these silk things as well and those pull on little fleece-lined boots. Aaaaahhh. MUCH better.

And then Ray came over and we went to catch the bus and it didn’t come. And it didn’t come and didn’t come and after at least 30 minutes Ray went and looked at the schedule mounted on the pole and said “oh, it’s only a commute bus.” Oh jeeeez. The day before, we’d left the house to get to the arena by 9. Friday, I decided it was going to be a very long day and Ray was super willing to be flexible and so we started out much later. And missed the last bus. So took a different but and then reconnected with the bus to Everett. And got my latte 9for much cheaper – I brought my own cup and only after she gave me my change and I was back at my seat did I think “hmmmm, this seems odd. I have $3 in change for a $5 latte, all because I bought my own cup???” but hell, I was too anxious to drink it and to worry about what had just happened. “Sokay, I forgot my damn cup the rest of the weekend.

We headed out to find a restaurant which simply refused to appear despite our walking like 6 blocks in one direction so headed back up to the arena and that’s when IT happened. The chair’s battery monitor went from “you’ve got plenty of power” to “you don’t have a lot of power left”. This has happened twice before since I got the chair. Both times, it happened in my neighborhood. The first time, I crawled home with some assistance from a neighbor, the second I called a cab because it was clear I would not make it home. This was very very VERY disturbing and I’d already called, gone into the shop and had a shop guy come to the house to discuss the issue. No one could explain why such a drop would happen. I had NOT gone far enough to tax the chair’s batteries. I know from over a decade of scooter use what to expect from these batteries and these devices. Im hugely awesomely careful not to get stranded, and to constantly monitor the readout. This was not right and I was worried. We reentered the arena and I went to try to find someone who could hook me up with someone who might have a wheelchair battery charger. Like a medical office or an ADA contact person. The guy I went to (thought he was a security guard, later realized he was a cop, standing around being bored) said he could get me a medic but I said, babbled actually, no I didn’t want medical help, I wanted help with a battery and please please could he find someone to help me please. It was past 6 pm, the doors were opening for the 7 pm show. After several radio attempts, he found he was on the wrong channel, then tried again and finally said someone would be coming. Meanwhile, I was calling Barry, my scooter guy because I thought he lived in Everett and he might be able to advise me, at least, on the whole charging thing.

See, my scooters all had “on-board” chargers, which required nothing more than a rounded outlet so I could plug them in to charge. Even if there was a problem with a battery, charging it up for a few hours would often get you enough power to get me where I needed to be. This chair, however, did not have such a charger. The charger is separate, with a separate cord that plugs in under the controller. And no, I didn’t have it with me. Why would I bring a charger when I was doing NOTHING all day and when the most I was traveling was a couple blocks to get the bus and maybe a few blocks outside to find food? I had more than enough power. Barry didn’t answer.

As I sit there, watching mobs of people go by, finally, Walt comes. Walt’s the go-to guy at the arena. He has a dead elevator to try to fix, and god knows what else, but right now, I’ve got a dead or close-to-dead power wheelchair and I’m his priority. We discuss what’s happened and I ask if he has the ability to charge batteries. Yes he does, but needs to know what I have. I tell him what little know. I try Barry again. Barry’s there and he tells me that yes, we can safely charge the chair’s batteries one at a time. If you give each one an hour’s charge, eh says, that should get you home. Just to be sure, I hand the phone to Walt and it’s decided we can do this. I baby the chair down to the seating area, Ray goes off to find a manual chair for me, Walt does the same. Ray wins. Walt shows up with Jared, his guy, and they express relief that Ray found something for me, in case. Meanwhile, we find another folding chair (since I do NOT want to sit in some arena’s manual wheelchair – jesus, those chairs are really awful, and while folding aren’t great, these were at least padded – and showing Walt how to “freewheel” the chair, I sit back, they go off and phew. They exude competence, Ray exudes calm and Ray and I spend the next 3 hours watching ice dance and the mens’ short program and some time around ten, Walt returns. “We couldn’t get it fully charged” he says, but the battery monitor is showing about what it did when this began – 2/3 or more – and I assure him “it’s okay, Walt, I can get home” and thank him profusely. Tell him he’s saved my life, you know.

Ray and I head out to catch the bus home. (oh yeah, did we mention that when we headed home Thursday, we could not figure out what bus stop to use? It would have been obvious, yes, because the bus that brought us stopped DIRECTLY at the arena’s front entrance but there were no signs indicating that this bus, the 510, left from here. On either side of the street. That was Thursday. I forgot0 We go across the street to the stop and Ray has this sudden insight, flash ,whatever. Hauls out the bus schedule (remember this bus? The one we’d gotten this morning, as opposed to the one we’d missed, right? Ray checks the schedule. We’ve missed the last 510 back to Seattle. It’s now something like 10:30 pm, and it left 15 minutes ago. Hell, there are other buses, we’re not far from the train and there’s always…..

And the power drops all the way out of the wheelchair again. The charges did not hold.

We head back to the arena, where at least there are some last minute people leaving and it’s brighter. Ray starts calling. I start calling. I call Seattle’s Yellow Cab which has the only wheelchair lifts. I learn that they cannot come get me. We are in Snohomish County and they cannot leave King County. I am given a second number to call. It is NOT the number I see on the Yellow Cabs driving by. But it’s moot anyway as the person who answers that number says “no, we don’t have wheelchair cabs. Who told you that?” and we’re screwed again. There are vans going by, but they have no lifts and this is too big a thing to just put in a van.

The cop who’d been inside comes by and seemingly reluctantly asks if we’re okay. I say “no we’re not” and say “we’ve missed our bus” and tell him the charge didn’t work on the scooter. He reluctantly reaches for his radio/cell phone to call his supervisor. Ray, all this time, has been plying his ability and cell phone. I’m trying to think of who in Seattle can come get us – hah – or HOW to get to the county line where I can then call Yellow Cab to come get us. Oh dear gods. It’s getting late, I’m cold, I’m trying very hard not to scream, cry and freak. Ray’s being great, just telling me “it’s okay, we’ll find a way” but I’m running low. Train, cab, other bus (we’d have to GET to another bus and with the power now on either two “you’re screwed” flashing red lights or one single “you are out of power” flashing red light which indicates impending doom and chaos, we can’t risk it. We even thought about “let’s get a room at a local (and they exist nearby yes) of a motel but Skate America has brought in people from as far away as Korea, Azerbaijan and Russia – do we really think that we can find a room that isn’t taken by media, skaters, coaches, family, or fans who’ve come in from out of town? At 11 pm on a Friday night? And given how much I need grab bars, there’s gonna be a reasonably priced available ADA/handicapped accessible room?

And then I hear Ray say “you can?” and I hold my hand up to the cop to say “wait a second” because I am NOT letting this guy leave until I’m sure of what I am hearing. And indeed, Ray shuts off his phone turns and says “My friend Laurie is coming to get us. It will be a while” and that damn cop races off (I seriously think it would have been nice if he’d stayed to confirm we were okay but he didn’t. I mean it was cold and dark in downtown Everett late on a Friday night . And we still don’t know if this will work – I mean we have to get a power wheelchair into a vehicle without knowing whether it will fit, and if they can lift it. But he’s gone. I don’t think much of that, I admit.)

And less than an hour later, I swear, Ray’s friend Laurie shows up with her little bitty SUV and they muscle the damn thing in. I have no idea how, since I’m unable to help and can’t even stand and watch. I feel about as useless as I’ve ever felt In My Life. I’m safely in the passenger seat of this cozy little vehicle as they work out angles and such. This woman was in BED, folks, when Ray called her and she got up and drove out from Bellevue to rescue us. ME, because Ray could’ve probably gotten home easily if it weren’t for the complications. And she drops us off at my house, and drives home. I never even saw her cape. Ray drives home. I fall into a semi-conscious lump on the bed. I sleep like shit Friday night, and wake up crying from the stress. Yes, everything went well and oh GOD I owe Laurie but the tension and the fact that I’m exhausted due to lack of sleep is really icky. Besides now I can’t trust the goddam wheelchair (which charged up fine, of course) and have no idea what to do about it any longer.

Ray comes over the next day and to hell with public transit, Stu and Ray load the fucking scooter into the back of his little wagon. And that’s how we attended Skate America on Saturday and Sunday, driving, and using my scooter, the thing I can no longer sit in comfortably. And I spend both days mostly in the folding chair.

But WAIT, there’s MORE!

Saturday, we head out to this restaurant we wanted to try, based on Stu’s investigation of “food around the arena that isn’t fast food” and stuff that Ray looked up too. It’s called “Alligator Soul” and we have a really nice (albeit fast) dinner and yum, get back in time for Saturday evening’s skating. Clearly we’re in company of lots of folks who did the same research –t he place is packed, even at 5 pm on Saturday, a time wayyyyy too early to make sense. We decide we’ll go back on Sunday because we’ve got plenty of time between the last skating – the women’s final – and the “gala/exhibition” skating. And so off we go, Sunday, around 3ish back to Alligator Soul.

A restaurant which is not open on Sunday. Which didn’t even make an exception (given how much money they made Saturday) to open this one Sunday. But it is just NOT open on Sundays. We can’t believe it. But, show of hands? I mean, doesn’t it just figure?

Last chapter will be about the actual joy of watching the actual skating, the huge niceness of folks at the arena and – this just in – how I want to hit Kurt Browning upside the head. Til then, sleep well. Oh yeah, I’m getting new batteries for the wheelchair. More on that too but for now, good night.

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