The mosquitos are still here. Even so, summer is slowing drawing to a close.

That means if you haven't got your favorite summertime memory in this year, you still have a few weeks left.

I'm sure you have one already. Maybe it was going camping with the kids.

Maybe it was going camping. Without the kids.

Or, it could have just been a quick getaway from the job, from town and from mowing the lawn.

You don’t have to go far to enjoy a quick weekend.

Of course, there’s always a story attached to it. That’s probably what makes it so much fun.

The latest involved a trip to Chicago last weekend. It’s normally a six-hour drive each way to the Windy City. However, I couldn’t pass up a $73 round trip ticket from the Cities to Chicago that included all the taxes (passenger facility fee, Sept. 11 security fee, mother-in-law fee, etc …).

As you may well know, the construction going up to the Cities is horrible. I established a new personal record by hitting gridlock on Interstate 35 at the Montgomery exit.

It’s the one just after Faribault. You know … the one that still, oh, another 50 miles away from the airport.

So I turned off on a two-lane country road and meandered up through Northfield. When you’re driving in a place that has a 30 mph zone, you’re always looking over your shoulder, just waiting so you don’t have to use that excuse you used 15 years ago, when that same cop pulled you over.

Gee, uh, officer. I thought the speed zone was 45.

"No, son. It’s 30."

We can guess what the end result was.

So after plodding my way through corn fields and suburbia, I made it to the airport an hour before my flight. Then I had to wait in line to get the boarding pass.

This line will only take a half-hour to go through, I told someone in front of me.

Forty-five minutes later, we were halfway to the counter. Fifteen minutes remained until my flight.

I had to make this plane. I mean, I was going to do my friend a huge favor that night by attending his bachelor party.

Forget about me … I was doing this for him.

Fortunately, a gate attendant must have read my mind and showed mercy, as she asked over the intercom if there was anyone in line for the six o’clock to Chicago.

I thrust my arm upward and was able to cut past about 45 people, much to their chagrin. That was fun.

I got my boarding pass, made it through security and pulled an O.J. like he was in a Hertz commercial. It's true I ran through the terminal, but I didn't hurdle over any chairs.

Only a chihuahua.

I made it to the gate, but found out in a hurry from another gate attendant that they weren't boarding the 6 p.m. flight.

Or the 5 p.m. either.

"There's a few seats left on the 3 p.m. flight, Mr. Fields."

I looked over my shoulder. Because I didn't see my dad anywhere, I quickly realized she was talking to me.

"Mr. Fields?"

Huh?

"Since you're traveling by yourself, would you like to take a seat on this flight?"

I didn't hesitate, and she promptly gave me a boarding pass.

Except there was a problem.

As they put my pass through one of those electronic readers, it beeped.

"I'm sorry Mr. Fields, but it says you're at the wrong gate."

Excuse me?

"This is the gate for the plane to Chicago."

Right. That's where I want to go.

"Really? Because this boarding pass says you're going to Denver."

If I told you I calmly explained to this person that I didn't want to go to Denver, I'd be lying. There were a few seats left on this Chicago flight, I didn't want to wait another two hours and I didn't want to disappoint my friend by not being at his party because I was … uh … doing him a huge favor.

Long story short, I got on the plane. Except they just told me to get on. They didn't check my ID for the seventh time and I didn't receive any ticket stub.

I got on. They shut the door. We left.

Only after we finished barreling down the runway at 205 mph I soon realized a startling fact.

"I'm the unknown passenger."

You know, the one you always read about in the news and the one that it takes three months (or more) to figure out after the crash.

Well, obviously I didn't have to worry about that. Or my employer.

It was a great weekend. But it felt good to come home to Austin.

I'm sure I'll travel again soon. But I'll probably take Highway 56 up to the Cities instead of the freeway.

I'd hate to be late to any more favors that I'm participating in.

For close friends, of course.

Dan Fields can be reached at 434-2230 or by e-mail at :mailto:dan.fields@austindailyherald.com