"If we don't start moving soon," I find myself thinking as my frustration simmers into overboil, "I swear to God I'm going to scream." I'm sitting in the middle of the I-580 freeway, which currendy looks more like a big valet parking lot that just happens to be four traffic lanes wide. I've been on the road for over two hours, trying to go a distance that normally takes a third of that time. In the past 20 minutes, we've moved no more than 100 yards. And as I watch helplessly from a sea of cars in a canyon with no other exit or options, the sun is moving steadily lower and lower in the sky. It started out to be such a great afternoon. It was a perfect late fall flying day―clear blue sky, no clouds, warm temperatures and a golden glow over the California hills. So my great, wonderful plan was to finish work early and fly over to my friend Kimberly's for a fun dinner party and overnight visit. I even planned to get there in time to help her cook.
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