I had some business at the Corvallis Airport the other day and the experience triggered some of my most vivid airport and airliner memories. Some are good and some are bad. Unfortunately, I can't remember any of the good ones.

I once missed my flight home from San Francisco because I was so engrossed in a novel I missed the boarding call. Making it worse, I was sitting 20 feet from the gate when the aircraft left. I looked up to find myself alone in the seating area; the ticketing agent was closing up her station. The term "sinking feeling" was coined to describe this situation. Try to imagine what you would say to the agent. I'm sure you could do better than my "Ummm, what happened to Flight 432?"

Now try to imagine what you would say to your spouse. This conversation was actually relatively easy for me. My wife was not overly surprised, which says something a little scary about our relationship. Luckily, there was another flight to Eugene just two hours later, but the derision has continued for 20 years, made worse by my foolish admission that I'd been reading a Louis L'Amour novel. Why couldn't it have been a classic?

In those carefree days before everything around airports was so tightly controlled, it was even occasionally possible to board the wrong aircraft. I proved this on a trip to San Francisco by making myself very comfortable on a Boeing 737, only to learn as the ground crew closed the door that the aircraft was en route to Oakland. I learned this from the stewardess on the PA system: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to United Flight 123 nonstop to Oakland, California. If you are not going to Oakland, please let one of our staff know. Heh, heh, heh." The passengers all chuckled, too. Except for me. I was busy with my 'sinking feeling.'

I did some quick mental calculations and decided that the embarrassment of admitting my mistake and walking back up through the aircraft would be far more expensive than the cost of renting a car and driving to my Bay Area destination. I kept my mouth shut and went on to Oakland.

Of course, the changes resulting from the War on Terror have had a dramatic effect. Thus far I've lost my eyeliner, lipstick and hand lotion. Just kidding. I have, however, lost two Swiss army knives and one GI can opener I forgot to take off my key chain.

You might think I would avoid such foolishness as I grew older. You would be wrong. My worst experience (thus far) happened only last year, when two friends, Bill Monroe of the Oregonian and Mark Freeman of the Medford Mail-Tribune, and I rented a car at the Houston International Airport and drove over to the Outdoor Writers Association of America Conference in Lake Charles, La. Everything worked fine until our return car trip, when we became confused by the traffic and the map. We arrived right on time, only to hear the lady behind the ticket counter say sweetly, "Gentlemen, you seem to be at the wrong airport." This little kernel of knowledge is painful indeed if it is delivered after you have already turned in your rental car. Luckily, Monroe and Freeman were in front receiving that message.

I turned away as if I didn't know them and made straight for the taxicab line. "How soon can you get us to the OTHER Houston airport?"

Deb and I are planning our first trip to Europe this summer. She seems nervous. I have no idea why.

Pat Wray is a freelance writer and longtime local resident. His general-interest columns can be found in this section on alternating Fridays. He can be reached at patwray@comcast.net.