Over the weekend I took a bit of a sojourn, one might say, to Roanoke, Va.

Having been to that city of around 100,000 several times, I was already remotely acquainted with its ins and outs. By this I mean it is an excellent place to try to get in and out of as quickly as possible.

On this occasion, I was going to the Roanoke Regional Airport to pick up a friend that was flying in from Washington, D.C.

Perhaps Roanoke doesn't fit my description of one of the 100 best places in the U.S. to visit, it still would come much closer to making the list than Washington, if not for the extensive list of monuments there. I can't think of anything noteworthy about Roanoke, except for perhaps the Center in the Square area, which has a science museum and other attractions.

At any rate, the flight was scheduled to arrive at 11 p.m. or so, so I knew I was going to be up past my bedtime. It takes more than two hours to drive there from my house in Sparta, most of which is on the interstate. Interstate driving isn't exactly a pic-nic, but you know, I don't think it would be sensible to travel so far on the winding mountain roads that lead over the infamous Bent Mountain.

I don't know if you've ever ridden down Bent Mountain, but it seems more suited to skis than motor vehicles.

At any rate, I arrived at the airport an hour early, which is much better than on time. Unless, of course, you find yourself at a small regional airport at night. There wasn't anything to do there, except for watching people sleep in the waiting room, ride up and down the escalator with someone's lost six-year-old or chat with the security guard (who seemed almost as bored as I was).

I also had a bit of entertainment from listening to one of my fellow waiting-room pals snore like a buzz-saw. Since it was late and I was already feeling impatient, tired and generally aggravated, I wasn't really in the mood for his original concerto in S major.

If ever there was a case for outlawing public snoring, he was it. The sound reverberated through the walls like an earthquake on the exhale, with his inhale sounding like an asthma attack. At one point I actually considered doing him bodily harm, but opted against it. Instead, I walked by every few minutes and feigned a coughing fit to give my over-worked ears a break.

It worked about half the time, the rest of the time he was snoring too loud to hear me cough. I figured out that I could have more impact if I caught him on the inhale. I think if I were snoring that loud I would wake myself up, but I don't guess you really know how loud you can snore unless you have someone tape it for you. Perhaps that could be the punishment for public snoring — to be forced to carry around a CD of your own snoring noises to listen to whilst you were awake.

Just for fun, every once in a while I would run over to the window and yell, "da plane, da plane" in my best Fantasy Island Tattoo voice. After the first three times someone threatened to kill me, so I decided that silence was next to providence and tried to be quiet for a few minutes. Having further alienated myself from the others in the little waiting area, I decided to go downstairs (down escalator in this case) for a cup of coffee. I approached my old friend Mr. Security Guard and asked him where the café might be. He laughed at me.

"Right behind the escalator next to the bathrooms," he said. Having no understanding of the humor in the situation, I traveled around the escalator to see for myself. There, in a darkened nook surrounded by the light from the main corridor, I found the ‘café.' It was a Maxwell House coffee machine, sitting with a Coke machine and another vending machine. I dutifully pulled out a dollar bill and proceeded to find out that every dollar I had was wrinkled beyond the comprehension of the machine. To me, it looked like a dollar. To the machine it might as well have been an I.O.U.

So I searched around for a few minutes and found a dollar changer on the side of the escalator beside the shoe-shine stand, vacant at this late hour. I did notice that it cost $5 to get a pair of boots shined. Inflation hits again.

The changer also refused to help. As I was about to give up, a sharply dressed man in his mid 40s approached, ruffled through a stack of crisp ones and fed one into the machine. I promptly asked him to trade me and, after a few seconds of doubt, he decided that it is better to be nice to the odd man who stands in the dark area behind the stairs.

With a gleeful laugh that the other fellow seemed to notice, I approached the coffee machine. Surely now it was defeated. I fed in the dollar and pushed several buttons, including the caffeinated button, extra strong button and the lightener button. I then read the little display that said, "Use correct change." The coffee was 95 cents per cup and the machine refused to just keep the nickel and fork over the coffee. Since it was out of nickels, it was also pretty much out of coffee. I then went to the security guard and requested change for a quarter. To get rid of me, he gave me 20 cents.

About midnight I received a call from my friend, whose plane had been delayed for some unknown reason. I had my trusty cell phone with me, which conveniently had a nearly expired battery at the time.

The thought of sleeping in the airport with all the other hapless travelers made me wince, especially after sitting and listening to Mr. Snore-box for about two hours. I went out to get a room and discovered that everyone wanted $80 per night. "But it's already 12:30 a.m.," I pointed out. "Can't I get it for half price?" They assured me I could not. So I traveled about 10 miles further and found a room for $40. Then next morning I awoke and drove to the airport (again). Considering the hotel bill and other expenses, I guess I should have just driven to Washington to start with. Then again, I don't think my version of Mr. Smith goes to Washington would have made a hit.

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