James has always wanted to go to LibertyCon.

LibertyCon has been going for 36 years now (having skipped 2020, of course), initially held in July, hence the name (there were three years it was held in May and for the last few years it has been reassigned to June). It is a small convention with a membership cap, and many of our friends have been going for years and years, until basically now it's like a fannish family reunion.

2020, James decided, was the year we were going to go. He bought tickets. And, of course, shit happened, and everyone's memberships rolled over to 2021. 2021 we were unable to go, and they rolled it over for us. Well, in 2022 we were unable to get hotel reservations in time. At this time, the convention was being held at the Marriott Hotel connected to the Chattanooga Convention Center, but the Marriott isn't pet friendly. However, the Staybridge Suites (our favorite hotel) at the other side are, and it costs more to board the critters than it does to pay the pet fee, so we wanted to bring them—Snowy has always loved "little rooms with teevee"!

But James waited too late to get reservations.

He managed to talk them into rolling us over one more time. It must be all that customer service he learned for IBM tech support.

But this year we were in and we were going to go.

I have to be truthful: I was ambivalent about it. Trips are hard on me now; since James' back and knee makes it that I have to do all the carrying, there's a lot of work for me. I have lists upon lists so we don't forget anything important, including his medical supplies which include bandages and tape in case his legs get a blister, the insulin, water for Tucker so he doesn't get diarrhea from strange water, etc. Plus, this is basically a science fiction writers con. I started out on Heinlein with some Asimov, but don't read any modern SF. There were a few writers' panels, but basically I'd be there to chat with friends, which would be the good part for me.

Let's not even go into having to travel in the summer...

So we packed a little day by day, and I had a long lead time to take stuff down to the truck; since we couldn't check in until three, we didn't need to leave until after noon.

We left at one and should have left earlier: Chattanooga used to be a nice 75-minute drive, now until you get out of the Atlanta metro area it's a morass of traffic. The freeway was backed up, so we tried the highway instead and, of course, traffic lights. Plus we hadn't covered the bed of the truck and we ran in and out of rain during the nearly two hour trip. Apparently Interstate 24, which splits west at Chattanooga and was the way we had to go, is always backed up during daytime hours. Of course Waze took us through teeny city streets, including one steep hill on which I was convinced the chair lift was going to scrape bottom.

However, we made it to Staybridge unscathed. Dropped all the stuff in the room, took Tucker for a walk—alas, Snowy never got to see another "little room with the teevee"—and then hurried to the convention center to get registered as there was a panel tonight that James really wanted to see.

Staybridge is literally across the street from the convention center; you can just enter at that end and walk the length of it—we didn't know that at first and walked the outside till we found a way in—a big long hall with meeting rooms on one side and big exhibit halls and banquet halls on the other (with more meeting rooms as well). I think at least six different exhibitions can be held here. When we got there there were two different church groups; one stayed all weekend. Also a hunting exhibition was there on Saturday. LibertyCon was all the way down the long hall at the Marriott end.

There was, alas, no food. The restaurant was horribly expensive—seriously, $26 for meatloaf?—so we ate some sandwiches from the downstairs café. I went to see a panel given by a woman who now works for child advocacy groups, but she was talking to us about serial killers. She is the daughter of a psychiatrist and a psychologist, and spent part of her childhood at the nurses station in a mental hospital. Her dad was one of the shrinks who examined Albert DeSalvo (the Boston Strangler, for those of you who didn't grow up hearing about this dude on the news).

James was at a panel about "Guns of the Future," so I went back to Staybridge to take Tucker out before dark, then came back to the hotel. The panel James was looking forward to, "No Shit, There I Was," was at nine, but I wasn't all that interested. I had my tablet with me and I found a nice little nook off the hotel lobby and sat and edited a manuscript until he was done.

The Staybridge room (James got the baby suite, with a separate bedroom) was quite nice and they have feather pillows. As always, there is a little kitchenette and dishes and pans, stove, sink, even a tiny dishwasher, and a living room together, then the bedroom, and the bath, which was handicapped accessible, had a pocket-panel door. This was good. However, I was a bit ticked at a jerry-rigged repair. The roll-in shower had a low shower head, for a person in a wheelchair, and then a higher, removable shower head on a long vertical pole which, theoretically, could be adjusted high or low. But the handle that kept the shower head up didn't tighten, so it slid down when you had a shower, and, because the hook that fastened the removable shower head to the pole was broken, they had made loops to hang it with two zip ties!!! And they didn't even clip the ends, so we both nearly poked ourselves in the eye several times.

Oh, and body wash. I hate body wash. Give me a nice bar of soap every time. I hate "pump, pump, pump," wash one arm, "pump, pump, pump," wash the other arm, "pump, pump, pump," wash your stomach, on and on and on. We had soap with us, but there was nowhere in the shower to put it down. Sigh.

Labels: conventions, travel

----------------------------------------------------------------
. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:58:00 PM

Comments: Post a Comment