Penguins Blog, Tales from the Road: All 82! No Sleep, Hot Dogs, and the End

Covering 82 NHL games over six months in cities near and far was all things exhilarating, challenging, exhausting, and a few times dangerous, but here we are. There was the drive to Detroit through a torrential downpour for a game that didn’t happen, and an autumn motorcycle trip along Lake Erie through the New York vineyards, past the warm smell of childhood that is the General Mills Cheerios factory in Buffalo, but those were just warmups.

Pittsburgh Hockey Now, with this overly dedicated writer, covered all 82 NHL games and five preseason games (plus five AHL games) this season.

In a time when even the largest media outlets are cutting travel, we did it (We skipped the Sudbury preseason game and the Detroit make-up game, but those were preseason snoozers).

We made it to the finish line. I covered all 82.

I drove more than 6752 miles. Flew well more than 24,000 miles. And spent about 1300 miles on the train or bus.

The driving mileage doesn’t include taking scenic routes to break up the monotony, or the trips to Wilkes-Barre and Hershey, but it does include the educational roll through central Florida in a rental car.

If I took direct flights, I would have flown 23,937 miles. That total is probably closer to the Penguins’ charter total. I didn’t count my connections, which sometimes fly in the wrong direction before catching the connecting flight. Let’s add another 5,000 miles, eh? Nor did I include the emergency landing in Colorado Springs, when the pilot calmly used the intercom after storms forced us to circle Denver for an hour, “Uhhhhh, folks, we’re going to divert to Colorado Springs because we’re almost out of fuel. We’ll touch down shortly and get some gas.”

Thanks for not sticking that bird in the rocks?

From the beginning of the regular season, we didn’t miss a practice or game. Dave Molinari and Shelly Anderson are All-Stars with more battle scars than I will ever have and more than I want to have. They’ve been the backbone of PHN for the last few years. It’s a joy to work with them, even as they shake their heads as I veer outside the industry norms. Dave covered every home game, too.

Preseason Rev-Up

The preseason is usually enjoyable. I love motorcycle rides north, especially the ride to Buffalo through northern PA towns like Titusville, up to Northeast on Route 89. Then I’ll hit the vineyards, and even at 55 mph, the smell of the grapes on country roads is too much fun. In Buffalo, we’ll get a beef and weck special at Anchor Bar, cover a game, head back to a small roadside motel in the hills, then head home.

I also adore Columbus, and — shockingly — Detroit. It’s fun to walk around both cities. The Big Fun toy store in Columbus, which has every possible 1980s collectible from G.I. Joe to Star Wars and even the Turtles, annually drains my wallet for Christmas presents. I stock up on hot dogs in Detroit at Lafayette Coney Island, which remains untouched since the 1940s.

(I don’t recommend going back to Lafayette. They were closed for a second time by the health inspector in January. Next door is American Coney Island. Go there.)

However, the relaxed travel fun stopped there.

It Ain’t Easy

Some of the drives on the trek to 82 were downright dangerous. The tropical storm hung over the lakes and pounded me from Akron to Detroit on the preseason drive. Several times, traffic on I-80 slowed to 35 mph, and we hung on. The storm grounded the Penguins’ plane, and they didn’t make it.

So, I hopped in the car and drove home.

The most harrowing but impressive drive was getting through a rain and sleet storm with rolling fog in New York on Dec. 26. Visibility was minimal during rush hour, so imagine four lanes of expressway traffic leaving Manhattan, and we couldn’t even see the lines on the road. Everyone–thousands of New York drivers–kept their cool, and we all gave each other space. We made our own lanes between the concrete and the guardrails, and just drove straight ahead at 55 mph. I didn’t dare slow down lest I be the one to unleash carnage.

I’ve never been so happy to make it to Jamaica, New York.

Oddly, the only time I was in personal danger was Calgary. A late-night walk after a 10 p.m. touchdown put me in the path of some folks who were trouble. I walked the empty streets of Calgary on a late Sunday night until one guy peeled out of a little huddle after I walked by and made a beeline for me. I spotted him out of the corner of my eye and quickly squared up with my best intense look. It was the look my son was afraid of, even as an adult. I guess I wasn’t worth the trouble, and he went back to his cohorts. Weird, but I still turned toward the hotel immediately.

When it Rains, it Pours

When you travel, problems are rarely isolated. One problem is usually an omen of more to come.

The minor issue in Vancouver in early November that served as the harbinger was the hotel I booked. It looked nice online, had a nice rating, but was actually a backpacker hostel. I had my own bathroom, but that was where the comfort ended.

On cue, my flight itinerary for the next morning went off the rails. Since I was crossing a border and changing airlines in Calgary, I needed a new ticket issued by Delta in Calgary. However, the folks at the Calgary desk had to clean a plane, so they closed up for the day at 10 a.m.. There was no one to give me the new ticket when I arrived a bit late (yes, I use the apps, but the switch from WestJet to Delta across the border literally caused a computer crash).

As I stood at the empty Delta counter at 10:30 a.m. The counter folks at WestJet realized I was still their problem. It took an hour of customer service hell trying to figure everything out, but they finally found a route to get me home in under three days. I flew up to Edmonton just after 6 p.m. (7 hours later), then endured another five-hour layover before flying to Atlanta at midnight, followed by a 30-minute layover to get a plane back to Pittsburgh.

Hey, what’s a 30-hour ordeal stuck at airports? Atlanta is a huge airport, and I had a full sprint across a few terminals, but they upgraded my seat to first class, allowing me to get a few hours of real sleep. I even covered practice that day. I think.

No sleep? No problem. Dry shampoo and some deodorant are also must-haves in the briefcase for such situations.

Western Hell

Beginning Jan. 17, the trip from hell commenced. It was the Buffalo-Washington-LA-Anaheim-Seattle-San Jose-Utah trip. Buffalo and Washington were a back-to-back, so I Red Bull’d up and drove home after the Buffalo game. I arrived home at around 3 a.m., grabbed my backpack containing two weeks’ worth of clothes, and walked to Union Station to catch the 5 a.m. train to D.C.

The bad omens on the trip began immediately. The train was stuck in Connellsville for hours because of a freight-train accident on the tracks ahead. However, we got to D.C. in time for the game. Whew! Streak intact.

But after the game, I checked into my Booking.com room closer to Dulles Airport. It was basically an uncleaned sex pad with a dozen dying roses on the counter and half-eaten chocolates and garbage strewn about the kitchen. The bed was not made, and let’s just say it wasn’t clean.

Also, NEVER book those apartments on Booking. NEVER. Buried in the terms and conditions is the dispute policy. I complained. The people who owned the apartment declined my refund, and that was that. No appeal. Booking did nothing. Always book a hotel.

But the fun was just beginning. After a sleepless night, followed only by a quick nap on the couch in D.C. the next night, I passed out on the plane. I was one of the last off the plane at our connection in Denver, but someone swiped my backpack. I had to continue to LA with no luggage.

They left a crumpled, empty red and gray backpack where my overstuffed gray backpack had been. You don’t mistake the two.

After I took off for LA, I received a message that the Denver airport had found my backpack and promised to deliver it quickly. But they didn’t. After three days of dealing with customer service, which had an average wait time of one hour, they kept asking me to describe the bag. One poor guy called to say they found it (duh!), it had my medicine and sweaters. Could I describe the bag?

Seriously, dude? After wearing the same clothes for a few days, I probably smelled like a goat for a day or so.

Bryan Rust came bouncing into the locker room after practice in LA, stared me down, waited until I finished another interview, and yelled, “Hey, you get your luggage?!”

Even the players were laughing at my ordeal.

The rest of the trip improved, and I got to tour Hollywood (wow, that was disappointing), but Salt Lake City is absolutely stunning.

That’s it? THAT’s the Hollywood sign?

Honda Center in Anaheim

I tell ya, I get no respect

Flamingo Motel in San Jose. A hidden gem.

Salt Lake City is breathtaking

Favorites, FOOD!

If you look hard enough and sometimes get lucky, you can stumble into some lovely little spots, food, hotels, and even towns.

There’s a small town on the water near the 1000 Islands in Upstate NY, located just beyond the U.S.-Canadian border, called Brockville. There are a couple of 1.5-star chain hotels and some Bed and Breakfasts. The little town has a surprising number of coffee shops, including an English Tea House, a small microbrewery with good food, and a fun dive bar. It’s 50 minutes from Kanata/Ottawa Arena and 90 minutes from Montreal. It is an ideal little summer getaway. You can watch the sun rise over the lakes at the Days Inn for about $80 a night.

In Winnipeg, Cody Glass and I might be the only two people to ever admit to eating at this nameless little place in the shadow of the University of Winnipeg. It’s a small, concrete-block building where a slice of pizza, a styrofoam bowl of poutine, and a Diet Pepsi cost $6 CDN. It’s not great, but $6 CDN is about $4 US. Cmon.

Of course, I’m one of the few writers on the road who look forward to the Edmonton trip. It just fits me. The high-end food is affordable. The goulash at Bisro Praha is five-star (and costs about $20). The pizza in town is pretty good, including the donair pizzas, which are worth the visit. The local sports afternoon show started following my Edmonton eats–they enjoyed that I enjoy the town so much. Happy to help, boys.

Yeah, I love Edmonton, ya hoser.

I don’t only eat junk and childish food, I just don’t brag about good meals as often. Calgary has amazing steak. Alberta beef. Damn that’s good.

There’s a new restaurant on 29th and 6th in Manhattan called Skirt Steak. If you go before 6:00 p.m., it’s only $35. Skirt Steak has a long menu. They have skirt steak with frites, or skirt steak with Brussels sprouts. So, I got both. It was easily THE best meal I had on the road this year. The wine wasn’t so bad, either.

Also, I’ll take a Pat’s cheesesteak in Philly. The locals always whine that there’s some local spot that’s better, but I’ve had them all. Pat’s, all day.

I could give you a hundred references in Las Vegas. You’ll have to DM me for the longer list, but El Gordo tacos and Battista’s Hole in the Wall, and Siegel’s at El Cortez are my staples.

Denver has some great spots. Tarantula pool hall is a must. Sam’s No. 3 diner was on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Get the green sauce on a burrito or burger. Seriously, get the green sauce. It’s a good little spice, with the right texture, and it blends well with everything they put it on.

However, my favorite cheap eats on the road has a new winner. Luke’s in Chicago. Italian Beef. I may make a trip to Chicago this summer just to get some Luke’s. The grease to meat ratio with the spicy peppers and the soft bread are heaven.

THANK YOU!

It is a privilege to do what I do. You make it possible, and you have blessed me with continued readership and participation. You crack me when I need it (and I crack you, too).

At the end, it’s quite humbling to have done 82 games in a compressed schedule. The NHL didn’t make it easy. But we got there. I hope it was as entertaining for you as it was for me.

I think I got a few more stories because the guys saw me every day. A couple of them admitted to following me on X (or their families sent them my tweets), and I built some solid relationships. I think this radio guy finally punched his print journalist card.

But my season media credential is probably still lying on the Dallas metro train.

So it goes. Have fun.