Column: Indiana, hoops and al Qaeda

Traveling on The Chronicle's tab to cover Duke sporting events is probably the greatest benefit the paper gives to its volunteer writers. I've always wanted to write a column to recount some of my experiences, to tell of how a Salt Lake City Denny's turned into a eccentric dance club at 2 a.m. seemingly in between bites of my waffle, my time with the girls at Tennessee ("Wow you go to Duke and you have dimples"), the clubs at Florida State that will probably be the closest I'll ever come to being inside the Playboy mansion, or even the Santa Fe hippies who trained cats to ride dogs. The only negative experience I have ever had was my 10-hour trip from Charlottesville to Durham during a blizzard that saw me nearly get run off the road purposely by a maniacal liquid nitrogen truck driver.

But my journey last Saturday to cover the women's basketball team's opening game against Texas at the State Farm Tip-Off Classic hosted by Purdue University is an epic that cannot wait to be told.

The trip started off horribly. Catherine Sullivan, the other writer traveling with me, and I arrived at the American Airlines desk to learn that our flight to West Lafayette had been canceled for the day. We were forced to book a flight on Southwest Airlines that had us flying into Indianapolis' airport, which is about an 1:15 minutes away from Purdue.

After waiting six hours in RDU for our flight and a lay-over in Baltimoe, Md., we arrived in Indiana at around 7 p.m.

After negotiating down his price to $100, we were off to Purdue, thinking our problems for the day were finally over.

About five minutes into the drive, our cabbie pulled out a cell phone and began speaking in a foreign language. In between what sounded like gibberish to me, he repeated over and over "West Lafayette" and "100 dollars." When he put his phone down I noticed the picture on the display of the phone was an African warlord in fatigues topped with a beret.

"I speak an African language," he said. "Swahili!"

I began to start rationalizing the situation, figuring this man had been a democracy freedom fighter in Africa and came to America for the love of liberty and freedom.

Then, after driving about 20 minutes and about five more similar phone calls, he claimed he needed to get gas, though his gauge read that he had 3/4 of a tank. After he exited the car, he grabbed the gas nozzle and then immediately disappeared beneath the car window. Suddenly the car began to shake back and forth.

"I have an emergency, we have a flat."

"Wait, you just popped that on purpose."

Before the driver could respond to my allegation, he began making more phone calls, repeating "West Lafayette" and "100 dollars" again. He then drove to the air pump which was about 20 feet away. By the time we arrived at the pump., the tire was completely flat.

We immediate got out of the car and began demanding his cab company's phone number. He continued to avoid the question, telling us that he had a "car" to take us to "West Lafayette" for "100 dollars." We continued to press him for numbers, and he eventually spat out some digits. Each number we called, including the numerals on the back of his car, either did not exist or had answering machines that gave no names.

Catherine and I then subtly retreated with all of our luggage to the Starbucks that bordered the shanty gas staton. We told the manager about our situation, and he immediately called for another cab to take us back to the airport so we could take the shuttle we had tried to avoid earlier. But before this legitimate cab arrived, our African driver's second car came. It was a junky cab car painted half yellow, half green that read Airport Taxi Company on the side and City Taxi Company on the back.

"Come on, we're going to West Lafayette for 100 dollars."

"There is no way we're getting in that cab. We have another ride coming for us."

"Then you owe me 41 dollars; that's what the meter says."

After arguing with the driver for a few minutes, the Starbucks manager asked us if we wanted him to call the police, which of course we said we did.

Within five minutes the police and the third taxi had arrived. After telling the police officer our story and after the cab driver denied none of it (including the allegation that he popped the tire on purpose), we were still forced to pay him 41 dollars. But there was some justice.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of these guys," the police officer said.

It was far from smooth sailing after the event: I lost my cell phone, had stomach complications from airport food, Catherine fell and gouged her knee while running early the next morning, and Duke lost to Texas in a sloppy performance by both teams.

I think it's safe to say I'll be content watching Duke games on ESPN for a while, because as Duke University Swahili professor Alphonse Mutima told my roommate after he recounted the story, "This is why you need to study Swahili. That man could have been Al-Qaeda!"