As I was working on my racing schedule for the 1989 season, I noted that there was a great opportunity in October to build in a visit with my youngest sibling, Bob, who lived in San Francisco at the time.

The trip started with an Indy car race at Laguna Seca Raceway just outside of Monterey, CA. I was then scheduled to cover an IMSA sports car event at Del Mar Racetrack near San Diego the following weekend.

I often stayed out West between races when there were consecutive events in the same area, rather than spend the time and money to fly back and forth to New Jersey.

Bob is as big a baseball fan as I am and I got really excited when I realized my visit to San Francisco was going to coincide with the SF Giants-Oakland A's World Series. In those days, AP was allowed to buy a small allotment of tickets to the Series and I called my boss in NY Sports to see if any were still available.

Lo and behold, I was able to buy two grandstand seats for a game at Candlestick Park. Bob was elated when I called to tell him.

I arrived in San Francisco the night before the game and Bob suggested we leave the car at home and take an express bus to and from Candlestick.

"It's just so much easier," he noted. "No parking worries or expense."

We walked the mile or so from his apartment in the Haight-Ashbury District to Market Street in the downtown area and jumped onto an express bus headed to the ballpark. Cheap and easy.

We made it to Candlestick in time to watch batting and fielding practice and just enjoy the general ambiance of what was a beautiful evening.

Our seats were great, almost exactly between home plate and first base and only a few rows behind the box seats.

The game was just about to start as the A's were coming off the field to get ready to line up for the National Anthem when there was a low rumbling sound. At first, it just sounded like a big truck rolling past. But it kept building in volume and the entire stadium began to shake.

Bob, who was a real Californian by that time, looked at me and said matter of factly, "It's just an earthquake." But, as it seemed to continue to rumble and shake for a long time, his face turned white and he gripped my leg with his left hand - hard enough to hurt.

We were sitting in the middle of a long row of seats with nowhere to go, and I looked up and saw the upper deck overhang, just above our heads, swaying wildly at that point. My senses were fully activated and I seemed to see and feel everything all at once.

I noticed the light standards swaying like huge palm trees and the field itself appeared to ripple under the feet of Oakland stars Jose Canseco and Mark McGuire, very big men who were momentarily lifted a foot or two into the air as they strolled in from the outfield.

It was only a few seconds, but it seemed much longer before the noise and the movement stopped. The quiet afterwards was just as eerie. Then the crowd came to life, talking and moving and looking around frantically.

Bob and I didn't know what to do at that point. We squeezed out of the row of people and walked up to the rim of the stadium to see if we could spot any damage around the area. We found ourselves just above the players' parking lot and watched as several Giants players, still in uniform, ushered their families into cars and sent them on their way.

By this time it was clear that the game was not going to be played. Somebody near us, who had been listening on a transister radio, said, "It was bad. One of the bridges is partially down and there's fires."

I had no credential, but I decided to see if I could get to the press box and perhaps find a way to help cover the situation. But I got no further than the entrance to the press elevator.

"You know, if there's an aftershock, it could be bad in the stadium," Bob said. "Let's get out of here."

We walked out and saw a very long row of buses waiting outside the gates.

"Which one do we go to?" Bob asked. "I said, "Let's just go to the first one and see where he's going."

It turned out the driver was just as anxious as us to get out of there and said, "I'm going to Market Street." We said, "Let's go!"

He drove out with only about 20 people on board. It was one hell of a ride, with most stoplights not working and people driving like maniacs. At one point, we got held up in traffic and the driver went up a down ramp and down the other side back onto the road, past the traffic snarl.

We made it to Market Street in what I felt was record time. As we got off, I asked the driver what he was going to do now.

"I'm going right over there and wait it out," he said, pointing to a candle-lit bar across the street. "I live in Oakland and I don't think I'll get home tonight."

Downtown San Francisco was surreal, with only headlights, flashlights and a few battery operated lamps lighting the darkness. People, apparently afraid to stay indoors, were gathered on the sidewalks, many of them listening to reports about the earthquake on radios or watching battery-operated TVs.

We got off the bus near the AP's office in a downtown high-rise and I tried to get there to see if they wanted some help. But the building was locked up. I tried calling from a pay phone, but there was no signal.

Finally, Bob and I decided to walk back to his apartment. His place was mostly untouched by the earthquake. And, amazingly, his phone was working.

First, I called home to let the family know I was okay. Judy sounded very relieved, although Tory had pointed out to her that it had been reported on TV that there were no injuries at the ballpark and that's where Bob and I were.

At that point, I called the General Desk, the AP's news hub in New York, and asked if they would like a first-person account of our walk from downtown to the Haight? I dictated a story, which made it onto the wire.

There was no electricity in the area, but I carried a hand-held Casio TV with me on the road. It had enough battery left to allow us to watch the aftermath of the quake for a while before heading for bed. Even the TV stations were on generator power and were using candles for light in the studio.

I was scheduled to fly to San Diego the next afternoon, but I wasn't confident the airport would even be open by then.

The next day, we took a walk to get breakfast. It was a warm, pleasant morning and, as we walked, we saw some evidence of the quake - bricks on the sidewalk, windows broken. But it didn't seem real.

I called the airlines and was told my plane was scheduled to leave on time.

"The plane and the crew are both here and the airport is open," the lady said. "You should be just fine."

I had thought about just keeping the rental car and driving to San Diego, avoiding what I figured would be a hassle at the airport. But when I called Hertz to ask if that would be a problem, I was told there was a $200 drop-off charge if I took the car to San Diego.

I knew my boss wouldn't be happy about that, so I decided to risk the airport. Big mistake!

There was no problem getting to the airport or returning the car. But, when I arrived at the check-in, I was told my non-stop flight to San Diego had (surprise) been canceled. Instead, I was put on a plane leaving about the same time to LA, with a connecting flight to San Diego.

Oh well. That's just the way it goes in the life of a traveling man.

The plane to LA, to my amazement, left right on time. And the connecting flight was waiting and on time. But, as we made the short hop from LA to San Diego, the pilot came on the intercom and said, "There's some fog in San Diego right now and we're going to have to circle for a bit and wait for it to clear off."

We circled for nearly an hour before the pilot came back on the intercom and said, "Sorry, folks. San Diego has closed the airport and we're going to have to go back to LA. But, don't worry, we'll have buses waiting for you to get you to your destination."

There were lots of moans and groans, but I shrugged my shoulders and said to my seatmate, "I guess we'll get there eventually."

After landing in LA, we were told to go out a certain door and wait for the buses. When we walked out that door, there were no buses and several hundred very unhappy people from several different planes clustered together and getting more pissed off by the moment.

Finally, after about 15 minutes, the buses arrived in a convoy. People began pushing and shoving and swearing, trying to get to the first bus in line. After about a minute of this chaos, a uniformed man - possibly a pilot - stood in the doorway of the first bus and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Shut up!"

To my amazement, everyone went silent.

At that point, the man said in an authoritative tone, "This is the way it's going to work. People from flight ??? will line up and get on the first bus. Those from flight ??? will do the same for the second bus" and so on.

And, again amazingly, that's exactly what happened. Chaos turned to order and people actually began to line up. We showed our boarding passes at the door of our appointed buses and were quickly on our way..

Once on the bus, I wondered where in all of this was my suitcase, which I had checked. "Oh well," I thought, "I can always buy a toothbrush."

The two-hour bus ride took us to the San Diego Airport where we actually found our luggage waiting for us, apparently trucked on ahead.

By this time, it was around 3 a.m. I went to the Hertz counter and found a long line of people waiting for cars. And one person on duty.

That poor guy had to check everybody in and then bring the cars up from the parking lot. It was a very slow system and he was catching hell from some people, which slowed it down even more. I finally got to my hotel in La Jolla at around 4:30 a.m. I jumped into bed, set my alarm for 7 and caught a couple of hours of sleep.

I had to be at the track in Del Mar for the start of practice at 9 a.m. and I was a total zombie that day. But I did get there. It had certainly been one of the more interesting days of travel I ever had.

And, sitting at my work station around mid-morning, it occurred to me that, if I had kept the car and paid the drop-off fee, I would have had to explain it to my boss, but I would have been in San Diego hours ahead of that bus.

Oh well, the exigencies of business travel.

And, by the way, I left the ticket stubs with my brother and he and a friend wound up going to the game when it was finally played the following week. Bob then sent me the ticket stub as a souvenir. I still have them.