Things went easily enough at first. I had checked in online and printed my boarding passes from home, so I could just go on through security. The TSA folks were very friendly that day, unlike the last time I went through there so many years ago. I stopped off at a newsstand for a couple cold drinks and a snack.
That's when the "goofy" started. The appointed time came and went; no airplane. I started to get concerned, and could see the itinerary unraveling in a string of missed connections. Finally, it arrived about half an hour late. There had been weather problems. Thankfully, they were able to hustle the turnaround and get us aboard quickly.
This was a weird departure for me. The last time I'd gone down this runway, it was in an airplane I was piloting. But that was three years ago. This time, someone else was driving. Anyway, we screamed aloft with no hiccups. Once we were at altitude, I started giving the iPod and the Bose headset a good workout. They worked very well indeed. On we flew, over the Gulf of Mexico. I could see fellow passengers craning their necks, trying to see if they could see oil down below us. (What I did see at one point was a close-up view of one of JetBlue's more recent color schemes, as an A320 whizzed past just below us.)
Houston looked to be coming out of some weather. We came on in and toddled to our gate. We'd only lost about 20 minutes in total. Be that as it may, I thought it would be wise to hustle on over to my next departure's concourse, so it was up the stairs, onto the shuttle train, and off. Turns out that was wise. As I was sprinting to the gate, they'd just commenced boarding. I rapidly bought a bottle of Diet Coke for the flight (not helped, of course, by a slightly leisurely transaction in front of me) and waited. Finally, it was time.
Continental's seat selection system threw me a curveball at first; if you want an "extra legroom" or exit row seat, those are held until 24 hours before the flight, and you buy that extra legroom when you check in. I didn't like the idea, but I remembered the last time I'd been on a 757-300, I'd been crammed into a space for four hours, and hated it. I popped for the very first row in coach, and it was money well spent. No stowage in front of me, but that was no hassle, and I liked the lack of claustrophobia. I had two very nice seatmates, too. It wasn't a bad way to spend four hours. I had my tunes, I had a good headset, I had something to drink (and they supplied us with something to eat on the plane), and I'd brought some things to work on. It's four hours from Houston to Seattle, and last year it felt like a sentence. This year, it wasn't bad at all.
We landed at Seattle, and the nice thing was, this flight continued on to Anchorage. We had about an hour's layover, and we had the option of getting off the plane for a bit. This was my immediate seatmate's destination, but the guy sitting in the aisle seat stayed in his seat and we talked for a minute. I told him I was going to get out and stretch my legs, and asked him if he wanted anything while I was out. He said he didn't need anything, but thanks. So I took my bag with me, went landside, used the bathroom and stopped off for a quick bite, and got a quick picture or two.
Then it was time to get back on board. When I got back, the guy was gone. I figured he'd gone out to do what I did. A few minutes later, they closed the door and we were pushing back. I had no seatmates. I had the entire side of the plane to myself. Better than first class!
We soon screamed aloft once again. Climbout took us directly over Boeing Field and the Museum of Flight. I looked down and cooed at Queenie, who's still as lovely as ever, as we flew over.
I'd brought a copy of John Henry Faulk's Fear on Trial to read on the flight. I'd had it forever, but had never had time to read it. It turned out to be an excellent traveling companion, and I finished it on this leg. Most of the flight, I just stretched out and let the scenery crawl past, knowing that we were headed to a place I loved but had let lapse. A couple hours into the flight, though, I started to get those old feelings back. The wonder of it all started to get to me. I punched up the song beloved by astronauts, "Southern Cross," on my iPod. (The line "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you'll understand now why you came this way" -- always gets me.) I could look out at our wing, at the big Rolls-Royce turbofan working away out there, at all the beauty beneath us, at the lovely evening sky, and it was perfect somehow. The flight was great, the cabin was quiet, and life was indeed good.
Soon I looked out and the scenery was becoming familiar. Then there was Turnagain Arm out there, the familiar esses of the Seward Highway I've traveled so many times. The runways at Merrill Field out in the distance. And then, out on its own corner, Anchorage International. We descended, turned a dramatic base past Fire Island, and then came on in. The 757-300 has seriously good brakes, as I was reminded after we landed.
So, there we were. I was back in Alaska after three years. I'd been told by my friend to call him once I was there, because the parking situation was goofy. But, sure enough, there he was, standing in the terminal waiting for me. There was some comedy as we struggled with a balky parking garage pre-pay unit that tried to eat my friend's ticket and cash, a situation that required the intervention of a couple of people and the completion of some paperwork. (Isn't automation great at reducing the amount of human intervention and paperwork? I didn't think so, either.) Finally, we could depart.Midnight had passed already, but, with it being summer in Alaska, it was still sort of bright out. It's a measure of my innate sense for the place that it didn't disturb me any. The midnight sun let me get a good look at everything I'd missed seeing for so long as we drove out of town.
Adventure was coming tomorrow. For now, though, it was time to get rest. This traveler was joyous, but weary, and a comfortable bed with warm blankets awaited. Adventure could wait.
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