So the long journey began. I'd checked in from my friend's house, so I could go on through security. I cleared security okay (though not without a slightly embarrassing moment due to my own rusty travel skills when I paused in the magnetometer, waiting for direction, and the guy said "keep coming! don't stop!"). And then the long wait began. I killed some time looking around the trinket shops in the concourse, and bought a little something to eat. And I took pictures, too. Here a couple of 747 freighters takes a little breather:
And a busy day at the Alaska Airlines gates. Note the 737-400 Combi in the middle.
Aside from that, it was waiting and watching. And it was being in a sensory overload, too. Not only from the piped-in '60s music, sort of making you feel like you're listening to Armed Forces Radio Saigon (and what's with playing "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis in an airport terminal, anyway?), but from the omnipresent television monitors.
All tuned to CNN.
I can't begin to describe how jarring this was. This is going to sound like the damnedest thing for me to say, especially given my professional background and the things I've said about how important it is to know what's going on in the world. But, for the last week, I'd existed in a world where the basics mattered. All that mattered was the nature around me and the fundamentals of not getting myself hurt or eaten. My world had been blissfully free of concepts such as Barack Obama, BP, Mel Gibson, Glenn Beck, Lindsay Lohan, Harry Reid, Michael Steele, anyone named Kardashian, anything involving tea parties, anything having to do with poll numbers, anything having to do with the stock market. (And -- this may surprise some of you, but not me -- through this trip, and even with passing a few times through Wasilla, very little exposure to anything involving anyone named Palin.)
That had been my week. But now, as I sat in the concourse with nothing else to do but wait for my flight, the television monitors drilled into me. And being brought back to the crap that fills the modern 24-hour news cycle, where public policy is hyperactively monitored like the stock market and poll numbers are treated like the Dow Jones Industrial Average, where there's a relentless focus on what's hot and who's up or down right now and no thought about anything of any long-term significance, really turned my innards. I'd spent the last week in paradise, but what I was seeing on the monitors was like I'd just bitten down on a mouthful of beach sand. It made me feel like I wasn't in control any longer. I hated it.
Soon it was time to get on the plane. I'd popped for the bulkhead seat again, and ended up being in the last row to be called to board. (I joked with someone else leaving with us that I wondered if the airplane had been built with my row.) I was alone on my side of the airplane again, which was nice. It took a little while for me to get seated because someone wanted to use the lavatory right in front of my seat, and had ducked into my seating area for people to pass. I ended up having to crawl over the seats to get in. She got into the lav right when the call was made to take our seats so we could leave, and some drama ensued. Everyone else was ready to go, but this lady was still in the lav. The flight attendants kept knocking on the door and politely but firmly telling her to get out so we could go. This happened two or three times. Finally she got out and huffed back to her seat, complaining to her seatmate about how she'd never been treated that way before. (Yeah, I feel really sorry for you, ma'am.)
We took off from 32 and cruised along. As we began a slow climbing turn to the south, I looked down and saw a China Airlines Cargo 747 on a long final to 7L. I was able to follow it all the way down to touchdown, and that was cool. I always have mixed feelings about leaving Alaska, and while there was a little sadness and a little regret, I found myself more interested in watching that 747 than in mourning what was slipping beneath me. The sadness wasn't as strong this time. I felt more like I was just commuting instead. And maybe I am.
It was a pleasant flight to Seattle, and I got some work done along the way. (Note to anyone reading this at my place of employment: I did get actual work done while on this trip, so even if I don't get a per diem or anything, I'd like to count this as a business trip. Yeah, I know they won't buy it in the head offices, but it's worth a shot.) There were interesting sights, such as the brief period we flew formation with a UPS MD-11 about a mile below and to our left. At another point I could see a couple of cruise ships tooling along off the Canadian coast. Final approach took us low over Boeing Field and the Museum of Flight. Hello again, Queenie. (I'm coming to see you soon. I promise.)
Once in Seattle I had a couple hours to burn off. For several reasons, I began to regret not including a night's layover in Seattle. The airport Doubletree, where I'd stayed last year, stood over across the way and seemed to be calling me. I resolved to do something about it sooner rather than later.
In the meantime, there was nothing I could do at the moment but kill a couple hours. I went up to the Seattle Tap Room and relaxed with an Alaskan Amber and a plate of fries, thought about how good my life is that I get to do this, and started thinking about doing more travel before the year was out. Then it was off for some trinket shopping, and finally sitting and watching some airplanes and taking a few pictures at other gates.
A little before midnight, it was time to get on the airplane to Houston. Our 737-900 was oversold, and tasty offers were being made for volunteers to take a later flight. I thought for a moment about taking them up on it, but for obvious reasons they wanted people whose final stop was Houston. At any rate, it got sorted, and they started to board the flight. I waited and waited for Row 8 to be called. Finally, right when I thought it was going to happen, the gate agent called for "Rows 10 and higher." Problem was, she'd already called for that, and there were only a few of us left. We notified her of her error. She corrected herself and called for "all rows." So, with great gratitude, I dragged myself aboard and took my seat.
With the flight being full, I didn't think I was going to get the half of the row to myself, and I didn't. The good thing was that my seatmates were nice. Right next to me was a tall young lady who was very pleasant. And in the aisle seat was a guy from Texas, probably in his 80s, very long and lean, almost like a guy out of a movie. He wore jeans and a cowboy hat and a sport coat with a Wrangell, Alaska pin on the lapel. And he was a hoot. He told us about how he'd put his oldest boy on an airplane that morning for Ketchikan, Alaska and now he was flying back home to meet his youngest boy at the airport, and he was all airplaned out.
We pushed from the gate and the airplane started to spark it up for the flight to Houston. The airplane sort of didn't want to get started, so the ground crew brought out a '59 Edsel to jump-start the airplane. We lost cabin power for a second and the DirecTV system rebooted, but soon everything was fine again. Both engines were vacuuming along just fine. And, slowly, we taxied. The cowboy in the aisle seat made a comment about how slow we were moving, and I told him, "They're just gonna drive us a few miles back up to Renton so Boeing can work on the airplane."
And we took off. Houston was four hours away. I tried to get some sleep, but couldn't. I think I got all of about three minutes' worth on the flight. As we got closer to Houston, the cowboy made conversation with me about which landmarks we were probably getting near. I worried a little bit that he was waking half the plane, but it was still nice, and he was very charming. He kept calling me "girl," and there was something endearing about having a little Texas hospitality there.
Finally, in we came. The treetops got higher, the buildings got closer, the cars on the highways got bigger. Then perimeter fence, grassy area, runway threshold, and we were on the ground again. And soon we were at our gate, a few minutes ahead of schedule too.
Of course, now there was a new problem: four hours in the Houston
airport. Oh, blergh.
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