Great Plain Circle Farmer meets Apache Pyrmid Builder

0930PM, Thursday, January 28, 2010

I decided to check-in and prepay my checked baggage the night before my flight. I was planning on leaving Olney around 2:00AM to catch my early morning flight to Phoenix. As I pulled up my itinerary I noticed that I had two flights booked. One was my original flight through Memphis and the other through Minneapolis both ending in Phoenix. Sure…I was confused. I made a phone call to see which flight was actually mine. I was informed that my flight was canceled and the second one, through Minneapolis, was my new flight. To confuse matters more I was now flying on a Northwest Airlines flight on a Delta jet operated by Frontier Air Services. I was really looking forward to getting to the heat of Arizona as soon as possible…but now it would be five hours later than I wanted. Oh well. No harm done.

0900AM, Friday, January 29, 2010

I enjoy flying. I enjoy the airport. There is something mysterious about the whole thing. Everyone is busy. Buses and taxis are lined up in front. The smell of jet fuel adds to the anticipation of everything. Airports buildings interest me. They are all the same once you’re in the secure area, but the terminal is always something unique. They are vestiges of a better time in our country; a time when travel was new, exciting, and romantic. Much like the countless Union Stations around the country, airports too are city specific and intended to lure the public into the door and out to the world. The terminal at St. Louis is nothing spectacular, but the large open space with gaping archways throughout is unique to a city which as one pilot mentioned is the only city that comes with its own handle.

Airport security has always been an adventure for me. It started early today with a pretty complete search of my truck before I could park. Because I’m a slight creature of habit I park in the same section of the garage. I was here in August, September, and now January. I’m not kidding you when I tell you that I parked next to the same car each time. It is a red 70’s something Cadillac with four flat tires, expired plates, and a pretty thick covering of dust. Others have noticed this long term parker as well and have started to write dates in the dust. I found my two previous dates that I wrote and I added today. Knowing what I pay to park there for a weekend, I’d hate to get the bill for that car. Once inside I had no idea who to check in with. Delta? Northwest? Frontier? I picked Delta since that is who I remember paying…and I was right.

As usual, the security screening was fun. After I remove my shoes, took off my belt, and put everything on the x-ray thingy I figured I was done. Of course not. I was once again taken aside for the pat down. It always happens. I’m used to it. But it got interesting this time since my belt was not with me and I was not allowed to put my hands at my side. The TSA lady almost got more than she bargained for.

I’m sitting here at my gate listening to people who are delayed, canceled, or otherwise stranded. And just where were these people going? Memphis. I guess it’s a good thing that my bankrupted name-changing altogether confusing airline changed my flight last night. I’ve never been to Minneapolis before…dontcha know…

1030AM, Friday, January 29, 2010

My flight was a little late to Minneapolis leaving me about ten minutes to switch planes. I had no idea where I was going, but I was running to get there. Of course, I had to go just about as far as I could go…and it seemed that the entire Minneapolis airport is up hill. After the quickest bathroom break ever I made it on the plane. Last one on!

It was three hours to Phoenix. For three hours I sat in the middle of a family of morons. It was like the Griswold Family Vacation to the American Southwest. The two kids were homeschooled and taking a two week trip out west to learn hands on stuff. (I have nothing against homeschooling, but it needs to be done right.) The young son was sitting against the window commenting about the fields below. From the air it is easy to see the large circles created by the irrigation systems used in fields. The son pointed out the “crop circles” and the dad said…I kid you not, “Well son. Farmers in the Great Plain states do what is called circular farming. It is easier for them to drive their tractors in big circles than it is to turn around at the end of each row.” AND THE KID BOUGHT IT. What bothers me more is that the father believed it too! I wanted to tell the father that sometimes it just best to say, “Huh. That’s pretty neat. I wonder why there are circles.” Oh well.

As we passed over the rugged mountains of Arizona it was the daughter this time that pointed out the beautiful topography. Once again Father Know It All chimed in with a history lesson. He said, “If you look closely kids, you’ll be able to see the great pyramids and temples that the Native American peoples build to worship their god.” I must have given him a “wtf” look because he asked me if I was from the area. I told him I was from a big circle farm in Nebraska. My tractor only turns left. Then I pointed out the window and said, “Look kids! Parliament…Big Ben!” There are some people that really should breed.

0500PM, Friday, January 29, 2010

I changed into my sandals before walking outside. I love seeing palm trees and cacti in January. J