Columbia Adventure (Part 2)

Daughter, Nikki, and I journey to the great state of South Carolina to witness her new hubby’s graduation from basic training.

We made it safely to LAX and found our seats on the plane on our first day out.

I have the window seat! YAY!

Nikki declined wanting to sit by it claiming that she was going to sleep anyway.

I opened the shade to find I had a perfect view. It was 100%...

…wing. :-(

Yes, I had a perfect view of the whole top of the wing, but I found if I really twisted around, I was able to see out the window behind me. And there was a bit of a view on the horizon to the front.

Nevertheless, the weather was perfect. It was a beautiful, clear warm day. As was banked south toward home after our west facing take-off, I could see the South Bay and Palos Verdes coastlines. It was exciting to jet over the coast. I could pick out Royal Palms and Point Fermin. I waved to Roxzi at home, and a minute or so later, to Jim, but we banked inland just before we passed his home on Balboa Island.

The mountains were brightly sunlit with tons of snow. It was absolutely gorgeous!

The pilot announced, what seemed just a few minutes later, Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon to our left (my side—yay!). I was twisted, I was turned, but I saw the red terrain and the snake-like a scratch in the ground that was the Grand Canyon. It looked so insignificant from so high up.

Further along, where those the snow-capped Grand Tetons? I’m guessing, yes.

I could see what appeared to be plains below, and huge snowy mountains ahead. The Rockies? Clouds? Definitely mountains… big, bright, beautiful mountains.

I couldn’t help but wonder as the mountains continued to grow to monstrous proportions before my eyes, could Huck make it to, around, over and beyond such terrain and back again? I think he can… I think he can… I think we can… whoa.

I didn’t see one cloud. But everything was white with still more peaks ahead. Geeze, that’d be a haul for Huck… I didn’t realize how big that range was!

Only once did I see a disturbing puddle of brown. A bubble of brown, so to speak, off to the left. Denver?

How daunting those mountains must have been to travelers not more than a hundred or so years ago and increasingly so to those before.

Rule Number One. While writing on commercial airline flights in economy class, especially if you are sitting by the window—never, never, never drop your pen.

Rule Two, make sure to have an extra one handy (for just such mishaps).

I managed to break both. There was no way I could reach my fallen instrument. I could see it, I move it with my foot, but no matter how hard I strained, there was not enough room for the snatch.

I couldn’t even reach my carry-on, which Nikki insisted I stash under the seat in front of me. I was merrily going to put my stuff in the overhead when she barked at me under her breath, “I don’t trust anyone on planes.”

“But it’s just my jacket.” (My good-ol’ Point Fermin windbreaker.) “Who would want it?”

“Put it under the seat,” my daughter demanded. “Put your bag under there too! I don’t trust anyone,” she hissed again as she looked around the cabin suspiciously.

I shook my head and smiled, “You’ve been living with your dad too long.” Then stuffed it all under.

Now the fellow sitting in the aisle seat was well equipped with a pen. He was busy working on business papers with what appeared to be something a bit more expensive than a Bic. He had smiled and been friendly enough when he boarded, but when I inquired if he may have an extra pen or pencil that I might borrow, he looked at me as if I were absolutely looney-tunes, and said flatly, “No.” He apparently was not amused at my excitement of being on an adventure.

Well, in that case…

… We all had to get out of our seats and clamor into the aisle. Only then was I finally able to reach my precious. I beamed with pleasure while I happily held it up for the fella to see. He did not share my enthusiasm. Good pens are loved.

Since I was already up, I decided to use the facilities. There was only one functioning head in the rear, so I got in line. Soon a very nice gentleman from Minnesota. queued in behind me. Right away, we struck up a lively conversation about where we might be. I quickly mentioned the possible Denver smog puddle, whereas eyes lit up and his bushy white eyebrows raised in inquisitive possibility.

Turns out, this very sweet and handsome white-haired gent had been visiting his son in Redondo Beach for three weeks. One of the three, he boasted, who put him up at the Marriott Resort on Coronado Island. He was so proud that the retreat was totally comped by is wonderfully successful son.

My fellow flyer looked a bit like an older Mr. Toebe. Kinda talked like him too (Mr. Toebe is from Michigan). He was regretting having to return to the harsh conditions back home, but he was truly happy and grateful for such a fabulous break.

I finally returned to my seat and settled in for the rest of the flight. I craned and wrote (and was very careful with my pen). Meanwhile, Nikki napped.

As we approached O’Hare for a transfer and a 90-minute wait, the pilot announced the weather conditions there were clear and sunny and a balmy 25 degrees. I noticed my feet suddenly felt cold.

Though my neck was stiff, my spirits were high and I couldn’t help but want to capture every moment of the patchwork country below us. From greens to reds, to browns, greys, and whites, and now many patches of blue… so many lakes and rivers! I didn’t want to miss a thing.

And Nikki napped.

Now, if I had been in the middle seat, I would have been crawling all over the body next to me to see… it’s just not something I get to do often enough.

I still find it hard to understand why daughter was not as intensely as curious about the journey itself as I was. After all, I’ve flown many times to many places (not as many as I’d like… yet), and she’d only been to San Francisco.

I was excited. I was free. I felt like I was in my element. It was great. I was loving every moment!