Not long ago my husband and I flew to Minnesota for a family wedding. I'm not fond of flying and only do so when there's no good alternative. It's not a fear of crashing; it's that I feel claustrophobic on a plane. Forget about the science! I wish those windows would open! But I try to keep my sense of humor handy, along with a little bottle of prescription drugs. When we arrived at DIA for our flight to Minneapolis, I noticed a TSA agent walking around with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. My first thought was that he was having a really bad day, which for some reason I found funny. Of course it was probably appropriated from a badly informed passenger, but it helped my mood.
The security lines were long. Back and forth through the cattle stiles crossing paths with the same people, I couldn't help trying to catch their eyes as if to say, "We have to stop meeting like this." And then-the favorite part of my flight, the pat down. Since both my knees have been replaced they set of all kinds of alarms. I'm not complaining, exactly; I understand that they have to do it. I am certainly an unlikely looking terrorist, but what better disguise, right? So I don't mind. Well, I do mind, but I accept and understand that it has to be done. I have a much better attitude than some other flyers, those grumpy elitists who complain about having to remove their shoes. Puh-lease!
As we soared smoothly through the air at 36,000 feet my husband and I talked about how great it would be to see our Houston daughter who was also flying in for the wedding. Thinking about what's waiting for me at the end of the flight is one of my tools for dealing with claustrophobia. When the drink cart showed up I ordered a simple tomato juice with ice. (Low calorie, but oh so high in sodium--980 mg!) I poured some into my cup of ice, prepared to take a sip and proceeded to pour it on my shirt on the way to my mouth. It's like I'd never drunk from a glass before. I blame the trapezoidal shape of those plastic glasses. You hold onto the narrow bottom and are fooled into thinking the top is not as wide as it is. I dabbed at the stain with an ice cube and then blotted it with my tiny cocktail napkin. The stain wasn't going anywhere. At the same time we were given drinks, the flight attendant handed us each a wee little bag containing (as stated on the label) Pretzels, BBQ Corn Stix and Garlic and Onion Soy Nuts. My husband opened his bag while I was de-juicing myself, peered in and remarked that he drops more food than this on the floor when he eats. "There's just enough here to get stuck in my teeth." No longer in quite as good a humor, I suggested he could ask for a second bag as I wasn't giving him mine.
After two more hours squeezed into our seats, we had both finished nursing our drinks, eaten the leftover ice, finished a crossword puzzle and played a few hands of rummy. We were ready to land and begin the weekend. It turned out to be a beautiful wedding and lots of happy memories were made.
That particular trip could only have happened by flying there and back. But my preferred way to travel is by car. Ah, the freedom of driving! No security lines, no pat downs and no claustrophobia. When I fly, I feel cheated in a way. I get from point A to point B with no sense of what lies between. There is a lot of history to be found along the highways. Some roads follow old wagon trails and Pony Express routes. Highway markers often have fascinating bits of story to tell. And there are so many interesting places to stop along the way. How else would I find myself at the Russell Stover Factory Outlet Store in Kansas? You can't get
there by flying unless you takea crop duster. It's a wonderful place full of bargains you can hardly believe. (My best purchase was two cases of 36 dark chocolate Buzzard Eggs with a maple filling for $1.99 a case. The 'eggs' couldn't be sold retail because they were each a teeny bit off on the 1oz weight.) If you happen to be driving through Kansas City, stop for some authentic KC barbecue of 'burnt ends' in a tangy sauce. At one stop for gas we visited a winery and took away a red and a white, both made locally.
Even unexpected problems while driving can turn into great experiences. (This is not usually true when flying!) Coming back to Colorado from Wisconsin last Thanksgiving, we got caught in a road-closing blizzard on I80 and found ourselves in a little no-name motel a couple of miles from the nearest town. We felt fortunate to get a room at all, so didn't complain about the lack of amenities. With no restaurant in sight, the owner called each room and invited everyone down to the lobby for homemade potato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. We brought along some packaged cookies to share and so were excused from putting any money into the donation cup. The soup was a little thin but was steaming hot and tasted delicious. We sat or stood as we ate, a little band of stranded travelers assembled by chance for a few short hours. The owner had a tiny Chihuahua that we oohed and aahed over, some stories were shared and the lobby was made available for games or conversation along with a fresh pot of coffee. By the time we ventured back outside and made a run for our room, the back end of our car was buried in a drift.
The wind howled all night and I80 was still closed in the morning. The motel owner informed us that the road into town was open, so we decided to try and find a place for breakfast. What we stumbled on was a small café in the middle of the two-block strip of downtown. When we walked into the warm dining area, most of the large round tables were occupied not by stranded travelers (I guess we were the early birds at the motel) but by locals. The cook/host/owner called out to us from the galley kitchen to help ourselves to coffee. "The mugs are on the wall." He delivered some plates of food and then stopped by our table to take our order and to let us know that we could pay by leaving our money in the basket by the cash register. "Feel free to make change."
What kind of alternate universe had we fallen into?!? One of the locals came over to our table, pulled up a chair and visited with us for a while. We discovered that the café was kept unlocked and the first person to arrive (usually around 4 am) put on the coffee and shoveled the sidewalk if necessary. There are a lot of farms in the area, and farmers and local merchants convene early almost every day for pancakes, homemade cinnamon buns and all the town news. This is a side of America we don't see often enough on the evening news. The highway reopened at 11 am and we finished the rest of the trip without event, other than our ritual stop at Ole's in Paxton for some wonderful Nebraska beef. It's true that the weather delay got us home a day late, but what a little adventure our trip had become.
Oh, I know I'll probably have to fly again. But there's nothing like a long leisurely road trip to make you appreciate America with all its variety. And if you're lucky enough to discover a restaurant that operates on the honor system, introduce yourself to the folks at the next table. They'd love to meet you.