Meanwhile in the midwest . . .

I woke up in Dayton to disgusting cold weather and rain. I braved it all just to get a breakfast at McDonalds. Dayton was everything I remembered it to be -- sad looking buildings and all. When we reported to the airport, it would seem that Dayton was having the best weather in the entire region. Despite my numerous instrument approaches in the last few weeks, the weather has been decidedly un-winter-like. That all changed in a day. When I flew in to Appleton the previous day, I could see green grass on my approach. 24 hours later, 12 inches of snow covered the landscape. What was snow west of the lake was freezing rain and ice pellets to the east.

My deadhead from Dayton to Detroit was holding over the airport for almost an hour before finding a gap in the ice storm. Once there, we went to our assigned plane that we would fly to Chicago Midway. I was personally not looking forward to landing a jet in a Chicago snowstorm onto icy runways that are notoriously short. After setting up the flight plan, the gate agent came down and told us the flight was canceled. The captain and I gave each other a fist bump. Midway's runways were closed and nothing was getting in or out. I had just scarfed down a Potbelly's chicken salad sandwich and was now regretting this decision. Now I had over three hours to kill before attempting to fly another plane out to South Bend. The anger and stress was clear on people's faces in the terminal, so I tried to make myself scarce. Eventually we made it to South Bend after getting rattled around in fairly significant turbulence all the way in.

I had most of the day to relax before our scheduled report time of 5:00pm. This would soon get pushed to 10:00pm. I went for a stroll back to Notre Dame's campus. I was greeted by unforecasted snow flurries. The campus was fairly dead. Feeling a bit cold, I got excited when I saw a sign for Au Bon Pain. Glory be! -- an ABP! My enthusiasm for hot soup and pastries was soon dampened by the sight of chairs stacked atop tables. I had forgotten that students are on their winter break and everything is pretty much shut down on campus. Lunch would have to wait. I made a stop at the bookstore to warm up for a bit and then made my way over toward the stadium and a mural of what has come to be known as "Touchdown Jesus."





I received a text from the captain that stated our scheduled depart time had now jumped to after midnight. I looked back up at Touchdown Jesus. Perhaps he is not signaling a touchdown, but rather using his arms to gesture and say, "The plane was supposed to be over here in Atlanta, but in fact it's circling somewhere over there above Sheboygan. I eventually got lunch at an Irish pub called Fiddler's Hearth. As far as my ethnic food sampling goes, this seemed like a good fit other than the waitress who seemed annoyed when I ordered a water. Look, I know it's a pub, but it's also noon on a Tuesday. I didn't want to have to explain FAA alcohol regulations, so I left the whole, "I'm a pilot" bit out. Those Irish are just looking for a fight. Nevertheless, my piping hot shepherd's pie was a welcome warmup from the cold weather outside.

As our departure time kept fluctuating, I realized I had time to get some dinner as well. I went to a Thai restaurant with the confusing name of "Cambodian Thai." As there was nothing Cambodian on the menu, it would be akin to opening a deli and naming it "Mexican American." Nonetheless, I kept it tame and ordered Pad Thai. I asked for it spicy, which adequately cleared out my sinuses. It wasn't terribly flavorful, however. It had really good reviews on Yelp, so I was somewhat surprised at my disappointment, but then I reminded myself that I was in South Bend, Indiana. It's best to stick with the Irish pubs perhaps.

Ah, the Stress of Holiday Travel

We find our heroes in Michigan's upper peninsula. After a significant delay due to low visibility, we finally acquired the aircraft, flew it to Detroit, turned around, and did an approach to minimums in Escanaba, Michigan. The following morning, we all woke up at 5am in an attempt to take the first flight to Detroit and go home, or in my case -- New Jersey. Then the problems began. The weather automation system at the airport was broken, and since the airport is not towered, there was no one there to either fix it or create their own weather report. Thus I was stranded in Escanaba indefinitely. I seriously contemplated getting a rental car and driving to Green Bay or Appleton just to get out. The problem with this plan was the lack of a car rental company that was open. Eventually by sheer luck, or "prayers," as an elderly passenger claimed, the weather automation was back on line and the 11 of us that remained at the airport boarded a nearly empty plane and were off to Detroit.

Once in Detroit, I had to exit through security, take a bus to another terminal, reenter security, and run to my gate (which of course was at the farthest end of the terminal). It was Christmas eve and the airports were crowded and oversold on flights. Knowing I had basically no chance of getting a seat in the back, I asked for the jumpseat up front. It was a short flight over to Newark, where it was . . . 72 degrees on December 24th.

At any opportunity, I tried to get outside. Each day in New Jersey got a little bit colder. By the end, the temperature had dropped to the 50s (still unusual mind you). Nicole and I visited numerous parks, such as the one you see here in Verona. Nicole practiced her beam routine and was thankful the French judge was not there to deduct 4/10 of a point for that small bounce at the dismount. After that we went to a mansion in Montclair called the VanVleck House. It would normally have lush gardens and look very elegant. It is evidently popular as a wedding venue, but when we arrived, it looked haunted and spooky. I guess this is to be expected when it is December and everything is dead.









The next day, I was on six different flights. One to go from Newark to Minneapolis, and then five more flights that made up my work schedule for the day. This was the most I've ever done in one day. It was not too stressful, though, because I got to land at Appleton International, an airport that I have not landed at since 2001 when I was flying a Cessna 152. There was something poetic about returning to the place where I had my first solo. A lot has changed since then. A new terminal building was built, two of the airlines that used to fly there (Midwest and Northwest) no longer exist, and despite all my flight training being grounded after 9/11, going to school in D.C. for a degree unrelated to flight, attending graduate school in California for a degree unrelated to flight, and almost 15 years after that first solo, I had returned to the airport that started it all. It took a while, but it was worth it.

Up North In Da U.P.!

 After yet another approach down to minimums due to fog, we landed late at night in Marquette, Michigan. Perhaps the passengers sensed just how close we had come to aborting because more than one person said, "Thanks for landing!" on their way off the plane. Our shuttle driver to the hotel was a colorful local who was everything I hoped a "Yooper" would be. "Oh yeah, head over der if ya want da runs. And if ya head down this street a couple blocks, you go plonk!  . . . right in da god damn lake." Yoopers, for those who don't know, are the affectionate term for those folks living in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They are also a band who have created such classics as the following...

 Now that you are familiar, I shall recount my day in Marquette. I was fairly cold outside in the damp 40 degree temps, but this did not seem to phase the local populace. I saw two people wearing just t-shirts, and another wearing shorts. While small, I found the downtown area to be quite vibrant. Many people were frequenting the shops and restaurants. When I got lunch at a place called Donckers, I found it difficult to find a place to sit. I continued my stroll down toward the lake and followed a bike path toward a light house.

I couldn't get up close because apparently it's property of the U.S. government and currently controlled by the Coast Guard, but I was able to get a few photo ops from a distance. Flying for a regional airline definitely leads me to places I would never otherwise visit. You won't see 767s landing at Marquette anytime soon, but you could . . . the runway is over 12,000 feet long -- a relic of the Cold War when B-52s used to be based up here, ready to strike the Soviet Union if given the call. It was a quaint town -- certainly nicer than Dayton, but I suppose that doesn't take much.

As it got to be later in the afternoon, the fog started rolling in and I began to be concerned that the airplane I am supposed to fly this evening may have some difficulty landing here to begin with.

It would be unprecedented in my career if I got stuck somewhere. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can think of worse places to be stuck. I had to kill three hours in Detroit airport yesterday evening and it was like an eternity. At least the town has been welcoming and friendly. Marquette, I am pleasantly surprised by your small town. If I'm back here again, and there's three feet of snow and a temperature of -10º, I may change my mind, but for now, thanks for the hospitality.

Don't Be Hatin', Dayton

My flight into Dayton was the closest I've come to having to execute a missed approach (abort a landing to non-pilots). Throughout the flight, the weather continued to deteriorate to 300 ft overcast and fog started consuming the airport. As we started our approach, the tower called and said, "Skywest 4691, I cannot see the runway. Please advise when you're rolling out after landing." The fact that the tower cab was consumed by fog did not bode well for our landing prospects, but with just two seconds before we reached minimums, the approach lights came into view and guided us in the rest of the way to a smooth landing.

I woke up the following morning to sun coming into my window. The temperature was already 55 degrees. It sure beats North Dakota when it was just . . . 5. Because we arrived after 11pm last night, I did not have to report until early in the afternoon, so I set out to explore the city. Unlike Wichita, there were many people walking around the street of downtown Dayton. That being said, the people that were milling about seemed to be of questionable character. You know when you hear someone yelling as if they're in an intense argument, but then realize nobody else is involved in the conversation? That's Dayton. I didn't feel unsafe per se, just at a heightened state of alertness.

I was headed to the Wright Brothers bicycle shop on Dayton's west side. As soon as I crossed the
bridge to the west side, the scenery changed once again. The buildings were gutted, storefronts boarded up, and it was generally just run down looking. Fortunately it was just a couple blocks to the Wright Brothers shop. I felt while I was in town, I should pay it a visit because without them, my entire existence and obsession with all things aviation might have been channeled into something else like botany. The visitor's center supposedly opened up at 9am, well before my arrival, but like everything else in Dayton, it was shuttered, locked, and all but abandoned.

I suppose it's just as well. I can at least say I saw the outside. I can't imagine there being much to look at on the inside, anyway. I simply turned around and walked back to the hotel. Dayton appears to be trying to fix itself up and do the typical revitalization projects that are often seen in other big cities. They created a recreation trail along the river, but it looked poorly maintained and unused. They had bike rental kiosks that are trendy in places like New York, Chicago, or DC, but I can't imagine anyone ever using one. All in all, Dayton has potential, but I don't think people are all that invested in fixing it up. It's as if they've gone halfway and just quit. As a result, it looks like Brooklyn mid-gentrification, but able to retain all of its crappy characteristics, and no Trader Joe's or Whole Foods.

Today I fly to Lexington and will finish my day in Marquette, Michigan. I have a suspicion it's not going to be 55º up there.

Nort' Dakota

Now I can check North Dakota off from the list of states I have never been to. The only remaining states on my list are Oregon, Vermont, Rhode Island, and Arkansas. Exciting! I had four legs today and each of them required an instrument approach to land. Our second leg from Minneapolis to Brainerd is not even a long distance. The flight itself is little more than 25 minutes, but in that short span, the rain in Minneapolis morphed to snow in Brainerd. It was an alien-like landscape as we broke out of the clouds and saw white as far as the eye could see. The Unicom frequency called us and in a heavy Minnesota accent said, "You'll have to exit the runway down there at the end, that's the only one we've got plowed."

On the leg back to Minneapolis, Air Traffic Control stuck us in the middle of a massive cloud during our descent to the airport. The moisture built up very quickly. In a matter of minutes, there was a three inch layer of ice on the windshield wipers. The captain said he's never seen anything like it. I feel as though captains keep telling me things like this. Am I that lucky that I get to experience all these ridiculous weather phenomena in my first month on the line? It would seem that way...



The final leg of our journey took us to Grand Forks, North Dakota. After yet another instrument approach in one mile visibility, I landed with gusty winds onto a slick runway and we waited for the plows to clear a spot for us to approach the jetway. The captain remarked on the scene in front of us. "Why would anyone live here? Why would they put a flight school here?" The University of North Dakota has one of the largest aviation colleges in the country right here in Grand Forks. The other major colleges
are in California, Arizona, and Florida. . .you know, places one can routinely fly without having to wait for a plow. It has been an experience. During my walk-around, I almost slipped and fell on three different occasions. My hand nearly froze off and I have never felt so relieved to return to the jetbridge. Our hotel is some sort of Canadian chain with a waterpark inside along with about 6 restaurants. I placed an order for a cajun chicken wrap. I don't recommend it. Maybe I should have stuck with the poutine or some other Canadian-inspired fare. When I went to pick up my food, I almost wished I had just sat down in the restaurant to people watch. The male/female ratio was a bit skewed. If you are lonely and feel you desperately need a boyfriend, forget eHarmony. I mean, 10:1 odds are only slightly generous. I think I counted five females in the entire hotel. Three of them were working at the restaurant, one of them is our flight attendant, and the other one might have been a boy with long hair. I'm learning a lot about the United States, and how a large portion of the country is a lot tougher than I am. I simply cannot look out my window and be excited by any of this. It is a good reminder of why I live in California.

I'm Going to Wichita!

You know . . . like the song from the White Stripes? No? Ok... As far as I can remember, I had never been to Kansas before. I have come close on a few occasions -- most recently about 9 years ago when I drove my car from Wisconsin to California. I almost clipped the edge, but got to experience Oklahoma instead. This new job has brought me to many new places. As snarky and sarcastic as I am known to be, these places do fascinate me -- even if it's the sheer shock that anyone even lives there. For the record, Wichita is not one of those places. I didn't see much of it, but it is the 49th largest U.S. city by population according to the hotel's guidebook. The view from the Drury Inn wasn't too bad. I could see the river and some Christmas decorations lit up below me. As a flight crew member, we get a discount at the hotel's restaurant, but I ventured outside hoping to at least take in my surroundings and try something different. Anything I walked by was either abandoned or closed. This was less than ideal. In fact, I didn't even see another person. I must expand my search area next time. I will be here for New Years Eve, so I'll have to do more research.

We didn't have to leave the following day until 1045am, so I had plenty of time to grab some breakfast. This seems to be a rare occasion for me lately. I usually have to catch an airport shuttle around 5:55am and breakfast begins at 6:00am. Such a tease. Little did I know then, that our departure from Wichita with 30 mile per hour wind gusts would be the best weather I would encounter all day.

Mad Town

Over a month ago, I had flown a route from O'Hare to Madison and back when the temperature was an unusual 70 degrees. That was the only time in perhaps 15 years that I had been to Wisconsin's capitol city. However, a friend of mine was getting married and after working six days straight, I enjoyed a five day break from flying, part of which involved meeting Nicole in Minneapolis to fly together to Madison.

The weather was still unusually high at 58 degrees in the middle of December. Nevertheless, this was cold for Nicole, who had come from Los Angeles and 80 degree weather. We went for a walk down State Street, where Nicole purchased a winter hat. Everyone kept informing her that it was "warm" out, but Nicole was confused.




The following morning, we went to the Wisconsin Historical Museum, so Nicole could pose with statues of cows and purchase things in the gift shop like a cheese eraser and a magnet about butter. While we were in the museum, we saw a biker gang of Santas cycling by because, you know . . . Madison. After the museum, we walked into the Capitol building itself which was decorated for the holidays with a big tree in the rotunda and an orchestra playing music on the upper level. Now it was time to partake in the festivities that actually brought us to Madison in the first place, so we observed my good friend get married in a very quaint and efficient style at a nearby bed and breakfast that we were staying at.




After the ceremony, we went to a nearby tavern for copious amounts of Wisconsin fare including fried cheese curds, pretzels and mustard, beer, beef sliders, bbq chicken, and lots of cookies and baked goods. I rolled myself back to the B&B, where we relaxed by the fireplace. Nicole was very cold despite being told on numerous occasions that it was "warm" out. She positioned herself up next to the fireplace in hopes of maximizing the thaw.









The next day, I had listed us on a 4:30 pm flight based on the probability of getting on the flight, so we spent the morning by walking toward the Univ. of Wisconsin's campus and walked around the Chazen Museum of Art, a free museum covering all different periods and international styles of art. Of all the things in the museum, the most thought-provoking pieces are the ones that make you question if you're looking at art or if the museum has put up a place holder for when the real art is put up in its place. 

After contemplating this dead space, we walked back to the B&B and got a cab to the airport. As is often the case with going standby, our connecting flight in Denver went from 30 seats available to 10 seats oversold. When we got to the mile high city, I switched us to an earlier flight and we rushed to the gate. A man with a Louis Vuitton bag walked up to the counter, and we muttered some comments about how we were probably going to miss out on a seat on this flight because this fancy pants individual with the Louis Vuitton bag came strutting up to the counter to get his ticket. As he turned around, Nicole leaned over to me and said, "Do you know who that is?" "Jake Gyllenhaal," I casually responded. Nothing surprises me anymore. I don't really care to talk to celebrities or act any different around them than I would around anyone else, so I didn't notice that apparently Jake Gyllenhaal was staring at me when I walked by his seat in first class. What can I say? Bricole is everyone's favorite celebrity couple.

We had a bumpy flight home, and the lady across the aisle vomited uncontrollably onto her seat and the man next to her. I would like to say this was the first time during this trip that this type of thing occurred, but a similar event occurred on the flight to Madison when a man emerged from the bathroom to sit next to Nicole and proclaim that he had been throwing up. This, naturally, did not settle well with Nicole. I mean, nothing was settling well with the man throwing up either, but nobody wants to be in close proximity to the person blowing chunks in a pressurized tube. Hopefully, Nicole was able to relax during the rest of her visit to America's Dairyland and will remember it favorably -- even if she was skeptical about the weather being "warm."

No Cavities

I found myself once again in the Sunshine state, but not as a result of actually flying the plane myself. No, that distinction goes to exotic places like Bemidji, Minnesota. In Florida, I was ensuring that I could make it to a dentist appointment that had been scheduled many months earlier. Some say this is crazy to be going to the dentist across the country, but why? Do you know how hard it is to find a good dentist? I went to a dentist in LA once and over the course of five minutes, I received conflicting information about a so-called "trouble tooth." At one point, the trouble tooth somehow switched sides of my mouth. I vowed never to return. It would be silly to go all the way to Florida just for the dentist, so I made good use of my time by paying another visit to the local rat.


In my latest tradition of sampling ethnic food in unusual places, I sampled Florida Chinese food. As a matter of fact, this was located between a place serving German food and another serving Norwegian cuisine. Yes, I was at Epcot again. And while I was there, we decided to go into the big ball. While waiting in line, a girl of high-school age tapped me on the shoulder and yelled, "Happy Birthday, Brian!!!" I was so taken aback by this that for a moment I thought maybe it was my birthday and wasn't sure how to respond. Her friends then said, "Gaaah, not that guy. Someone else. Gaaaaawd." They then returned to texting. Those familiar with the ride will remember that a picture is taken at the beginning of the ride and becomes part of an animated short at its completion. I posed accordingly, but my mom believed that this was my default face. Hmmm. What must my passengers think...

We didn't spend too much time at Epcot. I don't fancy the crowds or lines, or really anything that one normally associates with theme parks. That being said, we walked from one theme park to the next because I wanted to check out Star Tours at Hollywood Studios. I wasn't aware that they had changed the ride slightly to reflect the upcoming release of episode VII. It was pretty solid. I saw BB-8, our craft struck Jar Jar Binks, and we flew around with the Millennium Falcon. It was a good day for this nerd. We also looked at overpriced Star Wars merchandise and called it a day.

After leaving the parks, I attempted to organize some things from my youth that are now in boxes in a storage room. This led to me building a Lego space shuttle. Funny how these things happen. I think I was able to build it quicker when I was 11. That launch tower took a considerable amount of time, and I want to be recognized for it. So feast your eyes on my masterpiece below and tell all your friends about how impressed you are.

South Bending

I have been doing a lot of flying in and out of Detroit as of late, but have not been overnight there. I have had some pretty interesting instrument approaches there, however. Today it was freezing fog in Detroit with a visibility at one point of just 1/16th of a mile. Over the radio, we heard a few airlines make a call that they had to divert. One even remarked that they were going to return to O'Hare. It's a sad state of affairs when the better weather option is Chicago. We brought the throttles back hoping the visibility might increase enough for us to get in. We executed what is known as a CAT II approach. It is where my eyes are glued to the digital displays as I fly the airplane down to within 100 ft of the runway. During this time, the captain is looking outside the window (at mostly nothing) until the last few seconds, when the runway lights fade into view and we transfer controls for the landing. It's an interesting experience to say the least and I've done two of these types of approaches in the last 24 hours. That is rare. Even the captain said he's only seen weather that bad once before in his flying career.

When I took the picture here, the weather in Detroit had improved to a visibility of more than 1 mile and overcast at 400 feet. After dealing with 1/4 mile vis. and fog on the ground, this seemed like pretty excellent weather in comparison. At the end of the day, we arrived in South Bend, Indiana. All I really knew about this place is from watching Rudy, and  a brief moment from my youth when my dad drove us through Notre Dame's campus. Again, it's not entirely what I envisioned. We are staying in downtown South Bend, which is actually quite nice other than the fact that everything is closed on Sunday evening. I tried to get Thai food, but it was closed. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Indiana Thai food is probably on par with Iowa Mexican. I don't know why I'm drawn to ethnic food in all these towns. I suppose it lends itself to more interesting blogging. Nobody really cares if I go to Arby's. In the end, I got a couple slices of pizza at a place called Bruno's, which appears to be a local chain. It wasn't anything special, but it was the only place open, so for that I am grateful.

I ended up walking to the Notre Dame campus, which was a bit of a hike. When I finally got there, I immediately got lost. I didn't have any particular destination in mind, but I hadn't really realized just how large the campus is. The old architecture and the landscaping made it seem like something out of a movie. This might actually be normal in the rest of the country, but my college campus had no green since it was in the middle of Washington, DC. During my wandering, I walked by a big church. I'm sure it has a name and is probably famous, but for now we shall just call it "big church." In the back, I found the grotto which I vaguely remembered from my youth visit. As it was getting late, and I was a bit tired, this is all I really had the energy to see. My dad described the area surrounding the campus like the streets of Compton, so I didn't want to stick around too long. Tomorrow is the last of my four day trip. Then it's back to beautiful Minneapolis for 24 hours.

UPDATE:

At about 130am, I received a call from the airline. Apparently a plane couldn't get to where it was supposed to go, so my flight out of South Bend to Detroit followed by exciting new trips to Dayton, Ohio and Brainerd, Minnesota was not to be. A day of five flight legs was altered to one flight leg from South Bend to Atlanta and gave me an extra few hours of sleep. I'll take it. This also gave me a couple hours to see beautiful South Bend during the day. I hunted for a place to eat breakfast. At least places were open for a weekday. I went to a diner-esque place called "Le Peep." This is also evidently a chain, but I've never seen one before in my life. The staff simply assumed I wasn't eating alone and set the table for two showcasing why I struggle with finding a place to eat where I don't feel weird eating by myself. I ordered something called "cookie cakes." They were supposed to be like chocolate chip cookies, but what kind of monster likes oatmeal cookies? I brushed this abomination of a topping to the side so I could enjoy my pancakes.

After the meal, I went for a walk by the St Joseph River. There was a wooden plank path to a small island where I got a view of . . . a dam? I guess they've tried to make it look aesthetically pleasing by lighting it up with different colored lights at night. I would compare it to Long Beach's attempt to disguise oil platforms as tropical islands. It was a nice little walk and it appears to continue down the river a ways, but I had to return to the hotel to prepare for my flight to Atlanta.

Cedar Rapids

December is the first month where I know my schedule in its entirety. I am now officially a line pilot. No more banging my head against the wall wondering whether or not the airline is going to call. My first day on the line found me making multiple trips to Iowa -- first to Des Moines, and then to Cedar Rapids. In fact, I was in Cedar Rapids two days in a row having the entire afternoon off in both cases. Upon arrival, the captain remarked that someone else had told him there was a good Mexican food place close to the hotel. As the shuttle van was pulling up, we noticed a Taco Bell across the street and the captain was certain he had been duped. He asked the driver if perhaps there was another Mexican place. In fact, there was. It was a place around the corner called Hot Harry's. Granted, this did not sound infinitely better. Hot José's? Maybe. Hot Horatio? It's a possibility. Not Hot Harry's. Nevertheless, against my better judgment, I ordered a burrito at Hot Harry's and prepared myself for Iowa Mexican food. It had fritos, chile, beans, mayo, and rice inside. It was . . . ok. It wasn't terrible and probably met my expectations which were not terribly high. 

Cedar Rapids was larger than I expected it to be. It was a 20 minute shuttle ride from the airport. Oddly we passed through downtown to get to our hotel which was on the north end of town across the street from a shopping mall. Had we stayed downtown, I may have had more exciting things to post about, but as it was I only went to a couple strip malls, a Gordman's, and Hot Harry's. 

On day two, I went for a run. At 50º in December, I felt I had to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. I ran through a neighborhood with very large mansions...not something one expects to see in Cedar Rapids. It was near a place called the Brucemore, which is some kind of historical site. I don't really know the significance of this place, but it is #2 on Tripadvisor's list of things to do. I didn't have my camera with me during my run, so enjoy this internet photo from above.

The higher than normal temperatures meant we didn't have to deice the aircraft before each flight which saves a lot of time. In fact, during one of my passenger announcements, I made some reference to the tropical temperatures in Iowa. I don't know if the folks in the back appreciate my humor. They're probably rolling their eyes--especially after that joke about taxiing the plane all the way to Des Moines when we we had a long taxi and were about number 14 for departure out of Minneapolis on day one. I'll have to work on my material during some of the long overnights. "How 'bout those overhead bins, am I right? I hope you were able to pack for your 2 week trip to Europe in your child's Dora the Explorer backpack. Because that's all that will fit up there, am I right? Thanks ladies and gentlemen. You've been terrific. I'll be here for the next 45 minutes."

...and the next thing I knew I was in Idaho

After weeks of idle time on reserve and no flying, I received a call Sunday morning to go to Salt Lake City to sit reserve. This was somewhat exciting because I was beginning to tire of sitting around doing nothing. In my head, I envisioned Salt Lake to be warmer than Minneapolis, but when I checked my phone, it was 30 degrees. Nevertheless, I had no intention of spending all evening sitting in the hotel (which by the way allowed pets, so I found myself suffering from congestion). I put on a hat and gloves, donned my jacket, and headed out for dinner. I stopped at a place called The Bayou for some cajun cuisine. Sure, Utah may not be known for its gumbo or jambalaya, but one can't always be choosy. I ended up ordering something called gumbolaya - a mixture of the two signature dishes. On the menu, it jokingly warned that eating this concoction guaranteed cardiac arrest. Just for an extra kick, I tossed in a little bit of Louisiana hot sauce. I thoroughly enjoyed my southern cuisine . . . in northern Utah.

After my meal, I decided to walk toward Temple Square. It wasn't super close and it was quite frigid out, but the trek was worth it. The entire square was illuminated with christmas lights of all colors. The mormons were admiring the lights as well. How do I know they were mormons? Naturally it is too cold to be sporting white short-sleeved dress shirts and black ties. In winter months, it appears they don pea coats and put their name tags on their outermost garment.  And now you know. . .

As I lay in bed that night, congested from the 87 cats that must have at one time occupied my room, I periodically woke up and checked my phone to see if the airline had assigned me a trip. I got a call at 4:40am. Time to go to work. I would be flying to Twin Falls, Idaho. When I was told this, I didn't even know where it was on a map. Turns out it is just a short hop from Salt Lake City. Twin Falls seemed eager to give Minneapolis a run for its money with a temperature of 1º. I may or may not have conducted the walkaround at a brisker pace than usual. I looked the town up on google after flying back to Salt Lake, and it looks like it might be a nice place, but I was too busy chattering my teeth and convulsing to observe much beyond the small airport terminal.

     Meanwhile in Los Angeles . . .