Farewell to Farms

Knowing from the very beginning that my Minneapolis base would only be temporary, I attempted to make the best of it when I bid for certain flight routes. I requested overnights in Appleton, Wisconsin (my old hometown) and it seemed fitting that one would fall on my very last trip out of MSP. An uncle, aunt, and two cousins showed up to take me out to dinner. I was allowed to choose where we ate. I remembered enjoying a place down by the river called Pullman's, an old trolley depot from when Appleton used to have street cars. I had previously only been there during the summer months, when the sun beat down and people sat outside under umbrellas drinking all sorts of ales.

In winter, the atmosphere was a bit different. I couldn't at all remember what I ordered at Pullman's, which might indicate that I didn't really come for the food. Nevertheless, the average cheeseburger I ordered was served up with family curiously inquiring about my new career.
"Do you turn your phone off when you're flying?"
"Of course...otherwise the battery will drain."
"Can you give us flight benefits?"
"No."
"When are you getting married?"
" . . ."
"Can we get flight benefits?"

And so it went. I had a busy schedule this evening and went back downtown to meet up with some high school friends. There are very few people I still communicate with from h.s., so my friends capped out at two.

We met up at a place at the end of College Ave called Jim's Place. It has a sort of old world vibe to it with pictures on the wall of bar patrons from decades past going back to the days when the world was black and white and men wore hats. But tonight it was taken over by college kids playing darts, 15 cougars out on the prowl, and three kids who shared a common high school over ten years ago. One of them had dark hair. The other two were pale gingers and not to be trusted. We caught up on the exciting events of our lives. "I just got married last month," said one. "I just put my child to bed," said the other. "I'm craving donuts," said I. One mentioned that there was a time back in High School when I went to the grand opening of a Krispy Kreme in Appleton at midnight. I honestly don't remember this happening, but don't doubt for a minute that it would be something I would do.

Speaking of food . . . the following morning after landing in MSP, a wholesome looking woman opened a tupperware and offered us cupcakes. All three of us tried one. For a brief fleeting moment, I questioned this decision. "Should all three of us being eating the same thing? What if it's laced with cocaine? Oooh! Is that nutella?" Nom nom nom. It was delicious. It is always interesting what one sees on a plane. The flight attendant said a woman walked onto the plane clutching a wedding dress and crying hysterically. Was I flying from Las Vegas or Appleton? Back in the cockpit, it was all business. It was one of the dreaded five-leg days that seem to drag forever. We made two more trips out to North Dakota to remind me why I really won't miss flying in this part of the country. Although Appleton and Minneapolis had both crested over 40 degrees, Grand Forks, North Dakota was adamant that it should never be more than 14. Farewell MSP. It's time for warmer pastures.

KRAP Overnight

KRAP is the international airport code for Rapid City, South Dakota. Last night we transported an oversold flight from Minneapolis to Rapid City. What is here you might ask? Well, a surprising amount of things. It is the jumping off point for the Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, Custer State Park, and Crazy Horse Memorial. The latter is a mountain carving that began in 1948, and hasn't really changed much since. This is a picture that was taken on a family trip in the summer of 1992.

This is an internet photo dated from 2015. And one should note that the internet did not even exist at any commercial level at the time the previous photo was taken. In fact a lot of things have changed since 1992. The Crazy Horse Memorial, however, is not one of them. Maybe there's a little bit more definition around the face, but that's about all I can see. How crazy horse is that? AND they are charging $28 for people to see this crazy horse nonsense. Meanwhile in Rapid City . . .

Despite the numerous nearby attractions, I had neither the time or transport to take me to the sights, so I stayed in the hotel, which was seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The view from the room was of an RV park and a restaurant serving wings. While getting breakfast in the lobby, I saw cowboys and cowgirls. How do I know they were cowfolk you ask? Well . . . they were wearing boots, flannel, and hats. One imposter was wearing crocs. They walked out to a large truck when they left. There is no way they weren't cowfolk. My logic and reasoning is sound. Someday I shall come back here when I have some time and check out the sights, but I'll probably skip Crazy Horse.

Why Your Airport Sucks: Cincinnati Edition

This week's trip marks my final trip out of Minneapolis and hopefully an end to the commuting issues and cold weather-related problems associated with it. I was lucky to not be strapped to the front of a 757 like last week's commute. This time I got a seat in the back and was able to finally finish the end of the movie, Amelia, which I was 5 minutes from finishing last week. And I know what you're thinking . . . Shouldn't I know how a biopic on Amelia Earhart ends? Well, I thought perhaps the filmmakers might pull a fast one on me and aliens might appear at the end to take her away. No dice.

The first leg of my final MSP trip went from Minneapolis to Cincinnati, where I would be forced to kill four hours in the airport. This proved to be more difficult than I anticipated. I thought Cincinnati was a much larger airport, but after Delta's merger with NorthWest and the collapse of Comair, half of the airport is literally abandoned. The two concourses that remain are almost as equally deserted. My four hour sit fell around dinner time, so I had McDonalds (the pickings were slim). Since I am technically in Kentucky, southern efficiency and work ethic was in full effect. I asked for a sprite and got a coke. This took about ten minutes and I was the only person in line. As you can see by the picture here, the food court was thriving. It was 5:30pm.

After acquiring food, I spent the next couple hours wandering aimlessly about the terminal. It would be unusual to see . . . anyone. It is uncanny how dead this airport is. Judging by the pictures you would think it was 1am on New Years day, but it is in fact 6:00 on a Friday. Food options? Lacking. Stores? Closed. And if that wasn't enough, despite the sheer lack of travelers, there was always a loud talker sitting close to me wherever I decided to sit and relax. "OH YEAH. THE PRESENTATION WENT REALLY WELL. GOT SOME GOOD FEEDBACK ON THE WHOLE THING. THE BOARD HAD A FEW NOTES, SO WE'LL JUST GO FROM THERE. MY FLIGHT LEAVES AT 6:30. I MET WITH JIM AND HE'S ALREADY THERE." Dammit, man, hurry up and go meet up with Jim. I can't take it anymore. My ears are bleeding. One more hour to go . . .

Ithaca is Gorges! (if you can see it)

Today I enjoyed one of my more scenic flights on my way over to Ithaca, New York. The airline that has "west" in its name headed about as far east as I've been since flying. We saw the finger lakes on the way in and I thought I could make out the city of Toronto in the distance. We touched down just as the sun was setting. I had briefly looked up a few things on Tripadvisor that I wanted to check out while I was in town. One of these was a waterfall near Cornell's campus. Of course, it being dark, there wasn't a whole lot to see. I mean--I could see it there, but my camera even on 15 second shutter speed couldn't really make much out.

If I had a longer layover or if it was summer, I'm sure it would be more aesthetically pleasing, but all you are left with as a reader is this blurry, indistinguishable, noisy black image. It's art. I thought perhaps they might light up the waterfalls at night, but clearly I was incorrect in this assumption. For comparison's sake, below is an image taken by someone else during the day to showcase what you can't see in my dark photo.

Not too shabby, eh? I meandered my way back down the hill (and it was a big hill mind you) and into downtown Ithaca. I walked around an area called the Commons which is a pedestrian street with shops and restaurants. Unfortunately, most of them were closed, but I did find a busy corner restaurant which seemed more inviting than the empty Jimmy John's. Its name was "Asian Cuisine." I seem to keep finding very descriptive restaurants. I thought to myself, "I could go for some Chinese food on a cold night like this." But the restaurant's name wasn't descriptive enough. All of the menu items were Korean. Good enough, it's been a while since I've had some good Korean food. I ordered some Bi Bim Bap with a variety of palate cleansers on the side including kimchi. It was actually a really good meal -- even the kimchi bit. I had some nice warm tea to warm me up from the wintry weather outside and the spicy red sauce I showered on my bi bim bap helped clear my sinuses. Well done Asian Cuisine. Top marks.

I wish I would have more time here as it seems like a nice town. All the homes are old and quaint looking. The town is built up on a hill and along rivers and streams. And how about that waterfall? Maybe someday in my life I'll see it during the day, but it won't be anytime soon because there's really no chance that I'll be flying to Ithaca from Houston. In fact, the Detroit-Ithaca trip is a new experimental route that the airline is testing. We had a full flight and one in the jumpseat on the way here, so I'd say it's pretty successful so far. Tomorrow I fly us back to Minneapolis. The weather gods have been very kind to us on this trip so far, but as seen in one of my prior posts, things can quickly go awry on the last day. The forecast in MSP for tomorrow is 30 degrees warmer than last time. It will be 25º.

Quad City Confusion

 Today we landed in Moline. Where is that you ask? I had to look it up myself. I thought it was in Iowa, but I was wrong. Moline is in Illinois, but I was partially correct since our hotel was in fact in Iowa...a mere 15 minute drive away. It's part of the Quad Cities which includes Moline, Rock Island, Davenport, and Bettendorf. And now you know! They straddle the Mississippi River, where a slew of gambling riverboats line the banks. We arrived as the sun was setting, so there wasn't much opportunity to explore a whole lot, but I ventured out in the blocks surrounding the hotel.

I went to a burger and beer place around the corner from the hotel. I had a burger with sriracha and jalapeños. It was very delightful --the perfect ratio of sriracha to burger. I would recommend the joint even though the bartender kept referring to Kona beer as "Konig." What can I say . . . we're a long way from Hawaii. I walked a little bit afterward. I did actually go onto one of the casino riverboats to check it out, but was inside for less than five minutes. I felt like a record scratched when I walked in. All the old folks turned and stared at me like I forgot to wear pants or something. The smell of cigarette-stained carpets and desperation filled the air, so I used the restroom and promptly left.

I walked around a little bit more along the banks of the Mississippi, but soon got cold and headed back to the hotel. From what I've seen, it's not a bad little town. I mean - I can't speak for the other three towns, but Davenport seems alright other than the cigarette-stained desperation along the river, but that is the nature of casinos. I've never been terribly hip to the casino scene, but I liked the idea that it was on a boat. It's not nearly as cool as it sounds. I was picturing bearded Kenny Rogers-like personas sitting around a card table drinking whiskey, but it was just overweight white people with an addiction to tobacco and (I can only assume) gambling.


The hotel here is much nicer than the airport hotel we stayed at in Milwaukee last night. In fact, I would go as far as to say the Milwaukee Clarion - Airport is the worst hotel I've stayed at since becoming an airline employee. The Radisson in Davenport is much nicer, though I am saddened by the lack of food options I will have for breakfast. Nothing will be open when I have to catch a 5am van to the airport. Sigh. Such is life.

Why Your Airport is Marginal at Best: Detroit Edition

This week, Detroit has become my de facto base. I didn't even begin my trip in my real base of MSP. I bypassed the land up north entirely by catching a flight directly from LAX to Detroit instead of routing myself through Minneapolis. The downside to this was giving up a company-confirmed seat in the back where I could watch Minions or take a nap. Nay, I spent about four hours in the jumpseat of a 757, one leg draped over a suitcase and the other wedged between the window and the captain's seat. I found this picture on the internet of the 757 jumpseat, but it doesn't do it justice without the visual of someone dangling awkwardly as if they were skydiving and got caught in a tree. AND to spice it up even more, this particular 757 had TWO jumpseats! Another Delta captain sat in the other one. It was like a clown car with the addition of a juggling bear.

With mountains of snow falling on the east coast and thousands of flight cancelations, many people had been rerouted through other airports such as Detroit, so I was lucky to even get on the plane. I knew it might be a challenge today, so I took the first flight out. This resulted in lots of downtime in the Detroit airport. I will now explain to you why this is not the most desirable situation. If you find yourself changing planes in Detroit, I hope you are going from Delta to Delta. If you have to switch to Southwest or United, or really any airline that's not Delta, you are going to have to exit security, wait for a bus that seems to make its own schedule, take the fifteen-minute bus ride to the other terminal, go back in through security, and see that your plane has departed 30 minutes ago. Now, if you stick with Delta, you might think you're in good shape. The McNamara concourse, as you see here, looks clean and new, but like Minneapolis, someone decided that the best way to design an airport was to stretch it out in one very long line. This picture was taken from the middle of the McNamara concourse and doesn't even show the end of the terminal. It is more than one mile from end to end. Yes, there's a train, but that requires waiting.

There is also a poor man's O'Hare tunnel that connects the Delta McNamara concourse with the regional concourse, but this too is laid out in a straight line. Basically what I'm trying to say is that it is not a very efficient airport. The 757 dropped me off at the far end of McNamara and I wanted to get lunch at Potbelly's (one positive about the Detroit airport). It took me (and this is not an exaggeration) over twenty minutes of continuous walking to get there. The real point that needs to be driven home is that if I'm a Delta pilot and I have 45 minutes before my next flight, I am cutting it close if I want to eat Potbelly's. The ease of acquiring food is super important to me, and a reason why I'm not a huge fan of Minneapolis either. I am quickly tiring of Quizno's, the only quick option available to me there. One former ground school classmate and fellow pilot said it best today, "The major difference between a pilot and a jet engine is that the jet engine stops whining once it reaches the gate."

Here we see the elusive Potbelly's as viewed from the aircraft. A rare sight, indeed.

A Most Difficult Day

A few weeks ago, a captain had asked me what my worst day on the job was like. I had to think

about it for a while, and nothing has been terrible. Sometimes there are delays, sometimes there are weather issues, sometimes mechanical anomalies, sometimes there is pressure to make up time, but rarely do you have all at once. This was the case on the final day of my three day trip. It consisted of five legs, most of them short hops with very little time in between for a break. The day began in Lansing with mechanical issues on the plane before it left Minneapolis. After the crew switched to a different aircraft and got to Lansing, we were over two hours behind schedule.

Normally, this wouldn't be a huge issue, but based on our original schedule, we would only have an hour between our last flight and the last flight home to LA . . . if we were on time. Things weren't looking good. After one of the fastest turnarounds in airline history, we headed up to Brainerd, Minnesota, did an approach to minimums and picked up significant icing on the way in, so we had to deice. While we had caught up by 30 minutes, deicing negated our gains...and the Spoilerons fault status message that popped up after taking off did not help our situation.

The captain I was working with was originally from Russia, but now lives in San Diego. He was also banking on catching the last flight out of MSP to Los Angeles. While I was flying, he coordinated with maintenance to meet us on the ground to fix the issue. This Russian efficiency paid off. A few circuit breakers were reset and the issue solved before the last passenger had stowed their bags. Now just an hour behind schedule, we headed off to Duluth. It was one of the hairiest approaches I've ever done in my life. 

Regional airline pilots don't get enough credit for this nonsense. 

At United Airlines, someone is flying their 777 from one 12,000 ft runway to another 12,000 ft runway while using their auto-throttles, auto-land, and CAT III approaches. Meanwhile in Duluth, ol' Brian is counting down the feet until he has to abort the approach in his Canadian-built regional jet with auto-nothing, picking up ice on all surfaces of the aircraft, ice caution chimes and bells going off, visibility close to nil, and snow and ice covering the runway. Touching down between the two rows of runway edge lights, no one could judge me for touching down on centerline or not because . . . it could not be seen. Now having whittled our delay down to 30 minutes, it did not take long to board all four passengers. Yes, 4. I made some snarky remark about how, "It's good to feel useful." Even the Russian cracked a smile. We again had to deice which slowed our progress. After launching out of Duluth, the Russian and the American set their sights on Minneapolis for the final leg of the day. The Russian's style of flying was different than what I was used to. Safe, efficient, but very brief with his statements. No fluff. DING. "Seatbelt on." That was the most the four passengers were going to get out of the Russian. He did not believe in lengthy briefings about the weather upon arrival, what gate we'd be parking at, or how much flight time remained. No time for this. After all, this was our fifth leg, it was a short flight, and it was busy. Maybe he had a point.

After pulling into the gate, nobody was around to move the jetbridge into position. The flight attendant made some remark to me on how we may not have a jetbridge operator, but we do have an angry Russian, who had already marched outside and into the terminal with a mission to find the operator. 30 seconds later, the jetbridge was flush against the main cabin door. I did my walk-around and we powerwalked across the Minneapolis airport to board a nearly empty flight to LAX. There was nothing more welcoming after a long stressful day than an open row of seats next to me.

Iron Mountain

Every once in a while, I'll be overnight in a place and find that there is absolutely nothing to do. Iron Mountain is one such place. When I woke up this morning, I looked out the window to take in my options. There was a Home Depot, a Wal*Mart, and a Dollar Tree. In lieu of not leaving at all, I decided to get a sandwich at Jimmy John's. This was no small task as Iron Mountain doesn't believe in sidewalks or crosswalks. I'm not really sure what Iron Mountain is even known for or why the airline even flies here. All I could rustle up from my research is a fake ski jump in the area.

The flight to Iron Mountain last night didn't even come from Minneapolis. It came from . . . Rhinelander, Wisconsin. Yes, the heavily-trafficked and lucrative Rhinelander-Iron Mountain route. It was over in about 15 minutes. There were four passengers on board. In my logbook, I had to double-check to see if it even counted as a cross-country flight. (It does, but only by 7 nautical miles). We are staying at a Country Inn & Suites which hasn't yet noticed that Christmas is over.

But back to my adventures... after running across the busy street to get a sandwich, I walked back to the hotel. I wish I had more to add, but that's about as exciting as it got. Maybe had I gone off the big ski jump while eating the sandwich, I'd have something really juicy for the readers, but I'm afraid not.

Update: here's a picture of the big ski jump as viewed from the busy Iron Mountain airport.

Putting a Fork in Grand Forks

 I took a look at my schedule and it would appear that this is the last time I will ever be in Grand Forks, North Dakota. It's just as well because I can't work out why anyone would want to live there. This was my second trip to the land up north and my second time staying at the . . . Canad Inn? It's confusing. They have that mountain at the end of Canad like you're supposed to say, "Canada," but then they insist on only being called Canad. It makes no sense I tell ya! Anyway, The Canad--a  Inn has an indoor waterpark which apparently has become something of a legend amongst those who haven't been to Grand Forks. Both the captain and the flight attendant said it sounded fun, but the desk clerk informed them that it was one of the two days of the year that they close the waterpark down for maintenance. We all met up in one of the hotel's numerous restaurants a bit later.

If you recall from my last visit, I ordered a southwestern wrap which was mediocre at best. This time I tried a pasta place. In this venue, there was a group of 20 or so elderly women painting landscapes of trees while drinking wine. I am convinced that the Canad--a Inn functions like a community center. There are always tons of people inside, but I can't figure out why anyone would be staying at a hotel in Grand Forks. Anyway, I ordered New Orleans-style shrimp linguini with peppers. It was much better than the wrap. I explained to my flight crew that I enjoy eating locally inappropriate meals based on my location, but I think they were confused.

The following morning I fought off frostbite to do my walk-around which basically consisted of walking very rapidly around the plane after I quickly determined that we needed deicing based on the 8 inch icicles hanging from the nose and the snow and ice that covered our windscreen. Once the windows were cleared, we got this fine vista of . . . nothing as far as the eye could see. It's just so . . . barren. The captain I was flying with had just been transferred to Minneapolis from Salt Lake. He was taken aback by some of the places we landed. Untowered airports, short runways, landing on snow or ice, calculating weight & balance by hand...these are all things I have developed a skill for over the last couple months. They are also things I don't think I will miss next month when I'm in Houston.

A-Town Down

After a quick turn in Lansing, Michigan where I was assaulted by 25 mph winds with blowing snow, we embarked on a flight from Minneapolis to Appleton. Despite it being technically colder the day before, the winds had been calm. Now each second outside was unbearable with the wind chilling me to the bone. We arrived in Appleton around 10:00pm and I immediately noticed the vending machine of cheese inside the airport terminal. We drove down College Ave and I took in the changes since I moved away over 12 years ago. At one corner I spotted a Family Video, where I used to rent videos in my youth.  How is it still in business? The van driver said there are still about ten of them in the area. It must be a front for something . . .





At one point I figured I would venture out downtown at night upon arrival, but the cold temperature was just too much for my frail body, so I cranked up the heat, took a hot shower, and called it a night. The following morning, I found myself using Yelp to find a place to get breakfast. Despite living here for 18 years of my life, I typically had oatmeal, waffles, or toaster strudels every morning. I never found myself searching for a breakfast place . . . until now. I settled on a coffee shop called the Copper Rock Café. It also coincidentally required the least amount of walking outside.

It was fairly busy inside and I enjoyed my scone, muffin, and orange juice. I couldn't help but contrast this to Wichita and some other places I have overnighted. Despite the oppressive cold, there were numerous people walking outside and businesses were actually open! Exciting! As I sat there looking out at familiar buildings, I had a very surreal feeling. I was a stranger in my hometown. Despite the familiarity, it was almost no different than an overnight in South Bend or Cedar Rapids. It just didn't feel like home anymore. Maybe I had simply been away too long.

As I made a circle back to the hotel, I stopped to quickly snap this picture of a seemingly ordinary looking office building. This is where I went to a clinic and received allergy shots for three years while in high school. And because I was receiving these allergy shots, the Department of Defense medical board declined my application to serve in the U.S. Air Force. As a result, you have an interesting chain of events that have me going to college in Washington, DC where everyone starts calling me "Appleton." Somewhere along the way, I got self-conscious that people might think Appleton was the name of someone who wore sea-foam green polo shirts, played La Crosse with a popped collar and vacationed in Nantucket. It was years before some people actually realized that wasn't my real name.

After an international affairs degree in D.C., a masters degree in Los Angeles, here I am today . . . back in Appleton, Wisconsin all because of a simple decision to rid myself of allergies. This story could have been much different. I could be in Afghanistan right now, or maybe a base in Germany or (heaven forbid) . . . Anchorage, Alaska. But no. I am in Appleton, Wisconsin, where I grew up, took my first flight lessons, acted in plays, ran Cross-Country, and went to prom. I was a relatively normal kid. And now I'm writing a blog about how seeing all of this is really really weird.

The Beginning of the End of Chapter One

This week did not start off well. I was set to depart on a 6:40am flight out of Los Angeles to be in Minneapolis by 1:00. Problem is -- the plane that allegedly had 14 seats available was a bit of a ghost ship. The flight was supposed to be a 757, and paying passengers had been booked seats accordingly. However the flight was actually on a smaller 737. Immediately 60 people were displaced. Chaos ensued. A man was nearly in tears because he was enroute to Minneapolis to see his dying father. A line to get rebooked was 50 deep. As someone who was not a paying customer, I was in the back of this line. By the time I reached the front and asked for the jumpseat, the Delta gate agents were less than keen on helping me. A flight attendant was also looking to jumpseat, but we were met with a cold shoulder and a, "Sorry, we have to close the door." It would not have been difficult. A few key strokes, a swipe at the printer, and a badge verification were all it would have taken. Too much. They had done their job with the paying passengers and immediately signed off. And just like that, two employees couldn't get to work in Minneapolis because a few gate agents were acting like Janice in accounting. As a result, I had to call in and get pulled from the trip. While my company was understanding, I was not looking forward to being back on reserve.

I put myself on the call list. Again, I've seen the big mall and the big spoon already. I've exhausted my MSP to-do list. Around noon, I got a call! A deadhead to Appleton of all places, and then a flight back to MSP. Not too bad. I got to the airport. Ring ring. "Yeah, Delta decided to cancel that flight, you don't need to come to the airport." Reverse.

Several hours later,  I noticed an email from my airline. I had been awarded a transfer. I always figured my next base was going to be San Francisco. After all, there were only four people in front of me asking for SFO. Houston and L.A., on the other hand, had over a dozen. So I was a little surprised when the email said IAH on it--the airport code of Houston Intercontinental. No doubt I will be sitting reserve in Houston, but it will be a warmer reserve. I can stretch my legs, go for a run. I've become fluffy living off of Culver's butterburgers and cheese curds. If I do get called to fly in Houston, there will at least be some variety. And when I'm not flying I can further my efforts to befriend my niece.

If you take a look at the route map, compare Houston to Minneapolis. The routes in Houston go farther and (typically) warmer. I'll gladly trade Fort Wayne for Fort Myers, or Aberdeen for Albuquerque. In my boredom of reserve, I even wrote a poem about the transfer.

"Minneapolis?!," I shouted. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"No" said the company, and went out for a smoke.
It's three point five hours to get there one-way!
A long way from home back in sunny L.A.

I put in my time learning all sorts of things
Like CAT II approaches and de-icing the wings
To Kentucky, Iowa, and the Dakotas I flew
My teeth all a chatter, my hands turning blue

"Please, a transfer!," I wailed up to the skies
But the only response was more snow in my eyes
I had waited months for the glorious day

that I'd transfer to San Fran, Houston, or L.A.

I had always figured that San Fran would be next

With its pricey hotels, fog, and black turtlenecks.
Yet against all odds, came the LoneStar state
Free lodging indeed! . . at my sister's estate.

No it's still not quite home, but that time will come
For now I am thankful just to thaw out my bum
So cheese curds and poutine must now make their way
For burritos, beef brisket, and Mexican soufflé

Sure I'll probably be sitting reserve there at first
But that gives me time to see my niece at her worst
Off to Houston I go! Not a moment too soon
Farewell to Fargo, South Bend, and Saskatoon!

Unplanned New Years Visit to Minnetonka

Our flight was the only airplane going from Wichita to Minneapolis on New Years Day, and Nicole was lucky to grab a seat in the back. The same could not be said for flights going out of Minneapolis, but I'll get into that later...
The flight back to the far north was uneventful other than a few pockets of turbulence. It was my leg (my takeoff and landing) and I had the added pressure of
1) Flying with the Chief Pilot for Minneapolis
2) Flying with nervous Nicole in the back (as seen here)
3) My old roommate from ground school also sitting in the back...no doubt scoring my landing on a scale of 1 to 10.

Fortunately, despite the sudden crosswind gust at 20 feet above the touchdown zone, I felt I put us down fairly smoothly. Nicole tells me it was acceptable. We made good time on our way from Wichita to MSP, arriving about 30 minutes early. Because of this, I quickly listed us on an earlier United flight back to Los Angeles.

It was going to be our best odds of the day as it was only overbooked by six and we were about 7 and 8 on standby. The flight left full without taking any standby passengers and the night only went downhill from there. The next Delta flight was overbooked by 12 and we were 17 and 18 on standby. No one got on -- meaning everyone got rolled over to the next flight where we now saw ourselves at 37 and 38 on standby.

Rather than wait around for hours for the inevitable, we decided to get out of the airport, rent a car, and stay with my cousin in Minnetonka for the evening and try again the following morning. Nicole had never been to Minnesota other than the Minneapolis airport, so we did a small amount of exploring. I took Nicole to her first Culver's. Yes, technically Culver's is a Wisconsin thing, but Nicole needed to experience it while she had the chance. Culver's is getting on my crap list, though. They messed up my order twice in the last two visits. I ordered a sourdough melt and a chicken sandwich to go after my last trip and without checking the bag, I ended up with just chicken tenders and no sandwiches. Sad day for Brian! Luckily we ate in and caught their error on this visit. I can't be too upset, because as a former Culver's employee, I'm sure I made lots of errors as a confused and awkward young 15 year old wearing a belt to hold up my oversized khaki shorts.

After dinner, we observed my cousin and her parents working together to make some holiday cookies. I contributed by eating them. Now it was time to see what our flight options were looking like for the following day. United was our best bet -- overbooked by 4. We would be 1 and 2 on standby. The next option was this doozy of a Delta flight. I had to take a screenshot because I didn't think anyone would believe me. At the time of this image, there were 54 people on standby. When we arrived at the airport, TSA was moving slowly and inefficiently. The airport instated a 10 minute delay on all departures so people had more time to reach their gate.

This did not work to our advantage. As the door was about to close for the flight, our names were called AND with seats next to each other. Just then, the two people whose tickets were almost in our hands showed up at the gate. I am not a violent person, but I was possibly hoping one of them would have broken a leg in those final steps enroute to gate E10. The arrival of these latecomers left one seat in the cabin. I told Nicole to take it since her odds of getting on anything else for the rest of the day were daunting at best. On any other day I could have snagged the jumpseat, but another pilot was commuting on his way to work, so I gallantly (albeit begrudgingly) watched Nicole depart as I wished the other pilot good luck, did an about face, and walked down to the Delta gates where there were now 68 people on standby. As Nicole was taking this picture out the window of her E-175, I was launching out of Minneapolis riding sidesaddle on a 757, with one leg bent awkwardly behind me and my neck craned the other direction to see from the elevated jumpseat crammed just behind the captain's chair. There were 82 standby passengers stranded back at the gate. I felt like I was on the last chopper out of Saigon. I dared not think about the size of the standby lists as the day grew longer, but for the time being I was just thinking about a chiropractor.

New Years in Wichita

It was a busy day of flying - five legs total eventually terminating in Wichita, Kansas around 8:00pm. Nicole was in the back coming to Wichita to welcome the new year with me. I did a small amount of research trying to figure out where we might go for dinner or to grab a couple drinks. If you recall from my last visit to Wichita, I had great difficulty finding anything that was open and ultimately ate dinner at the hotel restaurant. Despite it being New Years Eve, most restaurants/bars were closed in the immediate vicinity. Once again, we ended up at the hotel restaurant. It was very crowded inside, probably due to the lack of other options.

We watched the ball drop in NYC (at 11:00pm) and essentially missed the exact moment it became new years in Wichita because the tv stations don't apparently care about central time zone and were still showing idiots in New York talking about how they were so excited to be in Times Square despite having soiled themselves three times over.

The next morning we ventured outside to explore the deserted city. We walked to an area called old town, but everything was either closed or for lease.

I understand it's New Years Day and all, but I just couldn't believe the sheer lack of any activity anywhere. Occasionally we would be walking along and we would see what we thought was a person. It was not. For whatever reason, the city has put up numerous statues ranging from birds over a trash can to a fox walking around with a duck in its mouth to a man playing the guitar. I kept thinking of a scene in Blazing Saddles where they have to erect a fake town of Rockridge and realize they need to create people to make it more believable. This is apparently what has happened in Wichita.

I will commence my first flight of the new year from Wichita back to Minneapolis, and with any luck catch a flight home for the first time in weeks. It is crucial I get back to LA. I have been trying to get a haircut for weeks, but every attempt is foiled by a change in my airline schedule. I was ready to get one in Cedar Rapids, but found myself stuck in the airport instead of next to a SuperCuts. And I think we all know that I'm not going to find a place to get my hair cut in Wichita today...