North to Alaska

I was planning on writing a blog about my trip to Alaska to my neice Katrina's wedding reception, but I didn't realize I would be writing the first installment as a way to while away an expected eight-hour lay over in our nations capitol.

It's been an, um, interesting experience so far.

I'm not a good flyer. It's been 17 years since I've boarded a plane - coincidentally that was also to Alaska. That trip was memorable for a few reasons: My luggage ripped apart on the tarmac in front of my eyes as I sat helplessly watching from on board; we lost about 100 pounds of salmon and hailbut when the airlines lost the fish in transit and I got married. At least one good thing happened, I guess.

Actually, that trip was a complete blast, but that doesn't make for interesting reading.

Oh, and by the way, the airline was United.

I'm flying United again this time. For the last time.

The day began innocently enough with a 3:30 wake-up call, a quick shuttle to the airport and then a 35 minute wait on the plane as it was deiced.

OK, I'm getting ahead of myself. I also broke the airline x-ray machine.

When it was my turn to run my shoes, wallet and the rest of my gear through the x-ray machine, it broke. I was then hustled over, in various stages of undress and rising states of duress, to a back-up machine.

Eventually, I was deemed airworthy and boarded a plane.

Now I'm no small guy, I know that. I'm at least 50 pounds heavier than when I last flew - which means I've only gained a few pounds each year since then (it doesn't seem so bad when I phrase it that way). At any rate, I digress.

When I walked onto the plane my breath was taken away by how small the plane was. Immediately, my face went flush and I staggered a step heading to my seat.

It took me a while to adjust, but I didn't have a seat mate and so it was actually quite comfortable. I began to think this was not going to be nearly as streessful as I first thought.

Then the pilot came on the intercom and uttered a couple of phrases I didn't want to hear: 'Slight delay' and 'de-icing the plane.'

I had an hour between when my plane was to land and my flight to Seattle. Now I had 25 minutes, tops. And I had no idea what to do or where to go when I got there.

Moreover, if the plane needed de-icing then there was a better chance my prediction for this trip - dying in a fireball in a field in Topeka - would come true. Did I mention, I'm not a good flyer? I think the airline terminology is: Pansy Boy. Or on international flights: Wuss.

Again, I digress.

Finally, we were ice-free - I had to take them for their word, but I wasn't convinced - and the captain came on with more good news.

"Expect a few bumps."

Ahhh ... turbulence. What white-knuckle infrequent flyer doesn't want to hear those words.

It was indeed turbulent, but I just closed my eyes, said my good-byes and turned up the Tony Kornheiser Show podcast that was the only thing allowing me to maintain my tenuous grip on sanity.

The take-off was terrifying, of course. I get freaked out on a Ferris Wheel, so you can imagine how much I enjoyed a bumpy ascent into the wild blue.

But then the strangest thing happened - I opened my eyes and I was still alive.

Off to my right, the most beautiful full moon was visble along with pretty little white puffs of clouds that would do the The Simpson theme song proud. It was awe-inspiring and I was happy that one of my last experiences would be one of such natural beauty.

To my infinite amazement, I really enjoyed the next hour in the air. The air up higher was more serene and occasionally I didn't even remember that at any moment that propeller 15 feet from my right ear could shear off and sent me hurtling to my demise.

For a while I felt like I was looking at Google Earth, only without subtitles. I also was amazed at much world there was down there. I've never been south of Philly before today and the last time I was more than 250 miles from my home was ... honestly, I have no idea.

Of course, Mr. Goodnews in the cockpit put an end to my fleeting moments of introspective bliss. 'A rough ride down. Winds on the ground 25 mph. Secure all personal effects.'

Egads. I closed my eyes for most of the decent, but did sneak a peak as we approached the runway - I wanted to see Washington D.C. once before I became a part of the runway. (I'm REALLY not a good flier.)

I didn't see the president or Tony Kornheiser, the only two people I know who live in the District, upon our descent, but at least we landed - thanks, of course, to my sending positive reinforcements telepathically to my best friend/nemesis at the controls. (You GOT this, man! You can do it. Who's a good pilot? You are. Yes, you're good pilot - why I began treating him like a dog after a fetch I have no idea, but hey, it worked, didn't it?)

All that remained was for me to get from point A to point B. Or more correctly, From Gate A to Gate C. Which sounds like it would be that far. I mean, how long is a letter? Apparently, too long.

I should have known I was in trouble when the passengers behind me began to wonder how long it would take to get re-booked on a later flight. The answer is 75 minutes.

Still, I didn't know that then and I bravely speed-walked toward Gate C - wherever the freak that was.

Fortunately, I had company.

About a half dozen of us were all trying to catch the same connection. Mr. Fitness - who works on a tug boat - led the way in a dead sprint. Show off.

Harry and Maude Everyman trailed the main pack that included me, Mrs. Whinypants and cute little Miss Vancouver, an adorable Asian 20-something who works in the medical field in some capacity. Honestly, I wasn't listening that close, but she was pleasant, patient and we had a very enjoyable conversation about places she had been and how much I am afraid of flying.

I'm not sure why she was no nice to me. I'd like to think it was because I reminded her of a friendly old uncle, who just happened not be Asian. It's probably closer to the truth that she pitied me. Either way, it worked out well for me.

For as delightful as Miss Vancouver was, Mrs. Whinypants was not.

She arrived at the boarding gate a few minutes after I did - I left her and the Everymans in the dust about halfway through the terminal. And when she was told the same thing that I, Mr. Fitness and Miss Vancouver were told - sorry folks, planes closed - go to customer service - she let out a small wail.

Second later she was behind me. Panting from the long walk and fuming. Apparently, she had more reason to get on that plane than anyone else in the airport. I didn't get the name of which royal family she was from, but I'm guessing it was from the House of Bitch and Moan.

Because that's what she did for the next 10 minutes until everyone around her cut her a swath of about 5 feet - not easy to do tactfully while standing in line.

Finally, one of the customer service people called her out and basically told her to shut up. I didn't hear them say sit down, but that's what she did and then she got out her cellphone and told the same sob story to three different people, all of whom must be really glad to have her as a friend.

Finally, after 75 minutes it was my turn to get re-booked. A pleasant fellow named Carlyle tried his best, but his best was to get me on a plane eight hours after my previously scheduled depature.

And that, my friends, is where my trip to Alaska stands at 11:36 a.m. at the Samsumg power charging station just outside of Gate C-28.

Assuming I survive the rest of the trip, I will post updates as time allows. But not tonight. I'm now scheduled to arrive in Seattle at 8:11 PST and then exactly one hour later I hope to board a flight that will deposit my tired old ass in Anchorage a few minutes before the stroke of midnight Alaska Standard time.

Ciao for now!