October 9, 2003

Workmen using staple guns powered by the wallop of air compressors are overhauling the ceiling of the air terminal in San Angelo. Only access to the beams is a stepladder blocking the hall to the men's room. Only way to communicate with the airline agent is by pencil and paper. Only reason I found the right gate is there is one gate for departure and one for return.

On our last trip, regulations required we check in two hours prior to departure, as our destination, Vancouver, British Columbia, is an international flight. Extra time is also needed to inspect all checked and carry-on baggage. Plus, I need 10 minutes additional to extract my passport and driver's license from the money belt inside my pants top. Ten more minutes to close the pouch and buckle my belt. From five minutes to 10 at each stop to correct answers to questions I failed to hear at the onset.

My traveling partner acts as a translator except in restricted areas. After passing through the metal detector, I am on my own. The only part I do real well is extending my arms straight from my body to be searched. As I told the officer, that's the way we used to spread our arms doing swan dives off a rock into "Deep Hole" close to Sherwood. He must have been hard of hearing, too. His response was, "Take off your shoes, mister."

The next challenge was on the ground at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. The airline from Angelo should award "frequent taxiing miles" to customers. The runway must be closer to Waco than to Dallas. Before recent terminal improvements, the planes had to hunt for a parking space. San Angelo must have ranked way low on the priority, as we used to be locked up for 20 extra minutes hunting for the right spot to unload.

Major airlines claim 55 minutes is legal time to change planes at DFW. I don't think the majors factor in jiggling across the tarmac for miles in a commuter, eyes switching from the seatbelt sign to a yearning for the sign "men only" in their timeframe. The big guys must overlook passengers coming off the feeder lines and galloping for a distant gate with a clamor of screeching roll-on wheels adding to the panic of the moment.

Once boarded on the Vancouver flight, I found the "snack" listed on our itinerary was a granola bar, six ounces of yogurt (fruit-flavored), and four ounces of California (black) raisins. Included was a paper napkin the size of a bandana handkerchief — a big bandana — packets of salt and pepper, and a setting of plastic dinnerware.

Being road-wise, my friend and I sprinkled a pinch of salt and a few grains of black pepper on our tongues to deaden the taste buds. Crushed the granola bar in the wrapper and squeezed the raisin sack until the fruit was a near liquid. Poured the topping onto the yogurt. Shaded our eyes with the big napkin to prevent optical gastric reversal. Took bites as big as possible, ignoring even the most basic laws of etiquette. (At times, we play a game called "I dare you." Like, "Dare you to take the first bite," or "Double-dare you to look at your plate before eating.")

No smoking, no cell phones and little food distance the passengers. None of that oldtime congenial sharing of newspapers, or exchanging tales of bad weather and worse connections goes on. This is the age of head-down, fingers dancing across the computer keyboards writing or playing games, or sprawling in a seat to sleep off the tensions of the times.

One seat mate showed us how to unfold the new neck rests on the tops of the seats. But he immediately withdrew into his collar before I could tell him about a cowboy named "Sleepy Jones" who'd bet a hundred dollars he could slip his head from any head catcher ever made. Might have told you about the time "Sleepy" went through a whole work at the old ranch without ever being located except going to the house.

The change to Pacific Time put us into Vancouver Island at 11 o'clock, or one a.m. our time. Once we reached the hotel, we looked like we had washed ashore on a life raft instead of riding jet planes and a taxicab into town. The security guys had been through my checked bag, but I didn't care unless they had confiscated my pajamas. Yogurt, granola and raisins are powerful sleeping potions. Discounting the taste, the combination has some of the characteristics of food.

October 9, 2003