On the Trail

My father had an expression that went something like this: Someone who travels has a lot of stories to tell. How true! Notice how anytime one of our bloggers goes on a trip there are long posts of the event. I'm no different. Remember my airport posts?

I often think of my father when on the road. Sometimes, while cruising in the midwest between fields of high, almost ripe corn, along a practically deserted county or state road, in the distance, on the horizon, I see a steady stream of tractor trailers crossing in front of me. This was a particular scene in which my father delighted. The almost ghostly vision of the trucks slowly moving along the tops of of waving corn stalks was a metaphor for the approach to the pulsing traffic along Americas mighty interstates which criscross the nation in stark contrast to the pristine peacefulness of small town America. It gives me the same feeling.

Or another scene he would have enjoyed. Sunday night at a major "hub" airport at the commuter flight area. People are returning (almost all passengers on Sunday evenings are inbound - back home, rather than beginning a trip) from who knows where, exhausted but happy, loaded down with shopping bags luggage and kids, dressed (or rather undressed) in all kinds of crazy outfits, those lucky enough to find seats lolling about the crowded waiting room just wanting to get back to their small town that doesn't have direct air service from any but the closest big city. For some reason, the airlines schedule all their commuter flights to leave at the same time from the same set of gates. The confusion and noise can really get to you. Since all the planes are leaving at the same time the boarding announcements come fast and furious and many times are incomprehensible above the bustle as well as because the gate agents aren't native English speakers.

My most original story happened when Ozark airlines was flying. Ozark was a regional airline serving, Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas and probably some other states in the region. I was booked on a flight to Springfield, MO. Another flight, scheduled to leave at the same time, was heading to Springfield,IL. You can imagine the problems this caused. The waiting area was tiny and the gate agents were trying to caution the people to choose the right plane. They didn't have jetways then and when you got out on the field there were several planes all looking alike with their stairways down leading to their open doors. I wonder how many people, half drunk, landed up in the wrong town.

The funny thing was that this must have occured every night!