"Northern Lights" - Alaska
	Day 6: Monday, July 22, 2002

Given a complete lack of plans, I was in no hurry to get up, what with the hotel's policy having an 11 am check-out, and it being wet outside, the rush for open spaces and uncovered skies wasn't what you'd call a magnetic pull on me toward the outdoors.  We managed to wander around town in search of excitement and adventure, or at least a couple of fun chicks to make us want to throw it all away and move to Alaska.  (Well, okay, we weren't really looking that hard for them, but if two stumbled across our path, we'd have at least asked them some cursory questions on the subject.)

We wander around town further and forage for food.  At Wendys, grand adventurers that we are.  We find that the 99¢ value meal items are $1.25, which actually makes the math easier, given there is no sales tax 'round these parts.  The girl in the window, Kat, hands the boy his order, and after glancing in the bag, he thanks her, and comments, "Ooooh, salt.  Thanks -- you're an angel." before driving off.  Yet again, we get a weird look from a complete stranger, and the boy is left to wonder "why."  (Now, if I'd heard a bell, right when he saw the salt, then that's something else, 'cuz everyone knows when you hear a bell ring, well, that's the sound of an angel earning their wings.)

The boy finally get a picture of the moose sign that he thinks is a bit on the clever side.  Whatever, guy.

After feeding the car, we head out to the airport, slowly.  We find the Airport Park, which offers nothing of a view of the airport, but an excellent view of Anchorage, from afar.  (I couldn't help but be intrigued with the ability to drive through the airport's annex areas, including where plane maintenance is taking place.  There's just something cool about a stop sign put in place for the cross-traffic -- planes -- and a sign telling you to yield to planes crossing.

We check in, and the girl, whose name escapes us both, but was sort of unusual, checks us in and asks about new damage to the windshield.  The boy indicates the two window dings, but can't honestly say if they were there before we started on the road on Day 1 or not.  She notes it, Baldie signs the form, and we hop the shuttle to the terminal.

The ticking counter moved quick enough, despite the line.  In maybe 10 minutes, we had a ticket and were free to get in the security line.  This task sounds easier than it was, considering we had to find the end of the line, which was maybe 200 people long.  But after maybe 10 minutes, we could at least seen near the front of the line (just below the red, white, and blue lighted barber's pole thingy).  As planes were doing their final boarding call, Callie (seen in the last picture with the really long hair) walked the length of the line looking for passengers who may be trapped in line and about to miss a flight.  Each time she went by, she managed to corral enough to keep her busy.  We eventually got through, and I again had no issues with the transport of a laptop, tall bald guy, or any of the other trinkets we're carrying.

Question - if the metal detector is looking for suspicious or unknown objects, why is it that we can get three tins of Altoids though without question?  You can't tell me that the x-rays can see through metal to the curiously strong mints inside.

So, we're past security, and now waiting at the gate (B9, if you're wondering).  We've still got probably two hours to the time we depart, and a woman with a Minnesota t-shirt returns and sits down with her husband.  Seems ol' Millie is upset about the security checkpoint.  Apparently, she wanted to exit the secure area, do a little shopping, and come back through, without having to be re-screened.  The woman with the security folks said no... Millie pointed out the presence of her boarding pass and photo ID, and felt that was an exception to the screening policy.  

Security Woman told her, "I don't care."  I guess this was the wrong thing for Security Woman to say, because Millie was now quite upset, the poor dear.  Moreover, those of us around Millie, upon her return, then all heard the tale, over and over again, "I don't care, I don't care." until none of us cared.  Millie, shaking at the idea of using profane language, finally spit it out -- "That woman is a mean witch!"  Ooow, I bet that one will leave a mark.  (Fortunately, Millie had neither sticks nor stones at her disposal.)

Heaven forbid Millie can't buy a souvenir t-shirt for her dim-witted nephew, Adam, who probably adores moose more than life itself.  All just because it would compromise the security of air travel.  But maybe in her part of Minnesota, the nearby lake (and you know there's at least one) probably blocked out all news stories in the last ten months about planes and domestic security.

Then we have two couples sit down near us.  Fascinating folks, I suppose, if you'd been trapped on a slow-moving ice flow through the Artic Circle.  Given that does not describe us, we were dying, slowly, of a conversational boredom.  Wife 1 asks Wife 2 what the best food they had on this trip was; Wife 2 responds the lobster, although it wasn't that great -- just okay.  She suspects it was frozen, but the waiter was good enough to shell it for them.  She had a little difficult cutting it, but nothing that she didn't overcome.  Wife 1 nods in an understanding manner, and offers up her best dining experience to be the Beef Wellington.  Why was it the best?  Neither one of them offered up that morsel of detail to our curious ears.

Wife 2 then confers with Husband 2; they need to call Ray to coordinate being picked up at the airport.  But when Wife 2 called Ray, she just got his machine.  Well, what to do, what to do...  Husband 2 sits down after fetching a "soda"* from Cinnabon, and asks if she's called Ray.  Well, the story begins again, for his benefit, as well as for those nearby who missed it the first time.  Husband 2 suggests she call back in a half hour, and then call Richard in the BMW if Ray doesn't answer on call-back.  He also feels that Ray should bring the pick-up truck to get them; yes, that'd be best.

                * You realize as I do, of course, they're not from the Midwest, since he didn't call it a "pop."

But wait!  If Wife 2 waits a half hour, realizes Husband 2, that time coincides with when the boarding of the plane is set to begin.  (Oh, the humanity!)  Then it hits him... if Wife 2 calls in just 10 or 15 minutes, well, all is well.  Wife 2 departs.  Wife 2 returns, and success!  Ray answered on the first ring.  The family cat was doing fine without Wife  2 and Husband 2 being home until today; today, she won't eat.  Wife 2 relays suggesting to Ray she give the cat some of the canned food.  But, where was Ray the first time?  A good question!  He was outside with Samuel, the plumber.  Seems the water pipe burst at Ray's house, and it's right under the deck.  Problem is, though, there's concrete down there, so they'll need to get a jack-hammer to break up the concrete to get to the pipes.  Husband 2 apparently is handy, and now has all sorts of handyman-like questions.  Wife 2 cuts him off, saying she didn't get into the details, because she doesn't know how much the call is costing.  (Wife 2 used a 1-800-CALL-ATT calling card, with 100 minutes on the face.)  Husband 2 is satisfied with her answer, and falls silent (hurrah!).

Our plane arrives at the gate and a new batch of tourists deplane.  (Good for them.)  The ground crew, which had previously been standing around and talking (the guys), or looking at weird marks on their legs (the girls), snaps to action, guiding in the plane into just the right spot.  (The right spot, of course, is the yellow line with the big, 8-inch high letters for "757" marked on the pavement.)  The luggage is unloaded, food loaded, any one chap gets to back up LT 901 to the plane.  (For the lay person, vehicle LT 901 is also labeled for your convenience:  Lavatory Service.)  Everything is falling into place, and the gate gals arrive and begin to make the litany of unintelligible announcements to us.

Of course, Husband 2 says to Wife 2, that can't be our plane.  Why not?  He didn't have an answer for that, mind you, but he was gosh darn sure we'd be getting on another plane.  Never mind the fact that we are at gate B9, and the plane is at B9, and our flight is a United flight, and that is a United plane.  And it arrived 60 minutes before we depart.  Nah... I'm sure they'll finish fueling this plane, back it out, bring in another one, and get it ready to go in that time.  Yessirree, had the conversation been something I was listening to on the television, I'd be looking for the setting for 'Brightness.'

We eventually begin boarding, although not exactly at the 2:30pm as promised... but more like 2:45pm.  It is apparent to me, at least, that a 3pm departure will be about as likely as pigs flying.  Success!  I'm right.  But that afforded us plenty of time to subtly gawk at a brunette sitting by the at-the-gate security screening area.  She had one of those timeless faces that made it difficult to really say if she were 17 or 37.  Some of the traits and clothing suggested more the teen years, yet, the balance of her maturity and how she carried herself suggested more years.  

At the end of the day, who knows.. but she lost no time in popping on the trademark Sony yellow-and-gray headphones and closing the window shade once she sat down in 20F, next to the window.  (Which was a bit of a bonus for me, as I was sitting, on the boy's lap, in 19C.  And if you thought my therapy costs were on the decline with my staggering popularity in recent months, they're back with a vengeance after some of the accommodations I've been forced to endure on this trip.)

The in-flight movie was "Big Fat Liar."  I didn't love it, but at least it wasn't as bad as "Clockstoppers", I think it was, which we were subjected to on the way up north.  

I wonder what 20F's name is; I'm sure the boy could ask, but doing things the conventional way is hardly is way.  I guess we'll never know.  Unlike the other cute girl in the terminal, who seemed glued to her father's side, this one didn't have a nametag on her backpack.  (Thus, by that extension of investigative reasoning, the Elmer's girl, with her dad, was "Casey.")

Much to my delight, Wife 1 and Husband 1 are seated next to us.  Yup, a little bit of heaven, right here aboard flight 375.

At one hour out of San Francisco, it begins (now 6:30pm AKDT, 7:30pm PDT).  Wife 1 mentions to the boy not wanting to be a bother, but she needs to get out to use the restroom.  (Have you never noticed that 9 times out of 10, when someone says they don't mean to be a bother, they've already figured out their question or request is going to, in fact, be a bother?)  No problem, he says, folks up the tray and laptop, and stands in the aisle.  It's one of the rare moments I can actually stretch my wings, too.

Husband 2 decided he feels the need for speed, and he, too, gets out.  They begin down the aisle, but wait!  Adam and Ramon have begin drink service, so they'll have to wait until the cart passes.  (Husband 1 is in 19A, the window, and Wife 1 in 19B, the middle, with tubby in 19C, the aisle.)

The Oregon-California state line are outside the window.  Mind you, it's not the Oregon-California "border", as a border separates national boundaries, not regional ones, such as states, providences, or boroughs.  Just thought you'd like to know that, or if you knew that, reinforce that knowledge.

I wonder what would happen to the cans of soda, tomato juice (requested by 17E), and beer if the cabin wasn't pressurized... I would guess they'd explode, given the in-can pressure would be greater than the out-of-can pressure.  But I'm no scientist, but a gambler... so if you know anyone with a plane, lemme know -- I'd like to take a can of soda (or 'pop') up to a couple of thousand feet and watch the hilarity. 

Well, they return.  How about this, suggests Wife 1.  The boy (and "your cute little duck") move to the window seat, and they'll sit on the outside until the cart passes.  Fine.  We all move, and tubby finds that the window seat is no place for himself, a laptop, and me, the "cute little duck."  By sitting sideways facing the window, though, there's enough room.  Except we've forgotten it's drink service -- so now, we're also balancing a full can of Pepsi, a cup with ice, and a bag of nuts that is the dickens to get open.  But the cart passes, and Husband 1 and Wife 1 depart.  Boy moves back to the aisle, and the drink is on the middle seat (tempting fate, eh?), waiting for their return and what is hoped to be the last shift before the asphalt runway meets the rubber tires.

The hope is realized, and we land without another run to the potty by our aisle mates.  And 20F sat quietly the entire time; I didn't catch what her beverage of choice was, either.  I wonder if she was listening to the sounds of the dolphins on her headphones.  I like dolphins.  Bottle-nosed dolphins are my favorite.  I think she stayed on the plane to the final stop in San Diego; she was no where to be seen in the terminal or at the baggage pick-up thing.

With two feet on the ground and my wings none the worse for the flight, I suppose this portion of my U.S. Tour is technically at an end.  And 20F is gone without a trace..