I pretty much hate flying.  Always have.  If I can drive, I’ll drive every time.  But I must admit, I like it much better these days.  I love having a reservation, not lugging heavy  “carry-ons” through terminals and then trying to stuff them in the full overheads if there actually turned out to be “space available.”  The mantra in those days was “The price is right.”  I now choose my sure seat online months in advance.  And they’ve got the security business all figured out now so that it mostly runs like clockwork.  They have a place right outside security to empty your water bottle and a place right inside to fill it up again.  Nice dishpans for your laptop and shoes. Folks seem to know to be all ready to put everything in there without holding up the line.

I especially love small airports.  You get let out at the curb, walk in fifty feet to check in.  Go up one flight. Watch your plane arrive

and still have time to take a few pictures of the local ads before walking a little way to your gate.

Nearly all the ads had to do with the booming oil business and I really enjoyed learning as much about that as I could during my visit.  I’m very sorry to tell you that I did not, however, visit this local boy’s childhood home.  A few days ago I came out of the restroom at an ATV salesroom and almost bumped into a life-sized placard of him.  I nearly jumped out of my skin!

Now I am in a much bigger airport and have plenty of time to walk around and get the kinks out before my flight to PDX.  Big airports can be great adventures.  I particularly remember Frankfurt.  Cutting edge.  And an unexpected four-hour wait in Cairo.  Most fascinating people watching I have ever done.   There are some places you can’t drive. Now, I’m just looking to buy a few souvenirs and maybe a smoothie. And look at the nice spot I found to write this.

I’ve had such a great time.  More on that later.