On the back of the airplane seat, directly in front of me, is an entertainment console with music, movies, and diversions.. If I hit a flight tracker button on the console, I can see the path of my current flight in midair, wind speed, plane speed, miles traveled, miles to go. Not a numbers guy, I relate better to the picture of the world in front of me,on the screen. A little airplane, like ours, is following a white line connecting where we started this trip and where we are ending this trip. We are, right now, half way across the Pacific Ocean.
Checking the flight tracker has become a flight habit of mine.
A wise person would divide the number of miles traveled by the number of food servings and know that by the third trip down the aisle with the beverage cart, the plane is almost done with its flight.
The worst thing about this flight is that I will have to wave at Denver as we fly over, board a plane in Minneapolis to fly back to Denver which adds hours to my journey. My car is parked in a Denver International Airport parking lot. If I was a parachuting guy, I could pull a D.B. Cooper thing and bail out, without any money, just to save hours off my trip.
These days there is no such thing as a crow flying straight and trips look more like stock market charts than straight lines.
One of these days, Scotttreks will fly around the world without having to backtrack, take direct flights, and eat caviar in First Class.
There will be plenty of legroom and all stewardesses will be knockouts, hired mostly for their anatomy.
Thinking about good days ahead, in a crumbling world, is another in-flight habit of mine.
Scotttreks, I have figured out ,has become my own personal flight tracker.
Keeping track of where I am, in the world, has become quite a project, and a project I can’t, in good conscience, leave to anyone else.
In fact, I don’t know anyone else that would even attempt to keep track of me.
They have too much to do keeping track of themselves.