I come to you live this morning from the land of Lincoln. No not Illinoisstan, rather the land surrounding Lincoln, Nebraska. I have been in the Cornhusker state a number of times, but this is my first trip to Lincoln and its airport. Since I arrived at my hotel near said airport around 11:00 CST, I have no comments on the city or it's environs beyond a sincere, albeit futile, hope that some kind soul would clean the couple of inches of snow that fell overnight from my rental car.
---Aside: that was a whole lot of sentence. My inner Hemingway is cringing.
I have a customer visit later this morning then I will wing my way back to the equally scenic area of central Indiana. The unhighlight of both trips will be a layover at dreadful O'Hare. I lucked out last night in that my arrival and departure gates were next to each other. In all, the outbound flights were uneventful.
By chance, my youngest boy was flying at the same time to go visit his brother in Colorado. Since this was his first solo airplane trip (not his first, just first unaccompanied), I helped him navigate security and showed him his gate. He was a bit worried and nervous.
I often forget that to those who rarely travel the whole process can be a little intimidating. I'm a bit jaded and should have more patience. I've flown in the neighborhood of 900 flights to close to 100 different airports (add another to the list) and spent more nights than I can count in hotel rooms. Travel lost its excitement a long time ago. That doesn't mean I dislike it, it just isn't as exciting as it may be for someone who vacations rarely and flies a few times in their life.
I have finished my delightful hotel breakfast of bacon and powdered eggs. I washed it down with a couple cups of Joe. Now it is time to pack and hit be road. I have about an hour drive to m customer location and I do not want to be late -- first impressions and all.