So here I am in West Virginia at my daughter's--a trip I've been waiting to make for over two years. First my husband's treatment schedule didn't allow us to make the trip. Then Covid hit. A planned visit for Thanksgiving was cancelled due to the fall surge. At last yesterday, I flew from Cedar Rapids to Dulles in DC, with a layover in Chicago.
To me, flying isn't the last word in convenience or comfort. First there's the challenge of determining what you can pack and how you can downsize to fit the requirements. Is my shampoo too big? Is my suitcase too heavy? I decided to check my bag because I wasn't sure I could lift it into an overhead. It didn't matter on the first leg because they announced that the overheads weren't big enough for carryons or duffel bags.
I arrived in Chicago and asked where my next gate was. "Just down the hall to left until you get to security and take another left." So is Gate B10 right there when you turn at security? Of course not. Down several more loooong halls and too many turns to count. I reach my gate with about 20 minutes to spare before boarding. No food is being served even though the flight is over the supper hour, but there is a MacDonald's a few steps away. I have never been a fan of MacDonald's and that chicken sandwich didn't do anything to change my mind.
The plane engines are at least as loud as the motor in my camper. I was cramped and uncomfortable. I found myself thinking too often that if I was driving my camper, I could pull over and get up and walk around. I could make myself a good sandwich, and I could even go back and take a nap. Whe we reached DC, I think they actually landed us in Tennessee, judging from the walk from the plane to the baggage claim. I miss Agatha.
To me, flying isn't the last word in convenience or comfort. First there's the challenge of determining what you can pack and how you can downsize to fit the requirements. Is my shampoo too big? Is my suitcase too heavy? I decided to check my bag because I wasn't sure I could lift it into an overhead. It didn't matter on the first leg because they announced that the overheads weren't big enough for carryons or duffel bags.
I arrived in Chicago and asked where my next gate was. "Just down the hall to left until you get to security and take another left." So is Gate B10 right there when you turn at security? Of course not. Down several more loooong halls and too many turns to count. I reach my gate with about 20 minutes to spare before boarding. No food is being served even though the flight is over the supper hour, but there is a MacDonald's a few steps away. I have never been a fan of MacDonald's and that chicken sandwich didn't do anything to change my mind.
The plane engines are at least as loud as the motor in my camper. I was cramped and uncomfortable. I found myself thinking too often that if I was driving my camper, I could pull over and get up and walk around. I could make myself a good sandwich, and I could even go back and take a nap. Whe we reached DC, I think they actually landed us in Tennessee, judging from the walk from the plane to the baggage claim. I miss Agatha.
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