exhausted
drarwenchicken kindly gave me a ride to the airport at 5:00am for a 7:00 flight. Naturally, the airport isn't so busy at that time, so I zip through check-in and security, and have over an hour for walking up and down concourses D and E (no, I wasn't lost. I'm less restless after hours of sitting if I get at least SOME exercise). It was my favorite sort of flight: Uneventful. No mechanical problems, air rage, drunken celebrities or major turbulence. My seat was in the middle, with a middle-aged business-type guy on each side (To be accurate, my FAVORITE flight involves sitting next to a wealthy Australian fitness model whose passion for flying coach is exceeded only by her interest in reserved IT professionals, but that hasn't happened to me yet).
The only travel problem was the bus arriving forty minutes late. This wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't already waited a couple hours for its scheduled arrival time. The good news is that my cell phone works in New Hampshire, so I could tell JQP about the delay. I also called my parents. Not that they needed to know about the bus, but my father lived in Manchester as a child, and it felt like I had made a pilgrimage to the family wellspring. He told me the address where he grew up, but it wasn't at the airport, so I didn't get to see it.
JQP met me at the bus station, and even though we haven't seen each other for two years, she still recognized me! I gave her the ceremonial airline pretzels (I always give my airplane snacks to the person who picks me up at the airport. I know, she didn't technically do that, but I felt she still qualified). We then drove from White River Junction to Woodstock, arriving just before 9:00pm, after an exhausting eleven hours of travel.
