Tuesday Another Traveling Day

Tuesday was mostly on airplanes or between airplanes. I woke up startled, remembering I had only a few hours before the travel started. I am packed with only the last-minute items waiting to be added to my usual red Nike gym bag after I use them. I later take my meds at Portland’s international airport, conveniently named after its call letters, PDX. I shower, then dress in a T-shirt and a sweater over it. This lets me avoid being told to remove my suspenders, since they are under my sweater. I will be manually searched, and that is OK. The planes and airports will be cold, and I am happy to have it until I step out into the night at 80°F (27°C) in Nashville. It comes right off.

I am dressed and ready 30 minutes early and get a text from Joan S. that she is on the way. It is about 8:30. My neighbors are about; they work, and I chat with them while I wait for Joan S. Soon Joan appears and whisks me off to the Beaverton Transit Center. We chat and enjoy the after-school-start with I-5-closed messy traffic, and soon arrive. I manage to catch the Tri-MAX Red Line to the airport in a few minutes. I help a woman (a giveaway with the luggage that she is headed to PDX) to the correct train, and we board the same train. My red bag falls, and I almost miss it.

The ride is about the American Civil War for me. I read through the whole trip, oblivious to my surroundings, as I reread the Battle of Franklin, which I will be on Wednesday, and parts of the final moments of the intact Confederate Army of Tennessee. The actual battlefields are now parking lots and housing developments, not remembered by markers and parks. Just a few houses and critical places remain; those I will visit.

I am smiling. I am happy to be traveling again, as I had planned this six months ago. I roll my bag to Delta, my go-to airline that matches my credit cards, and hand back the phone they left at the baggage-tag-printing DIY terminal. I remembered mine this time!

I drop my bag and head to security. The signs say 14 minutes for security for my gate or 10 for the other (there is a connecting hallway). I walk right into TSA and clear it all (with a search of my person and my red bag) in under five minutes. My snacks of canned tuna and chicken salad this time trip the machine. This gets an almost eye-roll (they try to be serious) from the TSA agent who opens and checks my red bag. All good.

I am running closer to lunch than breakfast, and I walk back to D concourse, passing and enjoying, but not buying anything, at Powell’s Books, which has reopened at PDX. Yay! They have their plane book and handwritten notes for books. I would often grab a book here for a trip based on their recommendations. Always looking for a new author to read. So good to have that back!

Grasso is open for lunch now. Excellent. I have the curly pasta and sausage with a vodka sauce. It has only a hint of cream, and the hot peppers make it almost too hot for me. The sweater comes off. A group of young people grab the same table and aggressively ignore me. I politely return their lack of attention. I read, eat, and enjoy a slow, good lunch.

I am tired of the hard seat and walk to my gate. I am still an hour early. I head off.

I have a beer at Deschutes, their dark beer, and read more emails and update people on my progress. I order online and pay the same way. I stop by the Men’s room, returning some of what I have taken in, and soon board my plane. The woman next to me is wedged into the center seat. She was headed to Morocco and meeting friends and family. We talked for a bit and then watched movies.

I watched The Mandalorian movie, which seems unloved, but I thought it was an excellent extension of the TV series. After that, I watched a cooking contest show. I only watch them on the plane, and they are my go-to for landing, as I ignore everything to see who wins and who is eliminated. This time it was a pastry chef contest and covered things I have no idea how to cook or make. I enjoyed the show and felt each chef’s wins and failures as almost personal. Excellent editing and storytelling.
I arrived at the next airport and walked one gate over for my next flight. I saw a restaurant next door, sat down, and ordered an Old Fashioned (a bit on the sweet side) and a BLT. After dinner, I got on the plane when it was called, with a pit stop to prove my hydration first. There was a kerfuffle as folks had found themselves upgraded to middle seats in comfort (not me; I was 17th in line for a 1st-class upgrade), and the gate staff was undoing this unwanted upgrade. I had skipped it when it was offered for $17 to have a middle seat with free drinks.

I sat with an empty seat next to me on a 1/2 full plane. Except for 1st, which was packed as usual. The pilot wanted a rough trip (which did not happen), and we had limited service- -just water. I watched the rest of the cooking show and started the next episode. They are an hour long. While interesting, I wasn’t getting much how-to cooking information, but I did see that liquid nitrogen needs to be included in any serious modern pastry work. Not happening in my tiny kitchen (nor will I be buying a blast freezer).

I was soon in Nashville. Found my bag and walked to the taxi. $40 and an $8 tip got me to my hotel and a short tour of the neon-filled tourist area only two blocks from my hotel. “You have chosen…wisely…y’all,” went through my mind.

I was soon checked in; the doors were locked, and they let me in and pointed to the other doors for next time. A hotel with two entrances, hmmm. The southern-accented welcome made me smile. “You are not in the Pacific Northwest anymore,” came to mind.

I am time-boxed, and that is a good place to stop. I got to bed before 11 and, with the two-hour time change, did not sleep until midnight. 6AM came too soon, but that is for another blog.

Thanks for reading.