Getting there is half the fuuaaaAAAIIEEE!!!!!

I'm not too fond of flying. Jets often make weird noises that make you think yeah, it really is crazy to voluntarily get into a flying tube machine thingy that is operated by someone you've never met and maintained by someone who may be disgruntled or incompetent.

When we were making the final approach to the Denver runway we were coming in at a typically gentle angle. It was totally socked in so we (and the pilots) couldn't see a thing. All of a sudden the plane nosed up sharply (like holy sheeeit!) and we popped up out of the clouds. After a couple minutes the pilot came on and said. "Um, folks, um, we need to, ahem, make one more turn here. We were a little too close to the plane in front of us so we had to bring 'er up and try again. We're in the traffic pattern now so we'll be landing shortly." He spoke haltingly and his voice cracked which gave me the impression that we were listening to a man who had just crapped his pants. But at that moment I was at peace because I knew that we had a pilot who was now extremely awake and paying very close attention to what he was doing.

We landed and taxied for I think somewhere around 30 to 50 miles (it was foggy and we couldn't see a thing) before we got to the terminal. We got off the plane and then took the ultra speedy shuttle train to the next concourse. This train is pretty cool. There are no seats (it's a very short ride after all) so you have to hang onto poles and handrails. You'd better hang on tight, too. These babies really take off fast.

We had about an hour before our next flight so we had breakfast. While we were eating, a guy who was the spitting image of Joe Butcher walked in. Dad and I both went BLUNH??? It was pretty funny. This guy was a Joe clone.

The flight to San Antonio was uneventful. Molly and Joe picked us up. Maryann came a couple hours later. We started in almost immediately on a week-long whisperfest. Joe, Molly, Maryann and I all sure had a lot to share about taking care of aging and completely whacked out parents.

Crashing in Denver might have been more fun and less stressful than hanging around Dad and Ruth all week.