The trip is going well. Watching the kopeks, I booked coach on United. Had middle seat open, and while I was going to collapse most of way, it was good and uneventful. Event two of my five event tour of the road racing world continues….
Bird houses along the Rock River (yep, those are birdhouses), photo by Larry Eder
A day of traveling is a series of frantic movements for me. But, even with those movements, there is a the understanding, that, once I hit the plane, it is time to sleep. Glorious sleep.
I got through all of the mail from the past three months in Wisconsin. Cleared out the detritus of a life with much paper and such, and was packed and ready to go by 12.30 pm. Forgot one thing, to shower and dress so, once I dealt with that issue, I was off.
Miles Blodgett runs Blackhawk Van Service. Besides being my driver and life safer for two years, Miles tells the best dirty jokes. He makes me laugh and we share stories about youths ill spent, and remembrances that grow larger with the years.
For the past 18 years, I could fly out of Madison or Milwaukee, depending on costs. I was equidistant from both. Milwaukee to Chicago is nineteen minutes on a bad day. And as we hit the gate running, I was able to get to my Paris flight, a bit early, and do some writing.
Again, I have a routine on long flights. Call and text my son, my father, my brother. Read the Financial Times, the paper of the deity. Find a movie, and fall asleep. Nine hours with no phone calls, no texts, and a couple of wake ups for some food and water.
After a day in Wisconsin, where I accomplished most of what I needed to do, even a haircut, it was time to crash, and prepare the brain for Paris.
