Sweet Home Alabama

Little Planes

Son number two’s first flight in a private aircraft began with the Experimental Aircraft Association’s Young Eagles flight experience, which led to several classes at the small executive airport near our home.  The final class ended with the youngsters riding shotgun in the co-pilots seat of a private, four-seat aircraft, flying and landing at three different airstrips in the region.  Small aircrafts do not frighten me, but I also rarely travel in them.  In fact, his two flights (technically four flights counting each taxi and landing) are two times (or is it four times) more small-scale aircraft flights than I have experienced.

In fact, for all my travels, I have only flown upon two aircraft that could even remotely be considered “puddle jumpers.”  The first one, on Christmas Day, counted the shorter of two flights to get to Minnesota for the holiday.  In my personal opinion, any airplane that still operates with the assistance of propellers, regardless of how many passengers occupy the aircraft, is a small plane.  The flight wasn’t terribly long, but nonetheless, when the ground crew at Hartsfield International Airport wheeled steps up to our plane, I knew that counts as either a small plane or a small airport.  And anyone who has flown through the Georgia capital knows, the airport does not qualify as petite.

One By Two

I consider myself quite knowledgeable about my home airport.  I know where the best parking is, I dine where I can grab the tastiest or fastest food, and I tend to move through security swiftly without much delay.  Knowing the busy season and the hectic times, and by avoiding them whenever possible, certainly helps my travel routine.  But on one occasion, I arrive near my departing gate only to discover that the number I need is not down any of the three hallways to my right, my left, or straight ahead.  Instead, an elevator descends to a hallway tucked under the tramway guiding me to the smallest of planes to take me to the largest of cities in Alabama.

My assigned seat, while being the most forward on the plane of any other passengers, by no means lands me in first class, however, on the upside, my seat offers me both a window seat and an aisle seat.  Yes, the Embraer plane features one seat wide on the pilot’s side of the plane, and two seats wide on the co-pilot’s side of the plane.  A southern gentleman greets me as I board; he’s a one-man service crew, literally.  But as we land in Birmingham, he welcomes us to our destination, he rises to begin the deplaning, and he places a compact disc into a mini music player. The entire cabin fills with the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd singing proudly about “Sweet Home, Alabama,” providing entertainment all the way to the gate.  Sometimes smaller is sweeter.

Where's My Luggage?

Vanished Into Thin Air

Hate me if you must, but no airline has ever lost my luggage.  When I drop off my bags at the entrance to the airport, they miraculously appear at my final destination.  Even the time I flew five flights in a single day (see “Swimming in Alphabet Soup” from February 2012), my suitcase showed up on the baggage carousel.  Granted, more often than not I carry on everything I need, and rely on the USPS to deliver a box of pre-shipped extras to my hotel in advance of my arrival so my odds of a successful reunion with my belongings garner higher returns.  Regardless, I pack frugally and travel similarly, so the contents of my baggage are critical, and having everything with me when I arrive allows my expeditions to begin immediately upon arrival.

Of course there was the one time my son left a book in the seat pocket.  He didn’t deplane, he just changed seats on the flight to help a family traveling together.  After takeoff when he went back to retrieve his book, the family had given it to the flight attendant.  The flight attendant gave it to the gate in Chicago before closing the doors, thinking it belonged to the previous flight’s passenger.  And from there, the book vanished.  The logical chain of events would be that the book went from the Chicago gate to a main location in Midway International Airport, then on to a central location for the airline.  Yet once the book left the plane, it dematerialized.  How exactly does that happen?

Did You Look In Alabama?

After visiting friends in Birmingham we decide to swing by a little store in Scottsboro, Alabama, featured on CBS Sunday Morning. Bill Geist profiled the little specialty shop where shoppers can find just about anything from swimming trunks to a wedding dress, with a wide selection of cameras, CDs, and a complete, all-weather wardrobe.  The Unclaimed Baggage Center sells just about everything the airlines have tired of possessing.  Vast lots of homeless suitcases with tragically abandoned, and occasionally outdated, clothing and assorted personal effects become thrift-shop fodder for us and we wander through the bizarre warehouse with no particular purpose.

Son #1 purchases his first thirty-five millimeter camera at the expense of its original sad owner who most likely has moved on to a digital version of his or her previous model.  Son #2 selects a brown, felt fedora appropriately labeled with the name of the movie character whose likeness often dons similar apparel.  As for me, I am content to bring home a few compact discs that have long since disappeared from music stores of soundtracks from movies that have long since disappeared from theaters.  Maybe one day when passing northward near Chattanooga, Tennessee, we again will dip into the plenty of abandoned possessions and begin a new chapter for otherwise homeless objects.  Perhaps we will find a missing biography of John Paul Jones last seen in the Windy City at gate A11.