Me in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Why is this picture on this page? Three reasons. First, it proves I was in Belfast. Second, it give you a taste of what's to come. Third, it's the only picture I have where I'm about to depart to somewhere.
I was up at 7 a.m. Actually, I'd been up most of the night, but not because
I was anxious about the trip. I was anxious about flying again. I really
hate flying. It's simply the most unnatural sensation in the world. How
anyone can enjoy bumping up and down at 35,000 feet is beyond me. But, I
enjoy the traveling more than I hate the flying, so, off I go. My ride to San
Francisco picked me up at about 8:30 a.m. After a leisurely trip and lunch,
I got to the airport. The line at the British Airways counter was not as
long as it usually is. Maybe that's a good sign, I thought. Another hour of stressful waiting followed the check in at the counter. The period between check in and take off is always the worst for me because I can actually see the airplane. That's when the hallucinations about which part of the plane is falling off start. Before they got too bad, it was time to get
on the plane. At 4 p.m, the plane took off for it's nine and a half hour
trip to London. I tried to keep the screaming down to a minimum. It actually
turned out to be a relatively smooth flight.
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