After passing through the TSA area in the Albuquerque terminal, there were several display cases with all sorts of civilian and military aircraft. I looked all over at them, hoping to spot an EA3B. I found an RB-66 Destroyer, the Air Force’s variant, and had almost given up when I got close to one; it was the non-electronic version, an A3D Skywarrior.
I left ABQ on a 737 MAX, which has changeable neon lighting in the cabin, like it’s a Lexus or something. I got my first drink on this flight (I already paid for them for both legs when I bought the tickets); it’s a Doghead something or another, a vodka and lemonade in a can, that proudly proclaims it contains 2 shots. This helped blur the memory of this aircraft’s propensity to crash and kill hundreds in its first couple of years in service.
Coming in for landing in Vegas, there must be wildfires around because the mountains are very moody-looking. If you could erase the large swaths of subdivisions and color the mountains reddish, you would believe you are landing on Mars. This is enhanced by the fact that I was on the wrong side of the plane to see the Strip on touchdown.
When Donna and I flew into Las Vegas back in 1999, there were a few slot machines scattered around the terminal(s), but now there are enough to fill a small casino floor. Ninety percent of the seating while waiting in the concourse faces inward so you can stare at the slot machines in the middle of the round building. You can’t escape them even when staring out the window with them at your back
Lunch was on the C concourse, and I had a choice of Wendy’s or Popeyes. The line was longer at Wendy’s, so I went to Popeyes. Little did I know that the line length could have foretold the quality of the meal. I got the 3-piece spicy strips with fries as a side. I received four strips, and none of the three I did eat was remotely spicy. The best part of the meal was the fries, and I only finished a little more than half of them. It wasn’t the worst $20 fast food meal I’ve ever had, but it was in the top three.
On the flight back to Portland I was in a 737-700, the smaller, older brother to the first flight’s plane, sort of a used Toyota, and it showed. There were no charging ports, no spiffy neon lighting, and the emergency door seemed to let in more freezing outside air. One bright note, though: instead of the crappy pretzels on the morning flight, on this one we got a couple of bags of pistachios instead. Still feeling the buzz from drink number one on the first leg, I opted to pass on the drink on this flight, fearing I’d fall asleep and start snoring with my mouth open or, worse, have to use that little plastic-coated white bag in the seat pocket in front of me. I know, lightweight…
Flying into PDX, not only did I get a nice view of Mt. Hood, not as nice as the one on the way out, but I did get a peek at three Washington snow-covered mountains: Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Adams after Mt. Hood disappeared behind us. I’m kind of sorry I didn’t snap a picture, but it wouldn’t have been that nice, as the windows on the plane were all scratched from their long life and many washings.
