Monday, August 23, 2010

BLOOMINGTON, Minn. (Aug. 23)--My hotel room here is about on the edge of where the old Twins' stadium sat 'way back when. Maybe Harmon Killebrew stood here warming up. Maybe Mickey Mantel or George Brett walked through my bathroom on the way to the team bus, I don't know.

But I do know they didn't have to listen to the incessant parade of Delta airplanes departing to the south, throttles firewalled and barely three hundred feet in the air. For the last six weeks I have lived in hotels seemingly built directly under the glide path of landing airplanes. If the wind shifts they depart across the parking lot, vibrating the window glass and drowning out the television or telephone calls.

I suppose the ALer's had some noisy old Northwest Orient jets with which to contend over the years, but they were only at the ball park for four or five hours. I don't know how the people in the apartments next door have put up with the roar, beginning at six in the morning and going until well after sunset. I should be getting used to it but it only gets more annoying. The Detroit airport was the same way but no one lived anywhere near it, just us schleps in the hotels.

When landing from the north, the planes streak across miles of Minneapolis, the last two or three miles slightly above the treetops. Yesterday I took a drive around the Twin Cities and noticed how low the planes were at Lake Nokomis, a city park in a neighborhood of classic American homes. It looked like the streets the Cleavers, Andersons or the Nelsons might have lived on. Except for the racket from above.

After that I went up to downtown Minneapolis, and over to St. Paul, suddenly realizing there was no airplane noise. For five whole hours, no airplanes. Both city centers are quite alive, with people out on foot everywhere. In Minnieapolis the after-church crowd was all over downtown, in the streets, in the restaurants and on Nicollete Mall.

Over in St Paul the univeristy crowd was having late morning coffee on the sidewalks at several java huts and diners near "the U" as the University of Minnesota is locally known. And all over downtown St. Paul, people were heading for the big city park on Sibley Street and on the lawn at the beautiful state capitol building. Mickey's Diner was discharging the last of the breakfast rush, with a crowd of them lingering on the corner.

After that I drove over to Wisconsin, about 10 miles east. The state border is the St. Croix River. Where I-94 crosses, it is as aide as a lake and a gorgeous marina blue as far as you can see. Sail boats are popular there and the day was quite warm. It looked great.

And back to the hotel. Crossing the Minnesota River as I approached my exit, I saw an airplane climbing from the airport. Even in the truck with the windows up and the air on it made its presence known. Welcome home.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

BLOOMINGTON, Minn. (Aug 17)--Having been exposed as a fraud and expense account squatter in Detroit, the company has moved me on to Minneapolis.


I left with mixed feelings, like there was a job not yet done. I didn't leave a trained replacement behind, but it really seemed like they didn't want me to and didn't care. I wonder if the shop was in trouble with a customer and brought a few of us in for the customer to see; sort of a visible response that they were making every effort to make things better.


Well, nevertheless, I left. Friday night, the flight home continued my Friday Night Fights on the airplane. An anticipated thunderstorm delay in Detroit never materialized but storms developed en route over Kansas City and the four-state area. Flying along next to this storm gave us spectacular views of lightening shooting back and forth across the tops of the clouds. The show was amazing, entertaining me until the pilot announced that the Kansas City airport was closed. We would be diverted to St. Louis.


After two hours on the ground there, we were finally cleared to resume the trip to MCI. Again, we flew alongside a magnificent storm (the same one that cost us an on-time arrival) with flashes of light as intense as a nuclear detonation. It was awesome indeed but everyone was dog-tired and few observed the show.


Now here I am in Minnesota. To which I drove, I might add. I need a break from air travel. And it is great to have my own transportation, having not to depend on the whim of others for a ride to work. Or more importantly, a ride back to the hotel.

Access to Minnesota is gained by traversing the Iowa countryside, most of which appears to be on the verge of flooding. Rivers there were high and standing water was everywhere around Des Moines. Further north the traffic thins, the rivers run more clear and it's hard to fathom there are hungry people anywhere with all that corn. The long evening shadows brighten the greens, letting them sparkle against the shadows. Iowa in the summer is not awe-inspiring like the Rockies, but it has a majesty all its own. (Note that Iowa in the winter is a completely different proposition and there are few romantic observations to be made on its behalf.)

Anyway it appears that summer here is about like that in Kansas City, only about 10 degrees cooler. Unfortunately it is just as humid, or more, if that's even possible. So far the dew point and temperature are nearly the same, never more than 9 degrees distant from one another.

The Mall of America is across the street, quite beautifully maintained inside and still a draw. But the local shop I am assigned to is less hospitable than I had hoped, less even than Detroit. And hot. They have the most feeble air conditioning I have ever seen. The docks have no fans. The managers are rather curt. The building is wholly inadequate for the business it is expected to process. Heaven help them if they get a health inspection. I have been working in the dishroom, the very bowels of the enterprise. It is hot and steamy, with stagnent air. Oh, for a couple of floor fans.

Minneapolis itself is as green as Seattle, lush and verdant; a visually satisfying place. It appears to be prosperous but I have seen very little of the city and thus not exposed to competing declarations. We shall see.

I don't know how much more traveling this company expects me to do, but it is beginning to wear a bit. I guess as a lame duck I have the luxury of not having to take much crap. But at the same time, I would like to continue to take their money. Meager as it is, it's all to which I have access at the moment.

DETROIT, Mich. Aug. 2--On the road for the third week now. I have remembered my work shoes and watch, making this endeavor slightly less arduous but hardly less tedious.


Professional road warriors must live bleak lives. They shuttle from airport to airport, conference room to conference room, hotel to hotel. Their forums are not front porches and city parks but Blackberries and laptops. They are well versed in the nuances of security screenings at Denver versus Orlando. They chat easily with hotel van drivers, flight attendants and local corporate managers. They attend sporting events in unfamiliar cities to entertain employees, customers and clients they might otherwise loath.


That is not the life for which I am on a narrow path, but it is a life I have seen a number of men and women lead. I am getting a little up-close look at it and it indeed is, to be redundant, bleak.

For openers, there is the distance from family. Cell phones help but there is always the lack of company and touch. Sitting here in Michigan, I can't see Steve's expressive face as he yells at his sister with the equally expressive face. I can't hug my wife after her long day of working her job, caring for her often rebellious-mother and attending to her aged aunt.

Living out of a suitcase is not very exciting either. You never have quite enough clothes or the right clothes for various situations, and shoes are difficult to deal with if the suitcase is a carry-on like mine. Then there is the world of flying in the modern era. Consider the plight of the road warrior who is forced to ride airplanes:

>Fewer flights exist across the board to accommodate travelers. Airlines had an incredible waste of capacity through the 90's when fuel was cheap and times were good. Now, the sooner you make your reservation the better your trip will be. These airplanes are full and uncomfortable.

>Checking your bag has become a luxury. Unless you are a frequent flier with free bag checking privileges, the cost is $20 to $30 for one bag and you had damned well better not let that bag weigh more than 49 pounds. Overweight bag penalties are $100 or more.

>On some flights, airlines won't let you select a seat until the day of travel. On that day you had either best get to the airport early or hit the keys and surf for whatever bone the airline will throw your way. Otherwise it is a center seat in the last row, between the two fat guys.

>Everything the airline does now costs. Unless you ride first class, alcohol has always been sold, but now food (if there is any), blankets, pillows, talking to a reservation agent, checked bags, are all for-sale. And American Airlines shamelessly offers to upgrade you to priority boarding status for $10 so you don't have to fight with the unwashed for a spot in the overhead for your carry-on. Just dreadful.

>As always the airline will never fail to make you feel like a prisoner of war. It begins with the government going through your bags, shoes, pockets, and forcing most men to take off their belts. It continues with the list of violations for which you can be taken from an airplane in chains which flight crews defiantly announce as you taxi out. Everything is done for the airlines' convenience, right down to demanding a credit card for a sandwich--no cash accepted. And don't ask for help or information if your flight is delayed or cancelled; they are just to busy. Usually trying to help the flight crew who is stranded.

My first flight home was cancelled due to a storm that ran through Detroit like fury, as good as any summer storm in Missouri. It was late, than later, than later still before American Eagle cancelled it. But the agent that finally showed up at the gate just flat said, "if you need help rebooking a flight, you need to go to a service center or call the 800 number. I won't be able to help you here." She had little information, personality, style or interest in anyone save for the crew that was stuck at the gate with her.

Travel, unless you are riding first class, is best done on trains or in private automobiles. Take your own food or stop and dine where you choose. Bring your own pillow. Take all the shoes you want.

It can be fun, enlightening and educational to be out and about but doing so "on the clock" is a just work.