On the Road Again....

Perched at a large group bar table at a place called the DuClaw Brewing Company, I am ravenously hungry two hours before boarding my flight to San Diego via Denver. The serviceable menu included chicken wings (natch) and what appears to be a fine grilled chicken sandwich. Things started early this morning, with some treadmill time and a bit of TwitterSnark before the two hour drive to Bethesda MD. It was there that I was to be the lecturer for a group of curious seniors who are involved in a pretty cool program of continuing education for people of their experience. I gave them a version of the Seapower Gospel--this time with more education and less advocacy, but still with plenty of advocacy. I spoke for thirty minutes and then answered (excellent) questions for another hour. Folks were concerned about the size of the Navy, its competence, the reality of President Trump and nuclear weapons, North Korean aggression, and myriad other big picture subjects. I really love doing stuff like this, and bonus here is that there is an honorarium headed my way.

Upon leaving, I drove north to BWI airport--hoping that somewhere along the way there would be a KFC or a Popeyes so that I could indulge in a bit of fried chicken. None was to be had, so that's why I'm eating in this pre-security spot in A/B terminal. Key safety tip: I'm doing it wrong here. If you are going to be involved in a terror hit at the airport, it is almost certainly going to happen in the terminal before security. I generally minimize the time I spend in this part of the airport, but low blood sugar is calling.

I'm headed for three days of work in San Diego, something regular readers know I do regularly. There is no United Lounge here at BWI (that I know of), though there is something of a generic lounge available somewhere that I will likely pass up. I have an hour between landing and next flight in Denver, which is unlikely to afford me the opportunity for dinner--I seem to be in this same situation more than I care for, and wind up on the other end (San Diego) either ravenous or having eaten bad airline food.

These trips to SD are monthly, and my client pays the freight for coach class tickets. I wind up buying into Economy Plus on my own dime, but just for the longer portions. On the way home, I'll redeye Friday night, and the bit of extra room in economy plus makes a difference. I occasionally get bumped to first class, but not nearly as often as Tigerhawk does.

My travel rig is more in line with what readers clamor for. Whereas I usually do sneakers, warmup pants, sport coat (for business wear) and t-shirt, I am in my morning speaking get-up (khakis, button down, blazer) sans tie--which is in the bag. I just saw a fellow doing it right walk past in flip flops, plaid shorts, t-shirt, a fleece, and his suit jacket--assuming his suit pants/shirt/tie were stowed away in his bag.

I will get to SD about 9PM local time, grab the rental and drive the two miles to my hotel--where collapse occurs until early morning--when my body tells me it is 6AM but the clock claims 3. I tend to stay on East Coast time for these dashes west, with bed time coming as close to 8PM as I can.

So far, the DuClaw Brewing company is not wrapping itself in glory, as the neither the chicken wings nor the chicken sandwich have been delivered yet. I am contemplating eating a napkin. It is good that I am not traveling with anyone close to me, as most routine human interaction would be beyond my abilities right now, until I've had a few bites in my system. The Kittens are well aware of this syndrome and tend to call me on it. It is good that I have plenty of time to kill.

On one of the several televisions is a program with which I am unfamiliar. It is a talk show of some kind starring a blonde, African-American lass named "Wendy" (apparently, as this seems to be the show's name). The sound is turned down, but the close captioning is allowing me to follow along with things that are of no interest to me. Her audience appears quite happy to be there.

My waitress just came up to inform me for the second time that it would be a few minutes on the food. I informed her that this was not satisfactory.