5:30 PST, Monday, December 13. 2010. University Place

The journey begins. Up early, dress, shower and have a bite to eat before leaving for the airport. I'm on a quest of sorts. As a frequent flyer with United Airlines there are real benefits to be derived by reaching their most elite status, 1K, by flying 100,000 miles (I know the status should be 100K, but United dubs it 1K). I'll explain later why achieving 1K is such a consequential event; for now you need to know I have 93,672 miles flown on United in 2010 and, until a few days ago, I had done all my flying for this year.

Unless I pick up 6,328 miles before the end of the year, I drop from 1K back to Premier Executive... not bad but with far fewer perks. I've heard stories about people who have done what I am about to do, but have never met one. Quite frankly I think I'd wonder about their sanity if I did.

What I am about to do is fly over 8,000 miles in just over 26 hours for no other purpose than extending my 1K status an additional year. I'm going to board a United flight headed for Los Angeles then connect on to Lihue (Kauai) in the Hawaiian Islands. I'll be there a couple of hours before I transit to Honolulu and then back to Seattle (via Denver). The Honolulu to Denver leg actually overflies Seattle, but that gets me just the extra I need to leap over the 100,000-mile bar.

I'll keep you updated as the flights proceed. Having always enjoyed the travel writing of Paul Theroux, I'll try to pass on observations about the flights, the places and the people I encounter along the way.

By way of background, I am a retired college professor who, like many of my colleagues, launched a consulting practice in the midst of my teaching career. I do strategic planning, a fancy word for setting long term goals and I've been fortunate to earn clients all over the US. Unless you fly internationally or trans-continentally there's not much chance of racking up 100,000 air miles on any airline… and it pretty much requires you live on one of the coasts. Seattle is about as far away from anywhere on the US continent, so a few trips to New York or DC or Raleigh add up for me a lot faster than a colleague who is puddle-jumping out of Chicago.

Off to the shower. It's going to be a long hot one, I won't get another until tomorrow afternoon.

7:25 PST

Packed up and ready to go. I don't need much and it's all in a Tumi leather computer bag that has been my sidekick for several years now... without the computer since my wife, Kathleen, gave me an iPad last summer. More about that wonderful tool later. The bag also holds my iPod (for back-up), two different types of earphones, a book, two magazines, some basic medications and a small bag for batteries and Band-Aids. A

few years ago United gave me one of those RON bags with the basic toiletries and I've tucked in a change of underwear and socks.

A word on dress. I'm going to be in a variety of climates, and Heaven knows what the airplane micro-weather will be like. A long-sleeved cotton shirt and a pair of Nordstrom sports slacks will do. I always wear comfortable shoes (Eccos, thanks to Bruce Downs who is my travel guru). On my outbound trip I always wear a pair that needs shining and have them buffed up at the airport. The tough decision this time of year for any flight is an outer cover. Some flights are bitter cold, especially if you draw window exit row (those exit hatches and doors are not as insulated as the walls of the aircraft). I go with my leather jacket... soft, warm and can be rolled up into a ball and stuffed in the overhead.

8:16 PST

I'm driving my 9-year old granddaughter to school. This is one of the treats of my day when I'm home. She is a bright, almost always, enthusiastic kid and her energy and excitement about the day invariably gives me a boost. She really wants to wear a watch today and the one she picks needs to be reset. I get it done, guessing correctly which tiny buttons to push. I am a hero in her eyes today... who could ask for more?

8:44 PST enroute SeaTac airport

My only travel Indulgence is my limo ride to and from the airport. With no traffic it takes 50 minutes and in lousy weather, late at night after a long trip, it can be a grueling drive for me or Kathleen who lovingly chauffeured be for years. Now Jay Taylor (SeaTac Airport Shuttle, if you're ever in the area and you need a ride) does it and he's a great driver and a good friend. He knows when to talk and when to let me sleep, work or just stare out the window. When we talk the topics are diverse and Jay is a well-read and intelligent conversationalist. No traffic and a partly sunny day, we are on our way!

9:25 PST. Seattle-Tacoma International Airport

We made good time. Now comes, without doubt, the worst parts of the trip: my fellow travelers and the TSA gauntlet.

I'm putting my shoes and coat into the handy TSA bins (how does a federal agency get advertising on the floor of those bins?) and a young woman and man push by me to get to the bins and jump ahead. I'm a pretty efficient binner, so this surprises me. The two are of the traveler genus, frantic. Travel is sufficiently exciting and full of surprises to gain much from high emotion. I avoid the edgy flyers and suppress getting pissed off, but this breach of airport etiquette causes my travel defenses to raise their barriers. I've learned. It's time to enter "the zone.". Except for announcements over the airport speakers I tune out as much as I can.

As for airport security I can't offer much new commentary here; there are plenty of other irritated letters to the editor and blog posts to cover the topic. I understand the necessity; I started flying in the days of D.B. Cooper and the Cuban hijackers after all. The disrobement and the removal of shoes, the display of laptops and iPads is just an inconvenience and in a cave somewhere Osama bin Laden is getting a good laugh as we shuffle through in stockinged feet.

I avoid the dreaded backscatter x-ray, but my little bag, much to my surprise is pulled out. I half expect this... remember I'm carrying a contraband tube of toothpaste in my RON bag. But, holy Blue shirts, they find a tiny pocketknife I've been smuggling for years. I picked it up free at a golf show, but in my hands the TSA recognize the 1-inch blade as a terrorist weapon (I know, I know, the 9-11 thugs used box-cutters, but c'mon it's almost 10 years later and Al Qaeda has moved on to fancier stuff like explosive laden boxers and shoes). I tell him to toss it, delighted to contribute to our homeland's security and the safety of the airways.

A tiny, embarrassing confessions. As I board the subway to the United North Terminal the pushy young couple jump on just before the door shuts. Now I get the inevitable "back-pack" shove. I breathe deeply and maneuver myself between them and the sliding door. Guess who beats them off the tram? Yes readers, I'm ashamed at my petty success in regaining my rightful place in line. But it feels good.

On to my home away from home, the Red Carpet Club. A peaceful haven to rest and write before the flight. I indulge in a Papa Nicholas hot chocolate and learn from a fellow traveler that a little half-and-half dresses it up nicely. I pick a comfy spot to sit and sip my coffee and write this update.

You guessed it, sitting a cross from me are the frantic couple from the security line. I bet there up in first class with me on the way to LAX.

Off to board.

10:55 PST on board United flight 6973, seat 1A

I'm on board. As you can see by the seat number I'm in first class. An upgrade. That’s one of the reasons to keep my 1K status. There are few flights these days when United doesn't move me upfront. The ride up there is not as luxurious as it used to be, but the wider, longer seating is nice. I'd never pay to ride up here, but there's no denying I feel a little special.

11:26 PST, UA6973 enroute LAX

In the air and on time. This is my tightest connection. Thanks to my iPad app, I know I'm going to have to boogie between United’s LAX Terminals 8 and 7, not too far. What I do know is the flight is not likely to leave without me and this is the most important

reason for making 1K... United, which has always favored the business traveler, doesn't leave 1Ks behind if they can help it. I don't know what the outer limits are, but I know they've held flights 15 minutes for me. That's a big thing for me. It's the difference in getting stuck in O'Hare overnight or getting home that night. United has earned my loyalty and repeated business by doing a great job of getting me home.

I suspect this will be the first of many notes about the airline industry. I'm flying on a CRJ700, a smaller plane than I would have found on the SEA-LAX run a few years ago. This would have been a 737 or maybe a 757 at peak hours before 9-11 and UAL's bankruptcy. Since then flights have been downsized to fly as full as possible. Airlines make money by keeping butts in the seat and in the air. An empty seat or an airplane on the ground is sucking up revenue, so United and the rest have gotten good at estimating loads and scheduling flights to be as full as possible.

A note to the reader. This is being written in real time so I apologize in advance for typos and labored syntax. I've learned I need to edit everything three times to even get to a serviceable level of published prose. You're getting the raw stuff here.

Another sign of the new economics of airlines: even at noon, no lunch here. Just a snack box. Not a bad one - lots of goodies. Since discovering I'm a Type 2 diabetic a few years ago I have to be careful with calories, especially empty carbs, so I mostly sample here: a couple of chips, some odd green and undersized olives (brand name Oloves), a little cheese and crackers. I do reward myself with a bon voyage rum and Coke, however. I still can't pass up that free First Class alcohol.

There is a bit of nostalgia on this leg. The second time I ever flew and my first jet ride was on this leg, 1969. I was between my sophomore and junior years at the University of Redlands when I took an internship in Seattle at the University of Washington. It changed my life, sealing my decision to get a graduate degree in sociology and turning me on to the UW, where I got a PhD six years later (see, Mike McCann, I really am a Husky despite my Duck leanings). I traveled to Seattle on a train (I was a big train buff in the day and for those who remember I took the Southern Pacific’s Lark and Cascade to get there).

As much as I enjoyed rail travel, after two months as far away from home as I'd ever been I got my parents to pop for an airline ticket and came home following this same route on a Western Airlines Boeing 720 (the “only way to fly” was their motto). I clearly remember leaving SeaTac in a pouring rain a couple of days after my 20th birthday. Little did I know that my point of departure would become the home base for most of my adult life. The northwest won me over and it is my beloved home - so much so, that when I started a business I named it Pacific Northwest Consulting Services. I had no idea how far the boundaries of the Pacific NW would be, taking me as far east as London and as far west as Guam.

One final note to the reader. My mom instilled a love of travel my dad a love of airplanes. She has wandered all over the US by train as a child in the tow of her mother

who was, I think, running from my grand-father (she must have succeeded, my mother never saw him again and I never met him). As a kid she encouraged me to send off for the travel brochures offered in the back of Sunset magazine and she'd help me paste them into a big leather scrapbook. Then we'd take imaginary trips to places (many of which she had first hand knowledge from her own travels with Grammy). Thus I learned of and whetted an appetite to see New Orleans and Mexico City and Montreal. My dad worked for Douglas Aircraft. In fact, he installed cockpit instruments in the first DC-8 that flew. Like many who grew up with Charles Lindbergh he loved airplanes. Lindy's autobiography Lone Eagle was one of the few books I ever saw him read... kept close hand by his chair for years. He had back-seated in SBDs at Cecil Field in Florida as a Navy mate petty officer during World War Two, freely admitting to barfing every time the Slow But Deadliest nosed over into a dive. To his credit he earned his private pilot's license at 50 and flew into his 70s. God rest their souls.

My first flight didn't occur until I was 18. I attended Redlands on a work-study scholarship provided by the Hearst newspapers, specially the Los Angeles Herald Examiner. Redlands, a wonderful small liberal arts college 60 miles east of LA made me earn my keep as their first Sports Information Director. To my pleasant surprise the SID got to travel to away football games with the team. In September 1963 I flew with the Bulldogs from Ontario to Eureka. On a chartered United DC-6... how fitting. I remember pulling guard Jackson Parham being incredibly gracious to a lowly frosh scribe, eating filet mignon and marveling at the blue flames coming out of those engine exhausts flying home later than night (I'm pretty sure we lost to Humboldt State).

Starting flying at 18 allowed me to keep track of all the rest of my flights. Okay, that is a little obsessive compulsive, but it does allow me to tell you surely that before I boarded this flight I've flown 1,720,432 miles over a million on United alone. Before 1993, my experiences were pretty much like everyone else’s, a few thousand miles a year - the most being 15,000 in 1978, driven up by a trip to the UK.

When my consulting business went national the miles started to pile up. In 1995 I topped 100,000 in one year for all airlines. In 2005 I qualified for United's 1K. So here I am today. My layover is short in LA so you may not hear from me until I arrive in Hawaii.

2:30 PST/12:30 HST, seat 5B, United 69 bound for Lihue, Kauai

Bring on the mai tais, I'm headed to Hawaii. The connection was a little closer than I wanted. I didn't have to run, but the gate agent made the final call when I was 100 yards away.

How's this for coincidence? I'm standing at the doorway to start my dash to Gate 76, explaining to the flight attendant why I'm flying to Hawaii for a 5-hour visit, when the guy behind me pipes up, "I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one doing that!" Turns out he's

on the Honolulu flight pursuing the same quest. He's doing the goofy return to Seattle through Denver, too. How many of us are out there? I'll catch up with him in HNL and pass on his story.

I'm all settled in daytime flying mode: a book to read while electronics are blacked out on takeoff and final approach, bag with pen, batteries, etc., iPad and iPod with one of my two headphones. Why both the iDevices? It's all about batteries. With normal use the iPad will get an exceptional 12 hours, but if you are listening to music and using the word-processor at the same time, you can use up juice faster than you want. And believe me, nothing is worse than losing your iPad with hours to fly.

Unless you want to read, reread and read once again the ads for the damnedest stuff in the SkyMall catalog my counsel is to keep an eye on those batteries. I logged on to my iPad around 5:45 this morning and have been using it a lot, so after 7 hours I have 53% left... probably enough for the 5 hour and 41 minute flight, but why take chances? So I use my trusty iPod to listen to music. With my noise canceling earphones I'm not sure what kind magnetic field I'm putting out but I've noticed nuts and bolts gravitating towards me.

My stay in the City of Angels was brief. A pretty sunny day, clear to the peaks of the San Gabriels, but for banks of fog just off shore all but the top of Catalina obscured. Lots of memories as we turned over downtown on final. This is where I grew up, 30 miles south in Orange County. LA is and will always be the mysterious big city of any kid that grows up in the suburbs. Nothing here any more, family and friends all in the NW, but there's a part of me that will always call this home (much to the disgruntlement of my legions of northern California in-laws). Admittedly LA ain't chic, but it is cool.

Flew right past Dodger Stadium, a view out to dead center. Still the prettiest of them all. A tribute to Walter O'Malley. You all know of my love for baseball so I'm sure I'll have more to say about the game later. Rum and coke time! Got to get ready for United's "Halfway to Hawaii" game. They give you some sketchy details and you get to guess the time we pass the halfway point. I finished second on a flight a couple of years ago, so the competitive juices are flowing. Only problem is I can't recall the rudimentary algebra I used to pull up my estimate!

By the way, I had a chance to check my emails before we departed LAX and I'm disturbed at the number of you who accuse me of doing this for the TSA putdowns.

A note on the music coming through my iPod right now. An old favorite piece I haven't heard in a long time, maybe over 40 years. In the late 50s (Jeeze that really is ancient history isn't it?) not long after my parents purchased our first "hi-fi" stereo, my Mom joined the Columbia Record Club, a decision I'm sure regretted for many years afterwards. As a new member she got the choice of 3 LPs (long playing vinyl records for anyone born after the invention of cassette recordings [small thin magnetic tapes for anyone born after the introduction of CDs]). I still remember our choices (she let me help out): a compilation of ballet music, specifically Copland's Rodeo and Bernstein's

Fancy Free, a male vocalist, I think Frankie Laine, whose big hit was Mule Train and what I'm listening to now, Barrelhouse Jazz from the estimable Dixieland trombonist Turk Murphy who played for years in San Francisco's North Beach. I can't remember why it was called barrelhouse, I guess these clubs were early brewpubs. I was captivated and Turk opened up the amazing world of jazz to me. To my delight I discovered iTunes has released a copy of this childhood treasure. After all these years I remember every riff measure by measure. My favorite cut, a song whose lyrics I clearly remember (the same ones that probably distorted my life in some ways) is Turk's rough-hewn vocal of Ace in the Hole. Look it up, a moral tale if you ever heard, one aimed at discouraging profligate behavior.

My favorite line:

They wear fancy ties and collars but where do they get those dollars? They've all got that ace in down in the hole.

Of course, as deserves such wanton hedonism, they land in that "old breadline having lost that old ace in the hole." Profligates beware!

1:57 HST

The FA brought me a double rum and coke. What does that mean? Listening to sweet tunes from Audra MacDonald. She chooses such great material, always thought provoking. What an extraordinary voice... a product of Fresno, no less.

2:35 HST

A pretty good lunch (dinner?): tangy Asian chicken over thin noodles. Salad, roll and a signature UAL fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie. Living the high life at 39,000 feet.

Dinner brought back a good memory. Nancy Bryant was the EO of my first national client, the esteemed commercial realtors association, the Society of Industrial and Office REALTORS®. In 1995 she took a bit of a risk hiring this unknown college professor from the deep woods of Washington State to do SIOR's strategic plan. That led to an unprecedented (for consultants) 9-year run with the Society and lots of gigs and airline miles since. Thanks to Nancy I'm dining high on the hog up here on first class fare. Nancy knew her away around the better things in life and first class on airplanes or anything else was routine to her. We were flying somewhere together and she rescued me from the confines on coach, bringing me up front on one of her upgrades. Dinner was served and she asked if I knew about napkins in first class. I confessed I didn't and she showed me something truly remarkable; in one corner of the napkin there was a small slit, just big enough to allow the napkin to attach to a shirt button. Thanks Nance... the memory always brings a smile to my face.

The irony of this is that when I looked in the mirror of the restroom a minute ago, I discovered a drop of salad dressing on the small area left exposed on my shirt. Holy cats! Will I ever stop spilling stuff on myself? No wonder Kathleen has sworn off buying me expensive ties. I guess you can take the rube out of coach class, but you can't get the coach class out of the rube.

I actually thought about this possible mishap but consciously decided NOT to carry a small bag with an extra shirt in case I stained this one. Oh well, shoulda coulda. The good news is the stain was recent enough it seemed to wash out with few vigorous dabs of a paper towel. What a klutz!

Watched a recent episode on the Office while dining. I've all seven seasons on the iDevices and nothing else is more entertaining on a flight. The plots are tight and the characters well drawn. Watch over 100 episodes and you begin to see the genius behind this show... all prompted by its British creator, Ricky Gervais. Seen once it can seem cynical at times, watched over the seasons there is an underlying sweetness even in Michael Scott, who so desperately seeks love.

Using the iBook feature now. As discussed in a recent newsletter all this travel has given me a taste for well-written mysteries, particularly ones that have become serialized. Flying over LA I couldn't help but be reminded of one of my favorite authors, Michael Connelly. I've found a new one. I can't recall if I mentioned him in my last newsletter, if I did I had only read one of his Dave Robicheaux novels by then. His name is James Lee Burke. His prose is so fluid, never a requirement in a mystery, but a nice surprise. Be warned, these stories are dark. Read too much of Burke and you'll stop shaving and start drinking your bourbon neat with a Coke chaser. But Robicheaux is a well-crafted wonderfully complex protagonist surrounded by some really tough characters, good and bad (although Burke blurs the line until it's hard to tell the good guys from the bad sometimes). No that's wrong. There are good guys and Dave and his buddy Clete are righteous dudes, but sometimes good guys do bad things in the name of justice. They'd deal with security line jumpers in all due course.

I'm reading Burke backwards. I'd started with his, then, most recent a take on the moral cesspool left when Katrina's flood waters drained from the Big Sleazy. Compelling reading but definitely not for the faint of heart or believers in the inherent good of humankind. Just into his fourth from the top, Pegasus Descending.

For those of you who mourn and fear the loss of the bound printed page and cozy bookstore, I know how you feel. But I have to admit that I avidly use amazon.com and iBooks. It's simply convenient and, in the end, it's the stories not the medium that enrich me. For throwaway books like these, electronic versions are fine and sensible. Rarely, if ever, have I reread a trade novel. For something to keep and savor, give me the paper. I must admit, however, that more than once I've reached for the upper right corner of my iPad to turn the page.

3:26 HST

Another great voice on the iPod, Maureen McGovern. I think her early success with the saccharine theme from The Poseidon Adventure, hurt her career. She has a mellow voice, seductive phrasing and a respect for the meaning of lyric. Another exceptional memory: meeting Peter and Millie Hanson in the Algonquin Hotel where they took me to the Oak Room to hear and meet Ms. McGovern. She sat on a stool next to our table in the middle of the room. It was a great moment shared with two of the most gracious and generous people I've ever known.

Sitting back enjoying a mai tai and sweeping along with her rendition of Just One of those Things. She follows that with the jazz standard, Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most. Her modular key shift on the words, my condition must be chronic is silk smooth.

Battery is getting low: 12 % with almost two hours to go. Going to read the book I'm carrying Baseball's Greatest Series (Chris Donnelly, Rivergate Books) an account of the 1995 Division Series between the Yankees and Mariners. It's written by a Yankee fan, so you can't blame the hyperbolic title on me. I warned you I would write about baseball. It was a magnificent series, if you lived in Seattle at least. My son Matt and I attended these games and we were fully aware of the rare treat we were awarded. The last two weeks of the season provided a real pennant race for the first time in Mariner history. A one game October classic-off win against the Angels followed. And then this. I missed my father-in-law's 70th birthday party. And even though Kat has never really forgiven my gaffe, he did because Carl Larkin is a true baseball fan. And if the Giants had been even-up in the final game of a playoff he'd have skipped his birthday too.

5:04 HST

Headwinds dropped so we're starting down, arriving early. Clear skies, 81 degrees. I missed the halfway guess by 5 minutes.

Kathleen and I love Kauai. Wish she were with me and we were headed to the North Shore. Magnificent beaches: Lumahai, Anini and our favorite Kee.

6:38 HST, Lihue, Gate 5

Waiting for my jump to Honolulu, recharging my iPad. A little weary. Reread my previous, sorry for all the typos and odd automatic corrections Apple's word processor makes. I'll try to edit better as I go along.

I almost forgot... ALOHA!

.............

7:44 HST on board Hawaiian Airlines 376, seat 19A.

Getting hungry but holding out for a Kalua pork sandwich in HNL. Used to be able get a good one at one of the airport bars, but they were remodeling the last time I flew through. Backing out of the gate... off we go!

7:59 HST, HA376 enroute HNL

I've been carrying on a love affair with the Hawaiian Islands since I was a kid. I'm lucky to have been here many times and have spent quite a bit of time on the four major islands, Oahu, Maui, Hawaii and Kauai. I've already confessed that Kauai, the Garden Island (it truly is) to be my favorite. But Kona and Hana are pretty nice, too.

I first came here in 1970 to present a scholarly paper to the Pacific Sociological Association. I will never forget my first minute in Hawaii. I stepped off that Pan Am flight and I was embraced. I swear there was the scent of orchids in the air. I have never come to the islands that I haven't and the same sensation. Interestingly the only other time I felt caressed by the climate was in Charlotte, but that was in the spring and it always like that here.

Hawaii is one of the few places that lives up to it's reputation, and when you get away from the tourist ghettoes in Waikiki and Maui, it consistently surpasses expectations. On final we passed Pearl Harbor. The attack was an early interest of mine and I never pass it without deep thought of mariners; my dad and much loved father-in-law Captain Carl M. Larkin come to mind. Every time I see the USS Arizona I take time to offer up a quick prayer for men and women on the sea.9:53 HST, United Red Carpet Club, HNL

I found my Kalua pork sandwich. Same place, new restaurant. Used to be Stinger Rays, morphed and remodeled into the Kona Brewing Company. Good sandwich, friendly service. I came her for the sandwich, I can go home now.

I know this airport well. I spent a whole night here once. My flight from Guam arrived early in the morning. My connection to Seattle didn't leave until 10 or so. An interesting night. I looked all over the place, finally finding some comfy seats in baggage claim. I drifted off to the hum of a vacuum cleaner a maintenance guy was operating in the otherwise deserted claims hall.

Met a fellow sojourner here. He overheard me telling the bartender in the Club about my quest. He came over and told me he's doing the same thing. He lives here and is flying to Tampa and back. Now that is long trip.

By the way, had to go through security again. Got the backscatter treatment and a front torso putdown... quite stimulating I must say.

MST aboard United 42 bound for Denver, seat 5B

I'm on the big bird Mainland-bound waiting to take off iPad is revved up to 57% energy. Since I'll be sleeping (I hope) most of this flight I should have plenty of power.

I'm switching headphones. During the day I use Panasonic RP-HC55s I picked up in Japan two years ago. They are lightweight and comfortable. And the fidelity is good for the price. At night I use full headset, which covers my ears. It's cumbersome (as are Bose... a pair of which I left in my seat pocket on a flight to O'Hare. Every time I fly through ORD I check out the cabin cleaners closely - someone is rocking out to my headset and iPod, which I also lost). I replaced the lost Bose with some Sony MDR-NC8s. They're not as good as the Bose, but there good enough at an affordable price. I have never replaced the Bose as a penance for my carelessness in leaving them behind.

Off we go! You'll hear from me tomorrow morning in Denver. Sweet dreams and aloha.

2:29 a,m, MST, UA42 en route DEN

Took a brief nap and opted for the snack and a double Baileys on the rocks. Six and a half hour flight, plenty of time to sleep. Listening to jazz piano, Andre Previn, followed by Oscar Peterson. Maybe a little Ellis Marsalis. All soft, not smooth in the FM radio sense, but lyrical and entrancing. The stuff dreams are made of.

No Baileys? What kind of lash-up is this any way? The FA offers Kahlua as a substitute. Hell, why not? I'm living on the edge right now. I go for it. It was alright, but it got much better when the FA mixed me a White Russian when I suggested we add a little milk to Kahlua. A very resourceful FA, as I’ve found most to be.

6:44 MST

When I was still teaching I flew a lot of red eyes. I can't say I ever enjoyed it, but I did learn to do it. Even tonight I don't feel like I really slept. I did something and it was kind of like sleep. The trick I discovered was to use a mask to block out any distracting movement and lights around the cabin. I also learned I needed to find a way for my hands and feet to be comfortable. I don't know why the extremities require such attention, but they do for me, at least. That's why the leather coat is so important. I realized that I could cross my arms, enfolding one hand in the soft leather of my sleeve while I inserted the other, Napoleonicly into the inside breast pocket. Snug as a bug. Not exactly sleep, but something more like suspended animation.

As I mentioned before music helps, too. Piano jazz wasn't working so I shifted over to Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. That ballet has stood me in good stead for years. In 1978 I remember flying on a Pan Am to London. I had an early pocket-sized cassette recorder and some crude earphones. I listened to the same music then as I did last night. Worked then; works now.

A banana and cold OJ to start the day. Followed by a Bloody Mary. United makes a good one and the FAs are usually pretty good at mixing them. This one is very good, the Tom's spicy tomato juice is nicely balanced and not overwhelmed by the vodka.

Thankfully the guy next to me hasn't moved all night. Could he be dead? I'm impressed with his bladder. Was there ever a time when I could fly six hours without a trip to the lav? As a rule I don't enter into lengthy conversations with seat mates... pretty women and potential clients being the exception. And even then I value my peace, at least on night flights.

I did have one memorable seat companion, coincidentally from HNL to LAX, when I learned an important life lesson. I was not long out of graduate school in my first teaching assignment. I was an Acting Assistant Professor making $21,000 a year at the University of California, Riverside. This was actually a pretty good placement for a young man just out of graduate school. I was part of the esteemed UC system, in those days, arguably, the greatest network of universities in the world. That Riverside was the least desirable campus in the system (we didn't have the urban chic of Berkeley or UCLA or the beaches and parties of Santa Barbara, Irvine and LaJolla. We didn't even have the small town bucolic charm of Davis. We had scorching summer heat, smog and gangs. We also had the same publish or perish standards as Berkeley and from the day I arrived I was counting the days until that same system ground me up and spit me out like it did 9 out of 10 of my colleagues.

I hated it there and after a few weeks I started looking for a way out. My intent was to return to my small liberal arts college roots. I was a great teacher but a so-so scholar. My interests were too diverse to support the focus and concentration academia requires. I knew what I was good at and what I liked, so I started looking around.

In the early 1970s Hilo Community College was converted to a four-year institution, with the intent of supplementing the University of Hawaii, Manoa, located on Oahu, with a campus on the Big Island. The sociology faculty there found out about me and made overtures for me to join them. They flew me over, which was the occasion of a series of parties in which the Hilo faculty plumbed me for anything information and news about the Mainland I could share.

In those days Hawaii was a bit of a backwater and Hilo was even further back. This was before network satellite feeds, so Hawaiians viewed Cronkite and Huntley-Brinkley the next day after the first flights arrived from the west coast. In the end this isolation caused me to turn down their offer, a decision Matt has never forgiven me. As beautiful as it was, in those days it wasn't the right place for me. I realized that one day when I drove north out of Hilo and crossed the city's southern boundary three hours later. All I had left to do was drive south, back around the island clockwise.

At the end of my visit I flew home from HNL, still not having made up my mind. Sitting on the United DC-10 next to me was an elderly Japanese-American gentleman (elderly! He was probably younger than I am now). But he seemed ancient. Over our dinner we

began to chat. He was well spoken, knowledgeable and gracious. He was particularly interested in why I had been to Hawaii and as I explained what I was contemplating he drew me out and along, asking insightful and probing questions. Feeling quite full of myself, thinking of the fine job offer I had in my back pocket, I responded enthusiastically to his questions. Soon my answers about UH Hilo expanded into a full-scale autobiographical discourse, including a review of roads not taken.

With about an hour left on the flight I finally had the courtesy to ask about the reasons for his trip and his life story. To my surprise and chagrin he was a member of one of the "ruling" families in Hawaii, the brother of a highly placed elected official and a member of numerous influential boards and commissions.

To my horror every minute found us closer to LA and the end of this highly informative conversation. I cursed myself for wasting the time on me. What he had to say was far more interesting and useful than anything I had to share.

That night, on the spot, I changed my ways. I formulated one of the first of what you all know as Duke's Rules. Here it is (and my kids learned it and follow it): when you first meet someone always ask about them; let them tell their story first. I've discovered most people are polite enough to turn the table and ask you to share your story. Some never do... they rarely become friends.

8:35 a.m. MST, Red Carpet Club Denver

Wow! Into DEN an hour early. I thought I might be able to slip onto an earlier flight home, but the 8:30 flight left early so I'm back in another Red Carpet Club.

As I was dozing in the air on my way from Hawaii I got to thinking about all the flights I've been on. Thankfully all have been safe. In a million and 3/4s miles there will be incidents. I recall an emergency landing in Ontario, California when a warning light went on, an aborted take-off at JFK, a near miss at the end of a red eye outside DC (I heard that because I was listening in on the ATC channel United provides... talk about inflight entertainment), a wing lightning strike on take off from Lambert Field in St. Louis and an engine failure en route Seattle to Chicago which necessitated a landing in Boise. That one was a little hairy for two reasons: I know a 757 can fly on one engine, but I'd prefer not to and the approach to BOI waves through some impressive mountains in the Rockies.

The scariest flight I've ever been on was years ago. An Aeronaves hop from Mexico City to Zihuatanejo on the Pacific coast. In those days ZIH was a small, rather primitive beach town. This was well before the fancy Ixtapa resort area was developed. We were flying on a small twin engined DeHavilland, whatever the predecessor to today's Dash-8s must have been. I was sitting next to the port side engine worrying over the biggest vibration I'd ever seen outside of lawnmower. Midway in the flight somewhere over the Sierra Madre, the pilot beckoned to the passenger sitting in the front row to come up to the flight deck.

Back in the day, pilots often flew with the door to the cockpit open, at least on smaller aircraft. Now this was 1972 and the passenger being invited to come up by the pilot was an off-duty stewardess (that's what they were in those days when discriminatory airline practices dictated that the cabin crew be young, attractive women). And she was all three of those things in a micro-mini skirt which was the fashion rage of the day.

Whatever attracted the attention of the pilot and his first officer, it was clear they wanted to show her the office where they worked. The vibrating engines were too loud to allow me to hear what was said and my Spanish much too rudimentary to understand the nuances of Mexican flirtation. I didn't need words anyhow, the gestures and body language told a story that crossed all cultural barriers.

Every word that follows is absolute truth... I could not have invented anything more extraordinary than what I witnessed thousands of feet above the Sierras. The pilot rose from his seat and graciously stepped aside so the young lady could sit down behind the stick. Because I was sitting on the port side I could not view her actions, but I could tell from the enthusiastic gestures and hearty laughter of the captain and his co-pilot that she was having the thrill of her life.

Oh yeah, you guessed it. I saw the first officer say something and then move his arms forward and back, indicating what she should do with the flight pedestal. And sure enough, as she drew her arms back, we started to climb up. And when she leaned forward, we swooped down. This went on for three or four reps and each upsy-daisy was accompanied by hilarious knee-slapping laughter from the crew. I have no idea how she reacted, but when she reclaimed her seat the flushed, wide-eyed expression on her face pretty much told the story.

While on the subject of stewardesses, around the same time I was shuttling between Seattle and Sacramento as I completed a dissertation that was jointly supported by the University of Washington and the law school at UC Davis. In those days United was phasing out DC-8s, the plane my dad helped build. The older less efficient aircraft were delegated to secondary runs like the SEA-SMF leg.

These DC-8s had been counter-marketed against the Boeing 707s and 720s. Boeing beat Douglas to the market with a jetliner and the DC-8 was meant to be more luxurious than the utilitarian 707s. That meant that these 8s had an aft lounge with REVENUE seats around a kidney-shaped cocktail table. I think there was a bar, too, not unlike the old railroad club cars. I remember this so clearly that I still know the seat numbers: R1 through R4 or 5 or 6. These were lounge chairs with seatbelts and even as a tyro traveler I was a canny flyer... I always asked for and got an R seat.

Rarely did anyone else sit back there. The flights to Sacramento were never full. The only people back by the lounge, which was also an aft galley, were the stewardesses. When there was a lull in cabin service they'd congregate in the galley and chat sometimes with me. I was in my early 20s... no denying, this was the way to fly. Every

so often one of the stews would sit down, and as with open flight deck doors, this was a different time and they smoked! It's hard not to think back and smile at the memory of these cute young ladies gossiping away puffing on cigs as we winged our way to Sacramento.

Ok, ready to go home? I am.

10:45 a.m. PST United 339 en route SEA

Well, I accomplished my goal. Sometime probably a little after 4 a.m. Pacific time around 500 miles off the Oregon coast I reached my goal... 100,000 air miles flown with United Airlines in 2010. No bonuses, no credit card "miles," no gimmicks... the real deal, my butt (which is pretty sore by now) in a UA seat for a thousand miles 100 times. In the grand order of things it doesn't mean much, but it does guarantee some perks for me and Kathleen for another year. And I guess it demonstrates a kind of stubborn resolve on my part to do what needs to be done.

You might wonder why I added the awkward out-of-the-way Denver leg. It was pure economics, I got a great fare overflying Seattle and coming in the backdoor... $314 for 8040 total miles, all of it with complimentary first class upgrades (thank you United). Lest you think this a commercial for UAL it isn't. United doesn't have a reputation for great customer service, but they've done well by me and my family for many years now. I believe in giving credit where credit is due and a lot of hard-working United employees have taken good care of me from Frankfurt to Narita, Yakima to Redding. When you spend so much time on their airplanes and in their company it's hard not to feel a certain kinship. We are literally all in same boat, well plane, I guess.

My stay in DEN allowed me to accomplish another one of my tasks... I got my shoes shined and quite novelly. The guys at Executive Shoeshine in the United concourse use a blow torch, one of those little ones to embed the wax in the leather. It produces a helluva shine. Saturday is the annual family pilgrimage to Pacific Northwest Ballet’s performance of the Nutcracker in Seattle, a tradition going back at least 27 years for the amalgamated Kuehn, Daly, Larkin- Kuehn and Cummings clan. Along the way we adopted the Bjornstedts, so my shoes will look pretty spiffy this weekend.

I'm not sure what to make of this quest I am bringing to a close today. Seems there ought to be some lesson to be learned, moral to be divined. I spent time thinking about that in the Red Carpet Club and came up with... nothing. Better put, with nothing that didn't sound pretentious. The trip is nothing more than what it was meant to be, a utilitarian act to gain some comfort in an environment where comfort can be hard to come by. There's nothing particularly remarkable about the feat, in fact all I did was fly the equivalent of a broken-up trip from Seattle to Mumbai. Come to think of it, Kathleen and I flew over 12,000 miles in two days returning from South Africa two years ago.

A couple of final, lingering thoughts. I left off one really scary flight. Kathleen and I had just taken off on a TWA (we miss them - that was Kathleen's airline) from Seattle

headed for New York. Climbing out past Mt. Rainier there was a short high pitched hissing sound and the cabin depressurized at 14.000+ feet. Just like they warn you, all the oxygen masks popped down in front of our faces. Now that will get your attention. We turned around and landed at SeaTac doing just what we'd been told to do in all those instructions as you taxi out.

A comment on the iPad. This whole series has been produced on an iPad using the screen keyboard. It works well, not as easy as a regular keyboard, but not as difficult as a Blackberry.

I've been an Microsoft DOS/Windows user for as long as there have been PCs. I must admit to feeling a little superior to Apple users over the years. Their machines were cute, but c'mon, any real power user worth his or her chips knew the world was controlled through the C: prompt, not some silly graphic interface.

My first iPod got me thinking. It didn’t do a lot, but what it did it did very well. The iPad does a whole lot and it performs exceptionally well. I probably would not have bought an iPad, Kathleen gave it to me for my birthday. It does everything except take pictures. I got rid of my Blackberry. Except, as I did here to preserve battery life, I don't use my IPod. My old laptop is basically a storage device as is my desktop PC.

When I travel for business this is all I take. I don't need a book or notebook. I've imported my favorite photos. I don't need anything else. It is reliable and their internet browser, Safari, seems more stable and secure than IE. I bet I've sold 50 of these iPads whenever I'm asked to demo it.

We're starting down for Seattle.

2:14 p.m. PST EN ROUTE home

Ever steady Jay is here to meet me and I'm in his car headed home. There is surely no place better.

The last moments of the trip ended on an ironic and hopeful note. I guess I must be a little more fried than I think. When we pulled up to the gate I retrieved the few things I had in the overhead bin (a box of Hawaiian flowers for Kathleen, and lei for Larkin and my Tumi bag). I bolted for the door. The nice young man sitting next to me caught up with me in the concourse, where he handed over… the iPad I had left behind.

2:43 p.m. PST. HOME!

It took awhile to get here, but it's worth it.

The best part of this trip has been the opportunity to write. I wish I were a better writer, I just hope this simple prose was entertaining. I'll see many of you in a few days, others probably in the coming year. When or where we meet again makes no difference, I

know we will. Have a great holiday and if you're on a plane look for me, hopefully in First Class.

Duke

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