The plane climbed quickly in the clear sky and within a few minutes I was looking out the window at the wing of the 737 down towards the toy-like model city of Reno and the foothills of the Sierra around it.
Lately, since resuming flying, I'd converted from my old practice of window seats to aisle seats, but on this flight, having booked it only the evening before, I'd been forced to check in later than usual online, and thus had been relegated to the back of boarding queue this morning.
I didn't mind much. It was a short flight, just over an hour to Portland. The skies were clear. A good day for just staring out the window at the landscape and guessing the names of the towns and rivers from my geographical memory. .
The week of decompression in Reno had passed very quickly. The hotel---the Airport Plaza Best Western, just a block from the terminal---was about everything I needed it to be, although I could tell it was not among the most organized of the Best Western flag (all of them independently owned). I made great use of the on-site restaurant, dining out only twice, I could easily have ordered all my meals through room service but enjoyed the break of going down to the first floor and interacting with the waitress for a few minutes for an omelette or a steak.
As is my custom in Reno, I walked from my lodging all the way into downtown, which is quite underwhelming, of course. Reno is a poor ghost of what one encounters in Las Vegas. On the other hand, I can actually imagine living in Reno. This time for my walk, I caught a cab back from the front of the Cal-Neva. Every visit to Reno, which seems to happen often, brings a new iteration of my life experience somehow.
Thursday night I got to have dinner with my college friend Randy, for whom I housessat last February in nearby Gardnerville. Yesterday I took a cab over to see my great-uncle, the B-17 gunner in World War. We watched the Forty-Niners game together in his house, and he shared some more old stories, and observations about Reno. I told him I was thinking about doing some business in Nevada, and he was quite helpful, being that he was a court reporter for many decades and has extensive local contacts.
This morning it was all I could do to schlep out of the big bed in my room and finally back up my things in the two huge bags I had brought to Burning Man. The bags, and most of their contents, were almost as dusty as when I arrived at the hotel. I had eked out my remaining clean clothes to avoid doing any laundry at the hotel. I just never got around to it.
Finally last night I decided it was time to go back to Oregon. So I went online and bought a one-way ticket on Southwest. To me, this capped off a week of great luxury---the idea of just buying an airline ticket spontaneously and going, whenever I please. In the old days, this was something I did only outside the U.S., because for domestic flights this was a sure fire way to pay much more than one had to, for a ticket. But the difference in this case was only a hundred bucks, to buy one on the spot. Thus I purposely left it until the last minute.
A week in Burning Man, followed by a week in a ice hotel ordering room service and working on my laptop, lingering as long as I please, followed by a spontaneous plane flight home---now I am finally officially a member of the jetset.
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