Not the cool kind of flying in your dreams, but the kind of flying that involves the TSA and screaming babies.
|Photo of Lockheed P2 Neptune water bomber taxiing by, taken from inside the gate area at RDM, just for Ancient Woodsman.|
The airport terminal in my dream was modeled loosely after RDM, right down to boarding the plane via airstairs. The thing about the airport itself was the terminal appeared to share a large runway complex with a bigger and newer facility, and so there was an interminable amount of taxiing to get to the departure end of the runway.
Like, a lot of taxiing. And all this taxiing was down narrow little tree-lined taxiways paved with cracked and weed-shot asphalt that seemed way too narrow for the undercarriage and which looked suspiciously like the Monon Trail.
The seating was six abreast, and I was in 1E, which meant I didn't have that great a view of the trees flashing past the wingtip but, since they hadn't closed the cockpit door, I could see rather more trees off the port bow through the windscreen than was comfortable. I pulled the emergency info card from the bulkhead pouch, and amused myself by reading the abandon ship instructions for the creaky old 707, which had a very That '70s Show rust-and-tan (or "counterculture and draft card") color scheme and was operated by Colvin Air according to the card.
Despite the fact that we were racing to get out before we got closed in by an ice storm, there were innumerable interminable holds where we just sat there in the woods. During one of these, I absentmindedly fumbled a cigarette out of my purse before remembering duh, airplane. The young woman in the aisle seat, who was on her way to visit Farmgirl and who could have been her doppleganger, pulled out a Marlboro red and started smoking it more or less right at the flight attendant. I woke up before that little scene reached its denouement.
ETA: I remember where the color scheme came from! When I was working at SmithKline we had a 310 Quebec that was tan with dark brown striping that was a hangar queen. I used to amuse myself late at night by going out in the hangar and chasing down a tennis ball I'd bounce off the wall. I saw a lot of that old Cessna.