Ugh

After yesterday's flight, that four-hour drive to (and another four back) from Rochester looks pretty good. The trip home wasn't by any means the worst flight I've ever had, but there was just turbulence throughout, and when we weren't actually bouncing around the sky, it felt like we could be at any moment. I think I have done enough service for this state to never have to get onto a Beechcraft again . . . but I know I'm just not going to get that lucky.

I've become accustomed to the idea that my pilot will be younger than I am, and in general that's probably a good thing. But I do think my pilot should be at least drinking age (not that I want him drinking, mind you), and I'm not sure that was the case yesterday. Also spent some time obsessing with the way crashes of these planes are reported -- they always give the name of the actual operator, which in this case would be the utterly unheard-of Champlain Air, when a plane like this crashes, rather than the name of the airline they're flying for (in this case, Continental). I think this makes it sound like the people who climbed on board that commuter plane had it coming, because who the hell would book a flight on Champlain Air? I want this practice stopped, now.

Still, as wet and miserable as it was, I was a lot safer dropping out of the sky than I would have been on the Thruway. I kept telling myself that as my stomach slowly returned to normal last night.

Saturday's flights to Arkansas had better be smooth as float glass, baby.