I'm heading out tomorrow evening to visit the wife's kin in the great white north, be back Sunday night.

Arghhhhhh. We're flying. Not sure how happy I am about that. The only times I've ever flown is was in planes I could set up front where they'd let me drive...

I've never had any interest in flying commercial. When I was in the fourth grade, we went on a field trip to the airport. They showed us all around the tower and we did a walk-through on a small airliner. I thought it was pretty neat until I asked the lady giving the tour wereabouts they kept the parachutes. I decided I wasn't real interested in flying when I found out I couldn't get off the plane whenever I wanted to.

'sides, if I make it over to the big tractor junkyard that's just east of Des Moines I won't be able to bring any toys home.

I'm thinking the conversation with security would go something like this...

"Why yessir, that there is a brake doohickey fer a 285 Ferguson."

"step over to t'side?"

"what for?"

From my bride...

"I TOLD you not to try and bring that rusty crap on the plane!"

Oh well, it does beat driving 16 hours.