A Continental Journey, Day 1 (Prologue)
Southwest Airlines Flight 315, somewhere over Nevada:
They say that every journey begins with just one step. What they don't often mention is how early that first step usually is.
The alarm roused me into 4 a.m. darkness, forcing me to bid a dreamland auf wiedersehen to either Sigfried or Roy ( I'm not sure which; it was the darker-haired of the two, the one mauled by his tiger). We, along with a tiger or two, clearly were headed for a memorable quest. No gathering of flamboyant Vegas showmen or large, dangerous cats could match the adventure awaiting me in the real world, though.
My day would call to mind the toy cars from the days before microchips became the principle component of children's playthings. You pull it back, away from its intended target, as the clicking spring gathers tension, anticipating the sudden release of coiled energy when at last you unleash the toy to dart pell-mell clear across the room. Like the toy car, my pre-dawn alarm presaged a day of traveling east just so I could travel west again.
A small car darting pell-mell would be involved.
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