Copilot

Three of the six sweaters selected for my summer wardrobe have the word "Antarctica" on them, which has prompted a lot of conversation.  I don't want to be that guy that always brings it up and tells stories about the one same thing, but it's cool when you're meeting someone and they're excited to hear about it.  And a lot of people up here have a friend who's worked there or are scheming to get down there themselves.  It was nice to find out the guy who runs the flight-seeing tour desk and I have a mutual friend.

It was even nicer scoring a last-minute unsold seat on a plane!  My friend did all the work, calling and sweetly repeating our names almost hourly in the hopes we might get to fly on the clearest day we've yet had.  You can see how happy I was, as this is post-eight-times-barfing (in under 90 minutes!), and I want to do it all again:

This is not Denali, but another gorgeous snowy peak on the way:

I don't know if it was sitting copilot, having eaten three forms of peanut butter, the increasingly swirly low clouds, or just too sensitive an inner ear, but that was a lot of heaving.  Ok, since you read that gross sentence, here's another picture: