Very early morning at DFW waiting for my flight, and the little ERJ-175 waiting for me at the end of the jetway is just being nudged from her slumbers by the ground service team.
I do like these jets better than their little sisters. Something about the engines-under-wing configuration is comforting. And the seat configuration in the RJs is a bit less crowded since they’re usually 2/2 in economy and 1/2 in business.
Hoping for a smooth flight over the southern Rockies and the desert.
It’s been a long day with clients and journalists. I needed the protein. And I turned down a ton of carbs, but there is probably a half pound of brisket and a half pound of chicken on the table.
Lord help me, I love Texas.
I skipped the toast and the hash browns (should have just told them to hold it.) Gorged on this huge chicken breast/spinach/jalapeño/onion omelet. Along with five cups of Ellen’s superb coffee, I walked out floating on air.
This is my new Dallas hangout.
Stopped atop Donner Summit on my way from a meeting in Reno to a meeting in San Jose, I could not help thinking about the engineering that went into piercing this steepest of North American mountain ranges with a transportation artery that links the nation with coastal California.
The story of the construction of the transcontinental railroad is a treasured piece of American lore, and the project’s great historians tell us that effort to cross the Sierras with iron rails was the most arduous part of that undertaking. Building the Lincoln Highway through the Sierras, and later Interstate 80, have been almost ignored. What of the engineering, of the careful balance between the needs of the automobile and the need to care for the land, of the value unleashed by eliminating the need to veer northwards to the Columbia River or southwards to Tehachapi?
The pioneers would have not dared to conceive of traveling from Truckee Meadows to the San Francisco Bay in a week, much less in an afternoon. And yet, here I am, and with time enough to stop in Dixon for lunch.
My historian’s nose tells me there is more to be learned and a bigger story to be told, and I file it away for future thought. Sitting back down in my car, I say a silent “thank you” to the trailblazers who found this pass, to the surveyors who chose the path, to the engineers who designed it, and to the legions of men who hewed it out of the granite.
I found my perfect breakfast on the south side of Reno while prepping for a client meeting. Peg’s offers the ideal breakfast for my training program: grilled chicken, egg whites, and basmati rice. Tons of protein, just the right amount of fat, and enough carbs to power me through the day.
Thank you, Peg’s!
Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse, Heathrow. The breakfast smells incredible, and I didn’t have dinner last night.
But I am declining, even the croissants, saving my calories for the Kosher Kedassia meals on the flight. There will be foods on my tray that are not on my training program, so I need to choose my sins.
But boy, am I hungry. The temptation to partake is extreme.
Egg whites, unsalted; a porridge of rolled oats and protein powder; a pot of English Breakfast tea and a liter of still water.