The Antarctic Journal of a Young Man

August 25, 1975: Monday

The World is Flat! I have been up there and have seen it! Spreading out from under the plane (my first, United Flight 799, a 727) like a giant hazy pancake. Fields of brown and gray-green check their way in infinite variety towards the horizons.

It is hard to tell variations in elevation. The ribbons of dark creek valleys and the unevenness of the country roads are interpreted as hills. Our part of Nebraska is flat. A far different picture of the state than we had when we hitchhiked. (“What’s beyond the next hill?” Another hill.)

We fly low from Lincoln to Omaha. I can see Highway 6, and Ashland, and Ceresco, and Ithica, and way off in the foggy blue distance is Wahoo. In fifteen minutes I’m 10 miles closer to Auburn and 50 miles farther from L.A. Oh, well, it’s my first jet flight and it’s over territory I know and understand.

The Lincoln airport is built like one of the cabins at Cedar Creek, a large two-story sort of A-frame. It looks like a pavilion at Six Flags. It only has four gates and no paperback copy of Centennial. I met Mrs. Treves, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, and Dr. Treves’s two boys. They’re wearing Operation Deep Freeze T-shirts. Cal says I’ll find out where they come from.

We say good-bye. It was terribly unemotional. Cal’s been down before. I made two mistakes in the news story. This is only Dr. Treves’s ninth expedition and we’ll go from New Zealand to McMurdo by plane, not icebreaker. Oh, well. I’ve forgotten three things: a watch, air-mail stamps, and a duffelbag.

Epley is a lot bigger than the Lincoln airport. But Omaha’s a lot bigger than Lincoln. On the way back I can follow the Platte into the Missouri (gee is it muddy) and follow the Missouri as it snakes down the state. It’s hard to visualize that one side is Nebraska and the other Iowa, but that’s easy to do on the ground. I can see Cedar Creek, and Springfield, and Louisville, and Manley. Over in the corner of the world, where the misty blue horizons meet the Pizza that is Nebraska, I think I can see the City. But you can never be sure, they only come out at night, you know.

Nebraska is an east-west, north-south state. The mile roads intersect uniformly in all directions, like a quilt. It’s comforting to know that the land surveys look so nice from the air.

I can follow Highway 6 to Hastings. I look for the College where Deb will be on Wednesday. Then the Platte comes into view and we must pass right over Kearney and I miss my chance to wave at Joy. Shelby was on the wrong side of the plane.

Marilyn was right. You can see the circles of green that center-pivot irrigation makes on the section or quarter section. I get sort of lost after Kearney. I think I see McCook, but it might be Julesburg. Who cares? I think we cross into Colorado when the pattern of sections and country roads becomes only sketchy. The pilot announces our descent into Denver, 75 miles out. We fly much higher than we did to Omaha. Off in the distance I can see the Front Range rising above the purple haze. We get a snack.

Denver is bigger than Omaha, at least it looks bigger. It’s much bigger than Lincoln. Lincoln from way up looks like Waverly from close down. The Capitol is hard to spot because of the shadows. But Memorial Stadium stands right out, an oval of green in gray.

We get off in Denver to wait to reboard the plan. We stand around and watch people in the terminal. There must be some correlation between city size and airport size. I haven’t run across anyone I know yet, which is unusual. But then, I haven’t tried hard.

Back on the plane a young lady sits next to me and talks to the lady on the aisle. Dr. Treves tells the man next to him where we’re going. He takes it calmly.

I think I spot the Great Divide. At least all the valleys on one side go one way and the valleys on the other go a different way. The timber line is very evident. Changes in elevation are much easier to spot. The pilot is friendly and tells us where we are, which helps because I’m not familiar with the area.

I eat lasagna for supper. The girl beside me asks what state we’re over. She’s dressed in green and has eyes and hair like Brenda Holding. She has that “I know I’m pretty” air. Close up she’s full of make-up. She’s reading The Bible and History: Do They Agree? Or something like that. I read parts of it. The arguments are weak and typically half-hearted, religious, “It is because I’ve told you so.” Even though I agree with the book, I don’t respect it.

Clouds have flat bottoms! The little marshmallow ones do, anyway.

Coming into L.A. (from 35,000 feet up), we travel through the clouds. Above the clouds it’s bright, with shadows, and the sky above is a purple-blue-black. I hope it’s really thin air and not tinted windows. Down below the clouds it’s sort of murky. The built up area just goes on and on and on. I’m totally confused about where the individual cities are.

At the airport we met Cal’s cousin, her son, and Cal’s grandmother. We travel by bus to Golden West Airlines to fly to Oxnard. It’s dark, now, and one young marine comes into the building and says, “That was a dramatic entrance, wasn’t it?” He sounds like Tom Triptow, but doesn’t look like him. California people are strange.

Now I know where all the people who aren’t driving around Dallas and Houston are. They’re all at Los Angeles International Airport. Our flight to Oxnard is canceled because of weather. Everyone’s mad because we have to take a bus. Sit in the lobby and right post cards to Joy, Marilyn, and Cathy. The bus driver gets directions from the guy at Golden West. We drive on the Santa Monica Freeway, Interstate 10, and California 1, through Malibu, the cliffs on our right and the Ocean on the left. I can’t see it. Oxnard is 50 miles away, to the north, which is the direction I’m going. I doze as we travel around the cliffs.

We get out at Ventura County Airport. We must have been on Ventura Highway. We get a cab (my first) with a guy going to the “base.” Back to the Oxnard Lodge, which we’ve passed once. Go to the bathroom and go to bed.

Today’s Expenditures:
$0.48 ....Post cards
$0.50....38¢ worth of stamps
$0.15.... Orange pop