No Backpack, just Bags

Dragging two 49.9 lb. pieces of luggage (50 lbs. is the limit) plus a
25+ lb. carry on and a stuffed full hand bag on the sidewalks, on the
bus, on the ferry, back on the bus and up the sidewalk, gives one
respect for those who must always move this slowly and painfully.
Ramps good. My one bag almost crushed a few bus passengers' feet when
tumbling over on a surprise sharp corner turn. I have got to get
these bags safely to Moorea, this is not a backpacking trip.

On the long omnibus bus ride through south Seattle a friendly big
black lady and I had a long discussion on the various things you could
do with old jet planes, i.e. put them high up on big tall poles with
hydraulics controlled by the steering wheel to simulate actual
movement through the air (for Dick Cheney), flip them over put up
masts and sails and call them boats, cut off the wings and use for
windmill generators. All of our billionaire friends will probably
have some sort of old jet as a guest house or Wyoming getaway,
restaurants, schools, oh all sorts of things, get in line.

Seatac is big and well car cultured, although I found a great little
hole in the wall Japanese restaurant just north of the Hilton hotel on
Aurora, inexpensive, wooden interior, mostly Japanese customers.
Plane leave later this morning, over water and more water, oh, I'd say
about half way between South America and Australia and Hawaii and
Antarctica. During this time my family will probably be the most
split up it has ever been, Sweden, San Diego, L.A., P.T., and Papeete,
one each, yet at the same time in pretty good cyber contact.