Los Angeles

Finally I'm in the throws of a boyhood dream—sitting in an airport waiting for a flight to Sydney. And of course it is not at all the way I imagined. First, and most obviously, the dream didn't have me leaving from Los Angeles. That's a possibility I couldn't have imagined at that earlier age. Next, Sydney would at least rate a mention on the departure list, which of course would be a huge billboard affair with those rattling tiles turning over as they update the information. Not only have those boards been replaced with a utilitarian fuzzy TV screen, but Sydney doesn't even rate a mention on it. It's a secret mission instead of trumpeting from the roof tops. At least the carrier is Qantas, as the dream foretold.

I wouldn't be here if it were not for my brother-in-law Wayne. This is Wayne's trip, a celebration for his 50th birthday. I'm celebrating mine too, but if Cornie hadn't chickened out back in the spring I certainly would not be here now. There's a nice symmetry here—the Coast to Coast was my trip, planned and organized for years in advance. I was thrilled and honored that Wayne wanted to come too, but he didn't need to be part of the logistics, so he could just come along for the ride. This time Wayne has done all the heavy lifting, and I'm thoroughly enjoying going along for his ride. So the route at least in outline was already decided before I signed up: rain forest and Great Barrier Reef, Tasmania, Kangaroo Island (never heard of it) then overland from Adelaide to Sydney. I'm going to miss the first section, firstly because I can't take so much time, but perhaps more importantly because one of the rules of the game is that I can't do anything that I should be doing with Claudia. So Wayne's already there, and we'll meet in Tasmania on Saturday.

Although the trip is strung together with fixed events—occasional plane trips, pre-booked events and accommodation—we've tried hard to stay flexible. To that end, we've (well, mostly Wayne) done a huge amount of research, so that on any given day, in any given place, we'll know what the possible attractions are. Wayne has compiled it all into a massive tome we've named Bill (Book of Interweb Law and Lore). I fear that my presence changed Wayne's original itinerary (too) dramatically. Before I arrive, he birds 18 hours a day. After we join up, he gets to bird at dawn, at dusk if we've arrived, and we try to do at least one park/bird-type activity each day, along with at least one "other" type attraction (for me). I actually love the birding events. It slows us right down, and gives me a opportunity to sit and absorb the landscape (my new camera is designed to serve the same purpose) but we spend a lot more time on the move and visiting non-bird curiosities.

The best and easiest way to comply with the spousal regulations is to head off in the other direction. Looking back, we did an incredible job. Not just the itinerary but virtually everything we did would not have met with approval: start times, stop times, accommodation, meal choices, meal times, road routes and speeds, the number and reasons for stops, you name it. In short, this was to be a trip that could really only have been taken without our spice. Which in turn means that we can return and happily have a completely different experience next time, when I for one will be thrilled to share the couple of things that Claudi would have liked, and to get to all the places Wayne and I have avoided. And we avoided a lot. This trip definitely focuses on the outdoors, the fauna, the everyday lives. With the exception of my forced day in Hobart, and a day or so in Sydney, we have no plans to be in towns you've heard of, or to visit "tourist" attractions. Instead we'll be in little towns and big parks. We've vowed that every bird and animal sighting must be in the wild.

I set off from Las Vegas, (needless to say also not part of the dream itinerary) where I talked to two women who belonged to a missionary church which I normally find a little creepy, but their story of returning from a trip through the south, and their vacation spent helping the hurricane Katrina victims, made me embarrassed to tell them how I was spending my vacation time and dollars. Their church's response (from California) was to simply drive down there with a single van-load of donated clothes and household materials. Meanwhile half a dozen men bought tools with donated money, found a neighborhood to just pitch in and spent a week cutting down damaged trees and helping folks sift through the wreckage of their homes looking for salvageable memories. It was truly humbling.

Meanwhile, back here in the Chilly's at LAX, I have a mild buzz on. I can't believe folks are lining up, 15 minute waits, for a seat in a fast food restaurant in an airport holding area... The constant on-duty, jet-lag, poor sleep and now two beers leaves me a little out of it. But I have started another conversation with a bunch of folks going to Jamaica (from California!) There are five couples, all high school sweethearts, all used to vacationing together, all renewing their vows, but for now hammering the Margaritas and finger food. They'll be on TV in Jamaica if they get there around the hurricane.

I left my watch on Eastern time. This has increased my sense of lateness. So it's nearly midnight on my watch, and there's still an hour before boarding commences. No wonder it feels like a twilight zone, and everyone else seems so chipper, but my ass is dragging. Vegas seems a lifetime away already, and the East is just a figment of my imagination. I take Benedryl with the last mouthful of beer, then head down to the gate where the chatter and laughter announce some sort of party, but all passengers seem to be invited.

The preparation of tiredness, alcohol and drugs is already taking effect, and I have to return to the check-in desk to retrieve all the items I left on the counter. We pull away from the gate right on schedule, the seats are fine, we taxi and take off with no delay, and it feels like they serve dinner while we're still heading up hill, after which I fall asleep. I tell myself not to look at my watch until I really want to know the time. So I sleep, doze, sleep until I know I have to do something else. To my amazement, 10 hours have gone by already. Only four to go. A movie and breakfast and we are there.