It’s a mere two hours since my clock radio cajoled me into consciousness at arse o’clock on a Saturday morning. I’m now sitting at Gate 3 in the U.S. departures lounge at Richardson International, waiting for a boarding call for a flight to Minneapolis. I’ve made the traditional stop-off at the Tim Hortons kiosk on the U.S. side of security and scarfed down a coffee and muffin, to supplement the half-glass of milk I guzzled while phoning for a cab.
Once I land at Minneapolis, the plan is to have a leisurely second breakfast -- yes, I do have some hobbit genes -- and then fly on to Chicago. I could have taken a direct flight, but my check-in time at the HI hostel is 3:00 p.m. Barring a Random Equipment Malfunction, a completely different alarm clock should rouse me at 6 a.m. Sunday morning, allowing me sufficient time to slouch towards Union Station to board a southbound train.
I am going to Carbondale, Illinois for a glorious 2½ minutes on Monday afternoon at about 1:20 p.m. I. Am. On. My. Way. To. The. Eclipse.
This has been in planning for about 2 years, and seriously underway since this past April, when I made all the necessary reservations: Plane, train, and a place to crash the night before the eclipse. I was fortunate enough to snag a piece of floor space at Southern Illinois University, as upwards of 50,000 people are expected in Carbondale on Monday. (Personally, I think they’ll be getting off light if less than 100,000 show up.)
Hands are shaking a bit due to excitement (and possibly the coffee kicking in). Boarding call is imminent (5:38 a.m. now). To be continued…
Now I’m in Minneapolis and it’s 8:30 a.m. I’m not regretting the decision to bring along a fleece jacket, because as I sit here at the departure gate for the hop to Chicago I can feel the air conditioning.
One thing about travelling is that the smells and tastes are ever so slightly different from home. Although humans tend to be visual, some of us get more impact from the other senses. As a gardener and cook I’m almost as sensitive to smell as I am to 3D space. MSP has a scent to it that is very unlike YWG, and when I get to O’Hare I’m sure it will likewise have its own smell.
I’m definitely not alone in making an eclipse trip. The young man sitting next to me at the Winnipeg departure lounge was also going to Carbondale, and as I was hobbiting on a sausage-and-egg biscuit here in Minneapolis I saw someone walk by with a shirt that said “Come to the Dark Side,” in the Star Wars main title font. I had already mentally added the traditional response, “We have cookies,” but then I saw the date.
August 21, 2017.
I have a shirt of my own in the knapsack, a homemade design with the same date and an abstract fabric-paint interpretation of what I saw at the total solar eclipse of February 26, 1979.
It says a lot about me and my lifelong love of astronomy that I still have the same piece of #14 welder’s glass that I used to view the partial phases of the 1979 eclipse.