Me and Harrison Ford

Last week was the first time I had ever flown out of Lethbridge. Normally, when I fly anywhere, I drive up to Calgary, scramble for cheap three-day parking, and hop on a plane. A discount AirMiles promotion allowed me to hop on at Lethbridge, dash through the terminal at Calgary, then glide into Vancouver with the great of ease - for next to nothing, to boot. 

Well, not exactly next to nothing: The taxes and insurance and over-priced burgers brought the total price back to reality.

When I first saw the plane on the tarmac, I felt like I was Indiana Jones heading to Egypt on one of those 1940's-era aircraft. I know I don't look like him, fight like him, or even have his bank account, but for one fleeting moment I felt like a raider of the lost ark – Noah's ark, that is. Noah's long-lost ark of the airways, to be precise.

Talk about ancient. There was a seat on either side of the aisle, with twenty seats altogether. No television, no soft drinks. Not even any boring airline magazines. I don't even think there was a bathroom at back. I was too afraid to check it out, in case I tipped the plane. 

I also got the impression we were in trouble when I saw both pilots busy reading a map of Alberta. It looked like they were trying to find the shortest and safest route from Lethbridge to Calgary. I started looking for the shortest and safest route to the ground, straight down.

Cheap is fun, so long as I can concentrate on saving time (no extra road trip to Calgary) and money (some AirMiles gone, but bank account safe – well, until I had to buy that burger in Calgary). Even the rush of leaving from a small "county" airport is kind of cool. These mammoth-size airport malls leave much to be desired when it comes to a personal, warm environment. There is something to be said for the individual touch of a municipal airport.

Coming back to Alberta was almost as exciting. I discovered to my chagrin that, by the time I was to arrive in Calgary (after a fifteen minute delay in Vancouver for a host of unrelated reasons), I might miss my connecting flight to Lethbridge. In other words, I was going to miss getting back on that twenty-seater "Bill Haley" special - you know, shake, rattle, and roll.

A few brief words to the steward allowed me to move up to the executive class for the remainder of the trip – and I enjoyed the brief fling of the pampered rich. The rationale? Closer to the front for a quicker departure, I would have a head start for the 100 metre dash to the other departure gate. Sitting in a easy chair at 16,000 feet made me almost forget the taxes, insurance and over-priced burgers. It almost made me forget Harrison Ford. It probably would have made him forget the holy grail if he had the chance to sit where I sat. After all, why ride a camel when you can ride a La-Z-Boy?

Bumpy rides and near misses aside, I was so impressed with the service I got from Air Canada. I find that both hard and easy to say: hard, because I am more of a WestJet kind of guy; and easy, because in an era where crummy service rules the day, I was pampered like a little kid on a plane without his mommy for the first time. In fact, I was offered coffee twice: Once when I was a commoner and once when I was an executive.

That's almost incentive enough to take another trip and look for my own temple of gloom.