Cinnabon voyage . . .

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

I was trying to book a flight this week, looking for the cheapest ticket I could find.  I assembled my team of experts . . . the travel gnome, Captain Kirk of Priceline, and the rest of the websites that contain the words "cheap flights", though I don't really like the word "cheap" attached to my flying machine.  In an effort to keep my cost down I checked the prices from Birmingham, Huntsville, Nashville and Atlanta, and as many different flight time permutations as I could manage.

Flights from Birmingham may be a little higher, and the flight schedules don't always fit my plans, but it is hard to beat the thirty minute drive to an easily navigated airport where security takes twenty minutes.  There is a Starbucks close to all of the gates.  But it doesn't have a Cinnabon.

Huntsville is about forty minutes farther drive than Birmingham.  Sometimes its fares are cheaper, sometimes they are not, and like Birmingham, the flight schedules are limited.  But  you barely notice security. They seem happy to have someone to talk to.   The traffic at the Huntsville airport is so low that I can park just a few yards from the terminal. Again, no Cinnabon, but the hotel restaurant has a nice breakfast buffet.

Then there's Nashville and Atlanta.  I thought Atlanta was farther. After checking, the mileage to the airport in Atlanta is actually shorter.  It's just the walking distance that makes up the difference.  First from the parking lot to the terminal.  Then inside the terminal.  If you stop to have your shoes shined you might have to get them re-soled.   Both airports are over a hundred miles farther away, but often have much cheaper fares and a variety of flights.

Both Atlanta and Nashville have all kinds of food and coffee places. But Atlanta alone has a Cinnabon.

Some airports have TV news playing in the gates area.  I like that.  Some are locked into Fox News. Not my preference. Some have wi-fi. I like that. Some make you pay for it. I hate that. Some airports have high quality sound systems. That's good. Some apparently use a tin can and string with a cat screeching in the microphone. Not a plus. Some airports have those moving sidewalks.  I love them.  I love them when I am tired because I can just be still and get where I need to be.  If I need a boost in confidence I can run while on the moving sidewalk and pretend that I am a world class sprinter, watching those less amazing slow people fall by the wayside.  If I need a challenge I don't take the moving sidewalk, but try to beat those poor losers who did, even those who are running along, pretending they are world class sprinters.  And all airports have those annoying carts that try to run you over, making you disabled so that you have to ride in one of their carts.

Sometimes I wonder, as I walk with head down through the first six or eight rows of seats on the plane what it would be like to be first class . . .

But money is an issue.

As it turns out, there is a lot for me to think about before I purchase my ticket.

But the first thing I have to decide, before I do anything, is my destination.  If you don't know where you're going, it doesn't matter all that much how you get there, and you can probably get there cheap.

Cinnabon is wonderful.

But Cinnabon will never get me where I need to go.

.