On my way to Ice Driving USA, several of us on my second flight were on the same final flight to Rhinelander but would have to sprint to make the plane—at A14, one of the farthest gates from our F10 arrival gate in the MSP airport. We had 19 minutes until the official time plane doors would close.
Thankfully, other passengers on our plane let us racers down the aisle and off the plane in front of them. We ran through the first concourse and then jumped on a cart with a very pregnant woman from our flight who’d earlier scored a ride. When we got to the cross-terminal tram, the driver deposited us all to walk/run the rest of the way. I sent the other guys ahead and told them to hold the plane for us while I accompanied her. We moved at the pace allowed by seven or eight months of pregnancy and scanned our tickets just in time to board.
When we landed in Rhinelander, Barbara came and found me at baggage claim and introduced me to her husband: “Honey, this is the man who walked with me.”
As I journaled about this episode the next morning, I cried. I hope lots of people can say that figuratively about me, and I’m thankful for the episodes over the past few decades when trusted souls have walked slowly with me.
