Automobiles, Planes, and Trains

St Louis, MO and Atlanta, GA
March 21, 2019

I apparently have my own personal driver. Or, at least it seems I do. 

Stepping from the lobby of the Ritz, I was for the third consecutive morning greeted by the same Lyft driver. 

Eric, like many residents of this venerable Midwestern city, has lived in St Louis his entire life. His blood flows Cardinal red all summer, and Blues blue when the temperature cools and snow fills the floodplains along and between the Missouri and the Mississippi. 

Having already spent twenty minutes each of the last two mornings exchanging small talk, we spent today’s ride to the airport listening to KMOX.

The radio discussion reminded us that the floodplains contain more than snow. They are also chock-full of houses…many of which will quickly succumb when the Missouri decides to veer from the artificial channels to which well-meaning engineers have tried to confine it.

Much as short memories and flawed incentives entice newer, bigger homes to beachfront property ravaged by hurricane, to exotic terrain churned by earthquake, or to coastal hillsides buried under mudslide…so the decades since the great Midwest floods of 1993 have eased any reluctance to filling the suburban Chesterfield valley with high-end schools and fancy cul-de-sacs, sustained on every other block by Starbucks, Chipotle, and Whole Foods Market.

The St Louis area is surrounded on two sides by the Missouri and a third by the Mississippi. The Meramec guards the southern flank, and drains the limestone and dolomite geology on which this region precariously rests.

Tho’ the Meramec empties into the Mississippi, its source lies several miles east of the Missouri, denying the Gateway to the West opportunity to plagiarize the enviable designation as Île Saint-Louis. 

Regardless, snows locally and upriver were heavy this year, and rains frequent. The big continental rivers will not forever be confined. St Louis may yet be an island. 

Or a lake.

When will the reckoning arrive? We don’t know. 

But, like the next San Francisco earthquake, Wall Street crash, or another of these emails, it is only a matter of time. Potential victims can prepare as best they can, light the appropriate candles, fill the emergency scotch glasses, and pray.

Of course, Nature has ways of disturbing our best-laid plans. The mud under St Louis coats the potent New Madrid Fault zone, which just before the War of 1812 emitted the largest quakes recorded in the contiguous United States.  

Another temblor of even partial magnitude would throw rivers over their banks and buildings off their foundations. That is, if any of the series of annual tornadoes don’t do it first. 

Fortunately, the barbecue here is really good and the zoo top-notch.

For now, the waters are calm, the earth is still, the weather nice. We are pulling up to the terminal…so I must pause, say goodbye to Eric till (in all likelihood) I see him when I am next here, proceed thru requisite TSA indignities, and onto my flight.

More rare than the same Lyft driver three straight days is an empty middle seat on a Thursday business flight. 

After settling next to the window, grabbing my book, and donning ornamental earphones to dissuade potential small talk, I suddenly noticed us taxiing from the gate…with no one between me and the blessedly disinterested guy on the aisle.

This is almost unheard of, like a pleasant experience with the IRS or a miserable one tapping in for Eagle. What’s going on here? Are we just moving to another gate to collect more passengers? How can this be? 

Looking cautiously up and down the aisle in the manner of an anonymous whistleblower speaking to a Guardian reporter who may have been followed, I am relieved to see no prospective neighbor approaching. 

Meanwhile, the plane makes its final turn onto the runway, is picking up speed…and is now airborne. I quickly scan the Delta Sky Mall to see if Lottery tickets are on offer.

What is on offer in Delta Comfort is complimentary wine. 

Unfortunately, we do have some limits…standards and guidelines that keep us in line and out of trouble. And one of those is to not start drinking wine in the morning…unless it is a weekend, or we are on vacation, or it is filled with bubbles and mixed with orange juice. 

Being on an 11:15a flight, I must therefore resist.

But wait!

We are flying into the Eastern time zone, which forces a recalibration…and potential reassessment. Pardon me while I quickly adjust my watch…

As the drink cart moves ever closer, I think fast. It is suddenly afternoon, and I do have an empty seat beside me that provides ample tray space for my potential treat. 

Then again, I must still work when I land, and this evening will join Rita at Mercedes-Benz stadium for an event that will most certainly feature a cocktail hour. Our standards, such as they are, must prevail.

“Club soda, please.”

Despite strong winds and disconcerting turbulence, we landed without incident. Like a wayward blood cell navigating a narrow artery, I somehow dodged and weaved my way thru the host of human cholesterol that perpetually clogs Hartsfield airport…and plopped myself onto MARTA.

The weather here is remarkably similar to what we left in St Louis. Cloudy, somewhat bland, not too extreme. Today, even the amount of daylight is the same in both places…as it is wherever you are reading this (assuming you still are). 

As I ride the train into downtown Atlanta, I think of the cycles we considered a few days ago, and reflect that the Equinox is a natural hinge on which one phase turns to the next. 

I know not what to make of those we’ve completed, much less what the next will bring. I instead simply look forward to seeing my wife this evening, and my sons tonight.

Meanwhile, the train is approaching my station, near which I’ll find a place to sit for a few hours, top off this note, and get some real work done before meeting Rita at her office…

Coming off the escalator onto Peachtree Street, I searched for a quiet, comfortable spot to send some emails and dispense a few work obligations. The coffee shops were full and the bars loud with NCAA tournament crowds. 

A block away I spied a place that would work. Strolling past the windows I saw a group of women sipping bottled water and hunched over their laptops. At another table, a group of consultants seemed to be finalizing a presentation. 

Across the room, an empty table beckoned. This would be perfect, particularly on a day when cycles and time are in balance.

I pushed on the door, walked down the stairs…and stepped into the lobby of the Ritz.

JD