Boston Bound

My colleague, Brian, stuck his head in my office a few Friday afternoons ago and asked loudly, while feigning surprise, "What?! Not flying somewhere this weekend?!"

Admittedly, it had been a fast-paced few weeks with trips to Chicago, Moline and Detroit, but I simply smiled and informed him, "Actually, I'm meeting Rich at the airport at 8:00. We're flying to Boston with a couple of his friends."

"You're ridiculous," he informed me, and then grinned. "Have fun."

We arrived around 10:30 after a beautiful night flight, with fantastic views of NYC, and promptly managed to get lost driving to our hotel. As we were pondering our predicament, Rich spied a cop car in a parking lot. He pulled up alongside him and I hopped out, MapQuest directions in hand, and explained how Rich had missed Exit #13 and gotten us lost. The cop looked at me, looked at Rich, and commented nonchalantly, but loud enough for Rich to hear, "There is no Exit 13."

As their laughter subsided, the cop attempted to walk me through the (complicated) process of getting to our hotel. Eventually, after I tossed my hair around a few times for good measure, he sighed and said, "Just follow me."

And voila! Rich and I had a police escort all the way to our hotel. (If you go 60 MPH in a 35 to keep up with a police escort, it would be entrapment for another cop to pull you over, right?) After checking in, we headed to the local Harvard bar scene in Cambridge. As we surveyed our fellow patrons, Rich commented, "We are definitely the dumbest people in this bar." I wasn't so sure. There have to be at least a few trust fund babies at Ha-vard.

"How do you like d'em apples?!"

Rich spent most of Saturday trying to remember which radio station requests that its listeners call in and report creepy men driving around in Seabring Convertibles. (Yes, he wanted to report himself.) Because we all know there's cool, and then there's Seabring Double-Popped Collars Convertible cool.

I wanted to report Rich for making me listen (loudly) to Vanilla Ice and Billy Ocean with the top down, while cruising around Boston. Eddie, however, was a big fan of the convertible. Except, of course, when it was actually converting. Then vaulting into my lap looked much more appealing. And I wonder why I'm always covered in bruises.

We spent the day exploring the North End, watching planes land at Logan, checking out an open-air produce market, reinacting important moments in American history, chatting with some rough and tumble locals (mostly to hear their crazy mix of Italian/Bostonian accents), walking the Harvard campus, dining at an Italian joint back in the North End, and then meeting up with Junelle, Tara and John for aperitifs. Unwitting spectators to a 3 a.m. cat fight rounded out our night, as we finally persuaded a cabbie to take us back to our hotel.

Sunday was an early start, as Junelle needed to get back to DC in time for a dress rehearsal of the Vagina Monologues. Rich took off in tough IFR conditions, and we were pleasantly surprised to get out on top of the clouds around 7,000 feet. Much to the boys' amusement, I read lines while Junelle rehearsed her role as we flew along.

By the time we reached Baltimore, Rich was able to cancel IFR and I was able to capture my first photos of the flight.

Stepping out of the plane in Gaithersburg, it felt like we had flown to another world in just three short hours. It was hot, humid and sunny. Quite the contrast to the cold, rainy day we had left behind in Boston. It also felt like we had been gone much longer than 36 hours. Another successful weekend adventure, complete!