This post is a part of a series on a trip to Montana, written by Caroline Johnson.
Imagine: your second time in flight, your first time heading super far from home, and of course, being all by yourself.
Pensacola to Atlanta was a standard flight with standard peanuts, and by the time I fell asleep we were already descending. We landed without a hitch and I settled myself in with some waffle fries to wait out my two hour layover until my flight to Salt Lake. I met a grandmother on the way to visit her grandbabies, a techno musician on the way to a drug filled music festival, and a line of thunderstorms bountiful enough to delay my flight by two hours, right as we were to begin boarding.
No big deal right? Wrong. I hardcore missed my connection from Salt Lake to Missoula. As a minor, that meant a night in an airport that I’ve never been to in a state that I’ve never been to in a region of the country that I’ve never been to. Eek.
But alas, there is always a silver lining: economy comfort as a free upgrade. They changed my seat on the flight to Salt Lake and I became the princess that my parents always say I am. Not to mention all of the stars I got to see out of the super sized window, flying high above the clouds and the light pollution.
Luckily, there is a special room in Salt Lake where minors can hang out while waiting for connections, with enough bottled water to ride out the rise of the zombie apocalypse. So a few hours of sleep, a bit of vanilla chai, a good view of mountains (which I’ve never had much exposure to as a Florida girl), and a little wait for my rebooked flight.
The longest flight was a pretty big, exciting adventure if you ask me, and that was just in getting there.