ROBERT GARDNER -- The verdict

Once upon a time, I spent several weeks a year on the speaking circuit.

For three years, I devoted two weeks of my month’s vacation to traveling

around the country making after-dinner speeches.

The pay was good. And for a while, it was fun.

My boss had the philosophy that anyone can go from one place in this

country to any other spot in one day. And so each year he set up speeches

a day apart in 14 cities. Then I sat down with a travel agent and tried

to figure out how to get to each of the assignments on time.

Right now I can’t remember all the towns, but I can remember the travel,

particularly when it got a little sticky.

For example, I made a speech in Beaumont, Texas, one night and had to be

in Rapid City, S.D., the next day. The trouble was that I had to travel

on five airlines.

I made it, but all I can remember is that in some hokey little airport

along the way, we took on about 30 German army officers and each one

promptly got airsick.

The sound and smell of 30 people retching is a harrowing experience.

Then when we got to Rapid City, my host took me to the local snake house

of which the city was very proud. I hate snakes. I looked the other way

when they showed the movie on the screen. After a couple of hours of

looking at and smelling snakes, I was ready to quit the whole trip right

there.

But my most memorable trip was from Los Angeles to some jerkwater town in

northern Minnesota. Because of some screw up, I traveled first class to

Minneapolis.

So far, so good. It was an emergency, and the boss would pay. However, I

sat next to a somewhat elderly lady who became completely smashed on the

free booze and passed out on my shoulder.

Arriving in Minneapolis, I discovered my flight to whatever town I was

going was grounded because of a nasty tornado between Minneapolis and

that town. I scurried around and found a crazy pilot who would take me in

his two-seater plane for $150. I forked out the money and took the

scariest plane ride of my life.

There were huge black clouds rolling and tumbling around the sky and lots

of chain lightning. The little plane was jumping and dropping and making

funny noises. The pilot wanted to turn back, but I insisted on going

forward. Finally, he asked me if I suffered from motion sickness. I said

I didn’t. He said he did and promptly threw up.

So there I was, several thousand feet above ground in an plane that was

bucking like a well-trained rodeo horse, and a pilot who was barfing his

guts out. Such an experience one does not forget.

When we finally arrived at the airport of our destination -- really just

a landing strip -- my airsick pilot practically tossed me out, turned the

plane around and headed back to Minneapolis, still sick.

I guess it was scenes like that which cause me to remember the trips

between towns, even if I can’t remember the towns.

After three years of airlines and motels, I quit the speaking tour

business and took my vacation like any normal husband and father. But

even now, when I travel by air, I always wonder whether the pilot and

co-pilot suffer from motion sickness.