The Commute

My neck of the woods: northwestern Wyoming.

One of the perks of being a commercial flight crew member is the freedom to live wherever you want. I met a flight attendant recently who is based in San Francisco but lives in Manchester, England. She described it as “the easiest commute ever.” I live in northwest Wyoming, a few states away from Seattle where I work, but I wouldn’t describe my commute as easy.

Last week, I had a fourteen-hour delay getting home due to unforecasted freezing fog and low visibility in Billings. The plane returned to Seattle, the flight canceled. It was close to midnight when I got to sleep. Exhausted from flying all day, I was determined to get home. When flights cancel, the later flights tend to fill up, sometimes for days afterwards. I craved my home like a horse to its stable. I had to find another way to get there. I slept three hours that night, caught a five a.m. flight to Denver, then connected to a Billings flight. I still had a two-hour drive on country roads, so I leaned into coffee to stay awake, pulling up to the house around suppertime. I lost an entire day off just to get home.

A view from a favorite ridge where I hike right outside of town.

Last month on another commute, I got lucky. Sort of. The plane diverted to Spokane, Washington, for a maintenance issue. Two gates down a spare plane enabled us to continue on to Billings. We were on the ground for about an hour total, a small miracle, for sure, just two hours delayed.

In November, my company took a two-day trip from me to train someone, so I didn’t fly that day. Instead, I hopped a late flight home. I felt rested because I hadn’t flown, so I drove home in a wind storm. My car felt like tumbleweed jerking this way and that. On a stretch south of Belfry, Montana, a river parallels the road, attracting elk, deer, pronghorn and foxes. A pronghorn darted out between two sage brush, broadsiding my car. It hit my right rear view mirror then bounced down the full length of my Nissan Rogue. I circled back, but like a phantom, he disappeared into the night. I shiver to think what might have happened had I been in my Toyota Corolla, a much smaller car.

Since the accident, I no longer drive at night south of Billings. Getting home isn’t worth killing an animal or sustaining thousands of dollars worth of damage to my car or risking my life on an icy road. Instead, I stay in a hotel off the interstate and wait until daylight to head home. It takes longer, requires patience and discipline, but it’s safer. Just the other day, three pronghorn crossed the road on my morning drive southbound, but I had plenty of time to brake for them.

So why commute? Why not just live in the city where I work? Seattle is a stunning place to fly into. I have a condo I bought years ago when I first got hired at a major airline. It’s even semi affordable. The drawback is there are 3.6 million people living in the Seattle metro area alone. In Wyoming, there are only half a million people spread out across a state 1.5 times larger than Washington. There’s something to be said for that.

A Seattle sunset over Puget Sound is always a treat from the sky.

A sunrise takeoff overlooking Mount Rainier is spectacular too.

Home is the feeling I get the moment I crest a certain pass southbound on Wyoming Highway 120. The valley opens up and my favorite mountain comes into view. Rodeo and I have hiked it several times. I have set rose petals on its peak to honor George, my step dad; a bouquet of wildflowers for my best friend who died too young; and daisies for my cousin’s husband, who suffered colon cancer, leaving his wife and six children behind. Every time I see this mountain, my heart slows in my chest and my shoulders soften.

Bald eagles frequently hunt by the river near my house.

It is a wilderness area where grizzlies and pronghorn roam freely. It isn’t just the outdoors that draws me back here. It’s coffee get-togethers with good friends on the weekends whenever I’m home. It’s my creaky hundred-year-old house near Main Street with two cats buried in the backyard. It’s the walks I take to the river where bald eagles and muskrats hunt. I have lived all over the country for my flying career, from Bellingham, Washington, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but there is no place that warms my heart like northwestern Wyoming. For me, commuting is a choice I continue to make, despite the on-going challenges of getting to this rural community. I’m lucky to have a job that gives me the freedom to live where I feel right at home.

Hiking up the ridge trail with Rodeo on a blustery afternoon just the other day after an exhausting week of work.