Love is the thrill of 59, 934 horsepower beneath my seat. My bones quake with a familiar and peculiar gravity as a Boeing 737 slings me, helpless, down a short runway. This is why I fly: the takeoff. Feelings of freedom in uncertainty swell up inside; they overtake me. Hope is there too. For me, takeoff is a precious and beautifully poignant metaphor of the human condition...my condition. I dwell in the implications the moment brings. There are personal realizations of depravity and an underlying hope to rise above circumstance before runway expires. Still, salvation from a fireball crash is not of my own accord, but by the grace of a trinity: the pilot, the vessel, and glorious aerodynamics. Huzzah!
I suppose the thrill of takeoff is also born of 60 thousand horses between my legs. Unfortunately, these moments are fleeting.
Truth is, I don't especially enjoy commercial flights otherwise. Perhaps it is the travel dehydration, a habit perfected by many road trips with few pit stops; or maybe the bad smells, the deafening engine noise, and my bitterness over airline's inadequate snack bar (honey-roasted peanuts, anyone?) are primary sources of frustration.
Still, my in-flight prayers are consistent, that the beautiful, interesting, and single girl I notice in the next row might trade places with the balding armrest thief beside me. No such luck today. Minutes after departing Dallas/Fort Worth I am anxious to trade kid-Chuck Norris' roundhouse kicks to my seatback for the balmy climates of Belize City.
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Stepping from tarmac onto Belizean soil I breathe an uncomfortably humid sigh of relief. We made it! I jog toward Zac and Reid on the runway as airport officials began to shepherd our herd of arrivals into baggage claim. Carver follows close behind. Between paperwork and customs, brief logistical conversations and sly smiles are evident of excited expectations brewing inside each of us. We are ready to hit the road for Corozal.
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Our AVIS rental just broke down, an hour up the northern highway. Chilling roadside, Carver pulls his six-string from the back and picks us a Tennessee rhythm. We sing and joke lightly as the billowing steam dissipates from under the hood of our rental. What will a day bring? Startled from contemplation, I turn my head as socialite parrots squak brilliantly across the highway. They disappear into the dense foliage, probably to mingle in loud conversation with the bananaquits and creepers they may find. It comes to mind that the wilderness of this land must only be surpassed by its diversity:
-In Belize, 42% of the land is protected for conservation of jaguars, toucans, orchids, 70 varieties of forest and 185 miles of barrier reef. Among only 270,000 inhabitants, there are eight sizeable ethnic groups and seven common languages.-
We wait.
I try to catch the sweet smell of sugarcane from overladen trucks barreling past to refineries. Too fast.
We ponder.
It is too hot for jeans today; twas a poor decision made a thousand miles ago. I am sweating through.
We watch.
Finally a service man arrives with a land cruiser to replenish our hopes of reaching Corozal soon. While lifting bags into our new trunk I notice the two and a half gallons of coolant and water the repairman adds to quench a thirsty radiator.
We move on.
What does a day bring?
Surely, there is no certainty, only opportunity…so we begin. Bienvenidos a Belize.
