Rerun: breakfast at the airport

(Note: This morning the weekly breakfast gang ate out at the airport; as luck -- or misfortune -- would have it, I forgot my camera. Then it occurred to me that many readers may not have seen this post the first time around back in 20-aught-6, so why not a rerun. Which is just what this is. Not a great deal has changed, though I'm glad to see that the cafe is still there, little changed except perhaps a little more flying memorabilia. Please note that the original comments arrived in my editing window along with the original post and I left them there.)

The trouble with many small town city fathers is that too often they suffer from an extreme case of urban envy. They're willing to sacrifice a historic old building ... a long-established business ... a scenic vista ... almost anything in their drive to be more "progressive" and like the Big City.

Recent talk about "up-grading" our airport reported in the local gazette makes me fear for one of my favorite little cafes -- the Skyway Restaurant at Love Field. The food is, well, cafe food. Could be better.

But I love to sit at a table by the window, watching the small planes come and go, listening to pilot talk, asking a knowledgeable waitress about the private jet that just landed. Best of all is the downhome decor. Anything & everything to do with flying (except maybe the Enterprise.)

I went there today with friends, the idea being to record what might disappear some day in a flurry of civic betterment. First thing I noticed was the model of a new extra-jumbo jet leaning against the wall in the office next to the cafe. Turns out there wasn't enough room on the ceiling next door for the new model.

That's the kitchen pass-through window above, well surrounded with planes, planes and more planes. Openers for what follows as you get further into the restaurant.

The ceiling is covered with airplanes, from a really old tri-plane to the most modern fighter jets. Models are made of balsa wood ... of plastic ... even inflatables.

Aviation memorabilia covers the walls. Much of it is highly personalized.

There's a classic Goodyear blimp, for good measure.

The Skyway is very much a pilots' place. Have a spare Piper Cub or home-brew experimental craft to sell? Put a notice on the bulletin board at the entrance.

We've seen those mean-looking Army choppers land nearby so the troops can pop in for a hamburger and coffee. Watched Riddle beginners practice their bouncy touchdowns. Listened to a long-in-tooth aviatrix tell young students about her adventures piloting cargo planes to Europe during WW2.

And we were once told that a particular jet that showed up periodically belonged to Barbra Streisand, who owned a McMansion up in the canyons north of Paulden, where her current guru also had an establishment.

I really wouldn't want to trade a place like this for one of those polished, bland, planned, upscale cookie cutter chain restaurants that I'm sure our city fathers are envisioning for the future. I'll grant that they haven't said as much -- but is anyone willing to make a bet with me?

While your jet plane is parked...

The holidays equal frantic travel time for far too many folk. If they're lucky, they are heading to some place warm, like Florida or Phoenix or Hawaii. Otherwise, they're likely serving time in a weatherbound airport in cold country. At least this Christmas season; our own snow storm is supposed to arrive tonight, but I'm beginning to have my doubts about the snow part. However, back to the subject of this post which is all those specialized vehicles that routinely show up to prep a jet for its journey whatever the season.

Above is TUG, who moves all those carts below. My favorite of the lot is the portable, mechanical ramp; bet it would make a dandy but dangerous work-out machine. I tried hard to get a picture of the moving jet entryway, but no luck except for the small portion showing in the left hand corner below. Shooting from inside an airport terminal isn't your best photo op, as I found out during my travels this past summer.

The rear truck appears to connect the plane to the fuel source -- a hookup to a line that apparently runs beneath the pavement. In front is the cart for arriving baggage. And below, the specialized jack-knife truck to convey the catered goodies, even in these days of minimal inflight foodservice. Of course, it does also deliver a replenished bar, which is a paying proposition. Can't forget that!

Bags about to take off on a trip are in the open carts, awaiting ramp time at the jet.

Other than paying passengers, there is also the paying freight which wasn't scheduled on a UPS or FedEx jet. Wonder what sort of perishable item is being sent northwards out of Phoenix -- not that I'll ever know.

Seasonal Links: Well, not all of them, but several. Starting with the annual Carnival of Christmas, which will link you to some sixty holiday posts (including my gingerbread houses). And, in case you were caught up in the saga of dotter's toasted gingerbread house, here is the replacement goodie. The Spadefoot Toad returned to a snowy middle west for the holidays, with winter wonderland pictures. Finally, Firefly Forest has posted a pair of pictures of Arizona's elegant trogan, a colorful bird that I'd love to see just one time for real.