The Hobo Kid: Toto, I have the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore... (actually, we are)

What a few months it has been! Learning, studying, training, practicing all in the anticipation of flying a new airplane. It turns out that I am not half bad at flying and thanks to some great instructing, and a lot of help along the way, I am flying folks around at 36,000 feet. When I started this pilot journey a few years ago, flying a jet for an airline was the goal. A goal that seemed so far away it might as well have been invisible. But after 3 years of hard work I am here, and on one of my first trips I got to go to one of the most unique places I have ever been. Liberal, Kansas.

To help set the scene I've decided to relay this story as best I can word for word how it happened to us. We pick up the conversation right after we have landed and turned off the runway.

Captain: Alright, will you call up center and tell them we're on the ground?
Me: Sure thing (relay to center we are on the ground)
Captain: Cool, well... I've never been here, so we will just take it slow. Do you see a terminal anywhere?
Me: Ummmm... all these buildings off to our right look abandoned. ooooh! Theres a museum!
Captain: I don't think we are supposed to park at a museum, we'll just keep going.
Me: Alright, it says theres supposed to be a terminal up a little ways on the right, I guess it's between the older buildings.
Captain: Theres one person in an orange vest, I guess we are in the right place. I was starting to wonder for a minute there.
Me: Same here, let's park this thing and find out if we made it to the right airport.

So we shut down and this is one of the smallest terminals I have ever seen. Like, I can see through the door to the other side where people park. Just tiny. But our adventures only got stranger from there. We cross to the other side of the terminal where a white SUV is parked. The lady waves us over and says that she will take us to the hotel. She is a tanned heavy set woman with such a soft spoken voice it's hard to tell if she is talking to us or mumbling to herself, but it becomes apparent that she's asking us questions when she repeats herself, slightly louder... "yoos have a good flight?" I replied, "yeah, it was a little bumpy coming in, but not too bad." She just nods along for a while as we make our way towards the hotel. As we come to a stop at a light, the street sign hanging above us reads "Pancake Blvd." I turn to our driver, "Pancake boulevard? Why is it named that?" "For the pancake races!" The look on my face must have been one of utter confusion, because without any prompting she continued, "yoos never heard of pancake races? They are famous around here, people run while constantly flipping a pancake, if you drop it you lose." Before I can muster any kind of response to such an interesting sporting event Linda (I assume is her name from an old business card in the center console which reads Linda's Taxi) has found her tempo, she is telling us all about the town, how it is famous for the beef packing plant and the worlds largest hairball "bigger than a basketball! Found it in a cow's stomach" Next she starts pointing out the Dorothy statues. Yes, plural. There are multiple Dorothy statues from the Wizard of Oz. Apparently after filming they moved the house to Liberal and they built a museum out of it, with daily tours from Dorothy herself. By the time we arrive at the hotel, a short ride from the airport, it seems we have crossed the entire town and Linda has told us about every point between here and there.

Not one to miss out, I decided to walk to get my dinner. Most small town USA places have some kind of greasy spoon that everyone loves, a diner of some sort, so in my infinite wisdom I googled "hamburgers" to find a place for dinner. The first result, not too far down the street is literally named, "The Hamburger Place" with reviews that claim "best hamburgers in town!" Good enough for me, I start walking, when I get to the address the store front is that of a mexican restaurant. Thinking perhaps it's gone out of business or that perhaps it serves hamburgers as well as burritos I walk in. There was not one hamburger in sight, so I ask the man behind the counter, "I'm looking for the Hamburger Place?" He doesn't say a word, he just nods and jerks his thumb towards an open door through the back of the kitchen. "Through there?" I said. Again, nothing but a nod... so I walked behind the counter, through the kitchen and out the back door and low and behold, a small trailer is parked out back with a sign that read "The Hamburger Place." So five dollars and one double cheeseburger later I am sitting fat and happy. Whether or not it's the best hamburger in Liberal is still to be determined, but it was well worth the adventure to get there.