Travel days have their own strange rhythm — part endurance event, part comedy sketch, powered almost entirely by caffeine, logistics, and blind optimism. Today was exactly that. We were up before dawn at the extremely humble Best Western Airport Hotel in Fort Lauderdale. "Hotel" is doing some heavy lifting here — it had the architectural soul of a converted gas-station warehouse, maybe a retired hurricane shelter. But it had a shuttle and a good rate, which sometimes is the only rubric that matters. Somehow we both pulled sleep scores north of 75, which feels medically suspicious but we'll take the win.
Lounge Redemption (and a Cryptid)
Fort Lauderdale Airport can be character-building, especially downstairs where amenities fear to tread. Enter Aimee, Deal Fox 🦊: she'd already been shopping for a new credit card, and suddenly — boom — Delta Sky Club access unlocked. Downstairs: fluorescent purgatory. Upstairs: calm, real food, soft lighting, functioning humans. Us: saved. The bartender took one look at my Starbucks venti and said, with real disappointment, "You knucklehead. We have better coffee up here." She then topped it with half a cup of Baileys. All sins forgiven. And at check-in, a man glided past in full Versace and a dramatic fur coat with the unmistakable aura of someone who's been recognized in airports before. Rapper? Fashion icon? Florida cryptid? Unknown. But he absolutely moved like someone important.
We boarded for Seattle, reset our watches to Pacific midair, and settled into first class: a couple of beers, waffles, the new Jurassic Park movie, general contentment.
From the air we could clearly see the effects of a major atmospheric river event — rivers swollen, floodplains saturated, large sections of snowpack visibly melted. It looked dramatic from above, and the news wasn't exaggerating. This was real hydrology at scale — the kind of event that reshapes infrastructure conversations for years. On the ground near Burlington, the flooding was evident everywhere: roads, rivers, and planners all having a serious moment.
Seattle → Vancouver, and The Citizens
We landed in Seattle under gray skies, grabbed our bags (Aimee's first off the belt, as is tradition), and reunited with Aimee's parents — "The Citizens." Bob swung open the minivan doors with the confidence of a former helicopter pilot and we were rolling north. The border crossing was quick (I remain the lone non-NEXUS holdout, for now), and suddenly — metric system engaged — we were back in Canada 🇨🇦. Friday holiday traffic into Vancouver was festive: red taillights all the way in. But Aimee navigated us straight to valet at the Fairmont Pacific Rim — modern, polished, art-forward, with Douglas Coupland's influence everywhere, which feels exactly right for Vancouver. Gold Lounge check-in meant snacks immediately (civilization!), and our room overlooks the glowing Christmas Markets.
Our room number: 2112. For Canadians — and especially anyone who's ever owned a Rush album — this isn't just a number. It's Rush's 1976 sci-fi rock epic, set in a future where creativity is suppressed by an authoritarian collective called the Solar Federation: individual expression outlawed, art forbidden, music rediscovered and rejected, freedom non-negotiable. That we landed in Room 2112, in Vancouver, after a long journey through weather systems, borders, and logistics, felt oddly poetic. A small reminder that curiosity and independent thought still matter — even if today they're expressed through travel, art, and really good hotel upgrades. We are not controlled by the Solar Federation. We checked in, instead.
Dinner at a nearby brewpub — vegan jambalaya, excellent IPAs, overheard startup conversations about scaling problems (I resisted consulting — barely). Vancouver was already glowing, darkness settling by 4 PM, which somehow makes everything cozier. Tomorrow: Christmas markets, art, winter city energy.