Someone asked me what other pair of boots besides Dehners did I travel with when I went on my recent trip. Pictured, I wore my Nocona Rattlesnake cowboy boots. Man, these boots are comfortable, look great, and are easy to slip off at security. They look great with jeans, which I wear when I travel on airplanes. (Fortunately, I do not have to dress up when I fly; that seems just so darned uncomfortable. Everyone in a suit on a plane grimaces all the time, like someone is pinching them or they are angry. Guess it goes with having a noose around the neck.)

Further, I was asked if anyone made any remarks about my boots. A few minor comments, but nothin’ much.

1. When my airport shuttle van stopped at a hotel to drop off another passenger, a bellhop helping the passenger get out of the van noticed my boots and asked, “what kind of skin are they?” I replied, “Rattlesnake.” He said, “Cool!” .. and that was it.

2. One day of the two-day meeting, I wore my Dehner Patrol Boots with a nice pair of dress black slacks. I sat at a table with law enforcement leaders from different jurisdictions around the U.S. One of them noticed my boots, which led to a conversation about bike cops in general, but alas, not much about boots.

And that’s that. No one else anywhere — at the airports, on transit, at the hotel, or during the meeting — made any remarks about the boots on my feet.

To tell you the truth, most people had their noses buried in their Blackberries, writing email or reading it. They were so self-absorbed that they weren’t looking at other people, much less boots or anything else. Most wouldn’t have a clue if the sky fell in around them or what was going on in the conference. I saw one guy tapping away on his Crackberry at National Airport*, and he walked into a pillar. He really hit his nose hard, as I saw blood. He seemed to want to yell at the pillar for being in his way. What a fool.

There are a lot of people — mostly men — who become so oblivious to everything going on around them because they get so caught up with their electronic gadgets. If not a Blackberry, a cell phone. If not that, a PDA. Whatever, all those toys… sheesh, how did we survive without them?

I’ll tell ya: easily! I don’t have those things and I am so glad I don’t! Well, I do have a cell phone but only because my work requires it, and pays for it. I usually have it turned off and check it for messages when I am on a break or after-hours. I figure if someone is paying me to come give a speech and attend a meeting, the least I could do is give my undivided attention.

Some people have told me that they feel self-conscious about wearing boots in public. I’ve blogged a lot about that before. I won’t repeat myself, but only to emphasize that nobody cares. They really don’t. Wear what you like, and as long as you don’t cause trouble for other people (such as wearing boots that are very hard to remove at security), then don’t worry about it.

* Nota bene: It is very easy to tell if someone is not a native of the Washington, DC, Metro area by what they call the airport with the designator “DCA”. It is, and always will be, “National Airport.” Anyone who calls it by the name of the President who fired all of the air traffic controllers is not a native, and unaware of the huge gazillion-dollar waste of taxpayer money to rename the airport after one of the worst Presidents of this century.

Life is short: Wear your boots!

Traveling by air these days just isn’t fun like it used to be. The inability to get a decent seat on an airplane without paying niddling “upgrade” fees begins the process, followed by overzealous young wannabe cops at security stations.

I have traveled over 1,600,000 actual air miles in the past 30 years. The vast majority of that travel was for a former job, where I was on the road about 280 days/year. I got to see a lot of interesting things and meet great people, and do a lot that others thought was helpful. I spoke at hundreds of conferences and attended thousands of meetings. I visited every state and territory of the U.S. dozens of times, as well as 56 foreign countries. (I don’t consider Canada “foreign” and have been blessed to have been to every province and territory of that lovely land dozens of times, and having been made an honorary citizen years ago.)

Being away from home, with two days here and three days there, often going from point-to-point, was very exhausting. It wasn’t unusual to awaken in a strange hotel room and wonder where I was, what time zone I was in, and what day of the week it was. I took to making a simple sign that I left on the nightstand with that information, “you are in ___ and today is ___ in the ___ time zone.”

I changed jobs and do not travel as much. That’s good. I’m sick of it. Yesterday on my way home from a conference in Kansas City (MO), the kid at the security station squinted at my passport and asked if I had a driver’s license instead (?? what ?? I guess he had never seen a passport before at this supposed “international” airport). Then another security kid demanded to inspect my carry-on bag to remove a can of Coca-Cola. OMG, yeah, right, I’m gonna terrorize the pilot by shaking up the can and opening it to spray it on him, or something. I know this kid was following orders, but the orders are just absolutely silly. Just goes with these days in America where everyone assumes an insultingly greater authority and looks over his shoulder for terrorists. (Like the little old lady in the wheelchair who was patted down behind me. Oh, gimme a break!)

Oh well, I tried to have some fun by wearing my Olathe Buckaroo Boots with jeans tucked in at the airport. Actually, I wore my black Dan Post Ostrich leg cowboy boots through security, because they are easier to take off, so as not to delay a line. (This airport is so dinky, it has only one magnetometer to enter the gate area. I’ve always laughed at little airports like this that call themselves “such-and-such International”.)

I gave my fellow travelers a little show by pulling out my Olathe’s from a sack (what they call a bag in that part of the country), putting my Dan Post boots into it, then rolling my sock over the bottom of my jeans and pulling on those beautiful tall Buckaroos. Left foot first, of course!

One old lady and one young woman in KC said, “nice boots.” The pilot of the plane also complimented them. When I had to change planes in Charlotte, some nitwit at my arrival gate said as I got off the plane, “where’s your horse?” I ignored that one, but then someone else said the same thing just a few minutes later. This time I said, “he got stuck in the back of the plane and will be out in a few minutes.”

I stopped for lunch in mid-concourse, and sat in a big white rocking chair while eating and watching people during my two-hour layover. About a dozen people said, “nice boots” and a few more were asking where my horse was. To those people, I said, “he’s getting a bite to eat over there,” and pointed. Derned enough if each and every one of those fools looked where I pointed. Ha ha.

Finally arriving at my home airport of BWI, I was met by my cousin who works there. We retrieved my bag, and he took me to the private pilot’s parking area, where I can park for free. My cousin saw the boots and smiled. He said, “I see you’ve been doing some shopping!” He knows me well.

I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to get myself some milk (my partner always forgets that I crave milk when I get home) and some stuff for a couple elderly friends of mine. I dropped off their groceries and they also complimented the boots. Neither asked me about a horse.

Finally arriving at home, I discovered much to my chagrin that my partner had waxed our hardwood floors. Carrying my one piece of luggage through the foyer almost landed me on my butt due to the combination of being off balance, wearing boots that are not quite broken in and still have very smooth leather soles, and the slippery freshly-waxed floor. I put the luggage down and tiptoed into the dining room to take off the boots and my socks (which would have been just as slippery). I then made my way upstairs to unpack and load up the clothes washer.

Well, I guess the horse found better pasture, because he didn’t follow me home. Perhaps one of the fools in Charlotte found him and led him away.

I sure am glad to be HOME! I enjoyed cooking a home-cooked meal for my partner and recanting the journey with him, then snuggling later without any TV, computer, or phone. We turned all that off and turned our attention to each other. He sure made me feel welcome, at home, safe and sound. And that’s how it should be. (Plus, I never could have trained a horse to scratch my itches the way my partner does.)

I flew to Minneapolis today. As I was going through airport security at my home airport, of course I had to take the boots off — my Nocona Rattlesnake Cowboy Boots. I put my jacket in the bin and then my boots on top. The boots fell off the jacket and out of the bin as it went through the X-ray. When I was gathering my stuff on the other side, the guy behind me picked up one of my boots and said, “this is a really cool boot, man!” The TSA woman joined in and said, “nice boots — hey (colleague), look at these boots, aren’t they nice?” Then there was a short but general consensus that everyone liked the boots.

I went to sit down to put my boots back on, and several passers-by also paid the same compliment — “nice boots!”. I also heard it several times while changing terminals in Chicago. It’s nice to know that others notice. I just picked them because they are so comfortable and easy to take off and put back on again as one goes through airport security. I wasn’t really thinking about attracting attention or having the boots noticed. But they are distinctive, especially when contrasted with blue jeans.