Charleston International Airport – that's where I sit. I have always thought it was a beautiful place, and, to be frank, a quiet place – even if the unofficial acronym has always rubbed me the wrong way: CIA. Even so, the palm trees and the consistent lack of honking despite

The sun is beginning to set, though this far north... that doesn't mean much. I have at least 4 hours of light remaining, and as such, I am going to push onwards to the Arctic, so long as I can make out the next few inches of road