TJIG Dominicci Airport, Puerto Rico

World Heritage Sites Air Adventures: Comeback 2 USAmerica Air Tour
Flight Log #01 – September 13-14, 2025
Edition Title: Pen, Paws, and Propellers
Log Entry by Mark Twain, Guest Co-Pilot

I had scarce time to warm the seat—barely enough to flatten my trousers—before Cropduster’s skybound contraption catapulted us into the ether. Puerto Rico’s Isla Grande Airport vanished beneath us with such haste, I suspect the local sandwich vendor is still trying to process my order. Ah, San Juan, shimmering at dawn, its fortressed coastline bracing for another round against time, hurricanes, and airborne tourists with curious haircuts. Thus began my tenure as guest co-pilot and designated scribbler, lured aboard after Cropduster spent a year gallivanting about, collecting World Heritage Sites with the enthusiasm of a magpie and the elegance of a man assembling IKEA furniture without the manual.

Before departure, Cropduster produced a miracle—the “Café Don Ruiz—Cloudliner Reserve,” freshly roasted and delivered by a courier who must have wings of his own. This brew revealed velvet chocolate, toasted almond, and a tropical citrus finish so smooth even Lani paused her security sniff long enough to savor the aroma. I briefly questioned whether we ought to skip the flying altogether and open a café in the clouds.

As coffee fortification took hold, we introduced the flight’s true heroes: Lani, the retired Malay Special Forces K9 whose brows alone might deter smuggling at any customs desk, and Kai, a Chocolate Labrador of Australian Search and Rescue fame, as alert for biscuits as for lost souls. With canine companionship securely in their places, we set our propeller eastward for Bermuda—destination TXKF.

Morning’s cruise was a tapestry woven from dog snores, the occasional engine cough, and Cropduster’s running commentary about clouds shaped suspiciously like famous politicians. Bermuda did not disappoint. No one properly appreciates the joys of a strong cup of island coffee and ramen eaten at sunrise—except, perhaps, a humorist with jet lag. Lani and Kai conducted themselves at the tarmac like customs inspectors, making me grateful that my only contraband was a withering celebrity autobiography. There, I witnessed the Historic Town of St. George and its fortifications—a UK World Heritage Site whose ramparts have endured everything since 1612 except a decent cable package. True adventure’s measure, I reflected, is not in its distance, but in its ability to shake off the years and win arguments with history.

Coffee survived touchdown and led us in pursuit of nourishment. We stumbled into “Noodle Tide,” a ramen shop cozy enough for two dogs, an aviator, and a scribe. The chef’s Bermuda Sunrise Bowl arrived steaming and fragrant: shoyu broth, yellowtail snapper, island chicken, caramelized Bermuda onions, carrots, peas, scotch bonnet oil, and a garnish of grilled loquat—a meal that could put history itself to shame. The noodles swam the bowl with purpose. Even Kai, who fancies himself above table scraps, insisted on a second sniff. The dogs advocated strongly for cuisine diplomacy—sample local, beg global.

From Bermuda’s storied stones, our Tiger Shark Squadron pressed into the indigo yawn of the western sky. No poet—as far as I know—has properly described the feeling of chasing the sunrise from behind, but I suspect it’s something akin to racing an unpaid bill. We drifted down over Norfolk International Airport—KORF—just after sunrise, the coast bathed in golden promise, and the air so fresh it practically sang a show tune.

As for me, Mark Twain, this airborne episode begins a grand new chapter. I fly with Cropduster, whose devil-may-care flying has yet to be adequately insured, and two dogs so clever they could fool the IRS or at least make it question its life choices. Ahead lies a tapestry of American World Heritage marvels and you will not find our ink dry until we reach Hawaii’s warm embrace at HNL—where Cropduster’s people hail from, and where the sunsets will linger out of sympathy for such a ragtag crew.

If this tour teaches anything, it’s that after a year abroad, nothing beats a sunrise landing in cheerful company, telling tales so good that even the dogs listen in.

End log.

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