Here's the secret to not undergoing a random-full-body-make-love-not-war search at the airport: Don't try to be amusing and don't be first in line.

At Reagan National on Friday morning, as I was waiting to go through the magnetometer, I looked to my right and there was a guy wearing bright red shoes. These were red patent leather numbers with a white area on top.

Bright red and white patent leather jobs.

I mean, really.

As I had gotten around to packing for this trek I could not determine if I was going to spend two consecutive nights in the same hotel - not over a weekend. I think I am in Fairbanks, but I just couldn't seem to get my arms around the problem.

The reason for this is: If there is such a stop, then you only have to pack the number of shirts, socks, boxers, etc. for the larger number of days before or after. If you are on a ten day trip and you have a stay over on days five and six, then you only have to pack five of everything. You get everything laundered in the hotel, then you're fresh as a daisy for the rest of the trip.

Unable to figure that out, however, I packed for the whole way which meant an extra suitcase. I decided to use my small duffel bag as my shirt bag. I not only need a shirt for each day, but I need an extra four white shirts for the speeches. Rather than trying to stuff everything into my roll aboard, I would check the duffel and carry the roll aboard which provides the necessary wheels for my 723 pound briefcase-computer-very-manly-shoulder-bag combination.

Why is "combo" short for "combination?" Why isn't it "combi?

And, because my roll aboard was not so fully packed there was room in there for my cold-weather hiking boots meaning I could wear my docksiders which, by definition, are infinitely easier to get on and off.

I had stopped at the Delta counter to check my duffel and get my boarding passes, and headed for security when I spotted the shoes.

There is a famous episode of M*A*S*H where Trapper John decides to get a tailor-made suit from one of the camp followers. After spending the whole show picking out a pin-striped fabric and getting fitted while trying to convince everyone else they should take advantage of this opportunity, the episode ends with Trapper walking into Col. Blake's office with his new suit and his shiny black-and-white patent leather shoes.

The tailor had cut the fabric sideways so the pin stripes ran horizontally.

That's what this guy made me think of.

As I walked through the metal detector it, of course, beeped, and the alert security forces on the other side said something which I believe translated into English as: "Step over here, please."

Drat!

I wanted to get a photo of that guy's shoes because you would have found them as fascinating as I did.

After opening up and pawing through my roll aboard and my combi-bag and after I helped her put everything back together again, she asked me, in her very own language, to stand with my arms out so she could do a pat-down.

You've heard all the horror stories of being patted down and I have nothing anatomical to add to that store of knowledge, but I looked at the ID badge of the woman performing this task to see if it translated into English as: "Candi."

I lost track of Red-Shoe-Boy and, when Candi asked me, of course, to take off my shoes so she could run them back through the x-ray machine, I waved the soldier who was on duty over and asked him if he had seen the dude with the red shoes.

He said he had not, sir, and from his demeanor I could tell he needed to know if there was something he needed to do about the guy.

I put him at ease as I said I didn't think the guy was dangerous, but I thought he would have gotten a kick out of seeing him.

I hooked everything together and set off down the concourse to find twinkle toes.

I couldn't. There were two flights boarding: One was the shuttle to LaGuardia. The other was the non-stop to Dallas. I have to tell you. For his benefit, I hope he was going to - as luck would have it - the airport in aptly-named Queens, rather than Texas. I don't think the guy lasts 7 minutes in the Big D.

The route of flight is from Washington Reagan. South to Atlanta. Northwest to Salt Lake City. Then due north to Helena, Montana.

I had just enough time to check e-mails and go to the gate for the Atlanta - Salt Lake City leg. I perched, as I do now, about four feet from the check-in machine. The secret is to look comfortable, but not bored. At ease, but not nonchalant.

I can do this because, as a platinum medallion flier on Delta - did I tell you that I had reached platinum and was, therefore, considered one of Delta's best customers?

Dear Mr. Mullings: You have worn us out about this silver-gold-platinum medallion nonsense. No one. I repeat no one cares about this.

Well, anyway. I am.

One of the reasons to get on the airplane early is so there will be overhead space for your one bag and one personal item. My personal item is that multi-ton briefcase which seems to be ever-expandable. If you are in first class --

-- I swear I'll close this page and never read another travelogue.

This is going to be instructive.

We'll see.

If you are in first class, there is limited overhead space. Depending upon the type of aircraft one bin may be reserved for magazines and/or medical equipment. The flight attendants may use one or two for their bags. And, coming out of DC about 137 Sky Marshall's have already boarded and used up more of the space.

So, you want to get on and get your things stowed. That's all I'm saying.

Ok. For now.

Now, there is a countervailing force at work here. All too often the pat-down artist will choose the first person in line to receive the special treatment. I suspect there is some FAA study somewhere in which some genius decided that trying to get on the plane first is a sign of being an incipient terrorist.

So, the trick is to angle your way to being second in line so that the poor schlub in front of you has to have rubber glove prints on his undies and not you.

So. There are about three guys who know these tricks and we look like we're in on of those indoor bicycle races where no one wants to lead the pack. I lost my concentration and found myself first in line. The gate agent was making the announcement that (1) Because of the Olympics there will be a half-hour rule in force going into Salt Lake City. Just like coming into Reagan National; and, (2) there would be random screening at the gate and if you were pulled out of line please cooperate.

I turned to the large African-American woman standing behind the table and pantomimed applause.

"What?" she asked.

"I was pointing out that you were the subject of the announcement."

"I'm pointing out that you are the subject of myannouncement. Bring your things on over hear."

Drat.

As in Washington, you want to be cooperative with the searchers because the lastthing you want is to be treated like a member of a flight crew - or a Member of Congress.

She opened everything. Pulled everything out. Shoved everything back in. Tested the wand and began to wand me.

I told her about the guy with the red shoes in Washington and asked her why they would stop me in my docksiders but not a guy in red patent leathers?

She allowed as to how she didn't know.

"And, I said with wonder in my voice, "He was a White guy."

"Turn your belt buckle inside out," she said solemnly.

And then she burst out laughing.

She finished checking me, then took my id and my boarding pass and pushed everyone out of the way to let me get on the plane ahead of the others who thought they were soooo smart in making me stand at the head of the line.

I was concerned about how large the crowds would be at the Salt Lake City airport as I was arriving about three hours ahead of the beginning of the opening ceremonies. There is no good way to write that. The start of the opening ceremonies. The opening of the opening ceremonies. It's going to sound redundant, no matter what so � there you are.

When we arrived, however, the airport was nearly deserted.

I asked the women in the Crown Room what was doing. They explained that anyone who was planning to attend the opening ceremonies had arrived the day before or sometime before noon to be able to get to the venue and through security there.

Then they told me that the airport was going to be closed from six until 10 that night and many flights had been cancelled or "informally" moved up to clear SLC airspace before the shutdown period.

My flight was scheduled to leave at about 4:15 so there wasn't much of an issue. About a half hour early I made my way to the commuter departure gates and found the people. It was like Times Square on New Year's Eve. If we hadn't been in Utah I might have said it was like Ellis Island when a ship bearing immigrants arrived, but in Utah people don't look that much like immigrants.

There were flights cancelled. There were flights oversold. There were flights delayed. There were flights boarding. There were flights arriving. There were flights which were ready to leave but lacking a passenger or two and would they please check in as the flight was ready for immediate departure. I felt like Manuel Noriega when the CIA was blasting rock music at him to make him crazy.

My flight arrived late, but we got out at about 5:00, beating the deadline easily.

I arrived at my hotel in Helena just in time to see President Bush and the World Trade Center flag enter the stadium

It was worth the trip.

NEXT: Raising Helena in Montana.