EWR → RAMBLE ON → JAC

Jimmy left Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR) that morning and connected through Chicago O’Hare International Airport (ORD) on his way to Jackson Hole.

He always sat by the window.

The Manhattan skyline faded away.

He pressed play.

Led Zeppelin.

“Ramble On.”

· · ·

At O’Hare, the flight attendant—a timeless Midwestern blonde in her early 50s—took Jimmy’s ticket.

She read it and took him to his seat.

“Oh, Jackson Hole,” she said with a pearly white smile.

“Visiting or home?”

“Visiting. My first time.”

“You’re going to love it. One of my favorite places to ski.”

“May I get you anything to drink?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

Wheels up.

· · ·

As the plane approached the runway, he was mesmerized by the snowcapped Tetons.

He was also starstruck by the rows of perfectly parked private jets lining the hangars.

20, 25, 30…

He stopped counting as the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac.

Former Air Force, he naturally gravitated to all things aviation.

He had just landed and could already feel the energy.

Not New York energy—a different kind of vibe.

He knew this was what generational wealth looked like.

· · ·

The Amangani had a driver waiting for him.

“Hi. My name is Rick.”

“Please let me take your bags.”

“How was your flight? I have some water and towelettes.”

“Thanks. I’ll take a water. Flight was smooth. Scenic approach was out of this world.”

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, just me.”

Rick smiled.

“Really? The staff had a little debate about that.”

Jimmy looked at him.

“What kind of debate?”

“Whether somebody was joining you.”

“Girlfriend?”

“That was the prevailing theory.”

Jimmy laughed.

“Sorry to disappoint everybody.”

“You’re here a week. We’ll see.”

“Long story, brother.”

“Here we are. Reception is just to the left. I’ll personally deliver your bags.”

Rick handed him a card.

“Here’s the hotel concierge cellphone number. If you need anything—rides, errands—just give us a call.”

“Thanks, Rick.”

· · ·

Jimmy walked inside.

His eyes immediately went beyond the hotel and out across the Snake River Valley.

God’s country.

He had been trying to get here for fifteen years.

The first time was September 11, 2001.

· · ·

Jimmy spent his first day doing almost nothing.

He settled by the Amangani pool overlooking the valley.

For the first time in a long time, there was nowhere he needed to be.

His mind drifted back fifteen years.

On September 11, 2001, he had been scheduled to fly from Monterey to San Francisco, then connect in Denver on his way to Jackson, Wyoming.

But before that morning ever came, something told him not to go.

He canceled the trip.

Had he gone, he would never have made it to Jackson. The closest he could have possibly gotten was Denver before all national flights were grounded.

And even if he had rented a car and driven to Wyoming, the nation was numb.

In mourning.

Like millions around the world, Jimmy watched the news.

But he watched it differently.

He immediately understood President Bush’s movements.

Barksdale Air Force Base.

The wing commander greeted him wearing a flight suit and a sidearm.

Then the President landed at Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska.

Jimmy thought, we might be going to war.

He knew the chain of command.

The sequence of events.

The checklist.

He had trained for moments like this.

Jimmy spent his first two years in the Air Force assigned to the Strategic Air Command.

Minot Air Force Base.

B-52 bombers.

Nuclear weapons.

Five bombers sat on alert around the clock.

Vultures, Jimmy used to think.

If they ever launched for real, there would be no home to return to.

On his squadron wall hung a map of the United States.

The entire Midwest was covered by a solid red circle.

Death and destruction.

He never forgot the first time he looked at that map.

And he never would.

He had made the right gut call.

Fifteen years later, he was finally here.

And there was no other place he’d rather be.

■ ■ ■