At 11:15 p.m. and from 37,000 feet in the air, I pass over what I think is Dubuque, Iowa. Or at the very least, I pass over what I hope is Dubuque, Iowa. I’m in seat 14A of a new 737, packed with travelers who, like me, are making their way eastward from LAX on the red-eye. Usually, this flight is more motel than bus, and in travels past, it wasn’t so uncommon for mine to be one of the three or four reading lights on in a darkened hull. Read More