It’s funny how the (minor) traumas of a trip are what we remember with such amusement. John’s description of our ONE hour of sleep in the plane is one of these. After he set up the twin mat, I went in the plane first, without him, and got claustrophobic all by myself. He stood with equanimity while I “ohm-ed” myself out of panic, and I opened the door so I could breathe more air than seemed available. I thought “I’ve got to get hold of myself, he’s gonna think I’m loony.” After a bit I did get calm, he got in and we slept a comfortable hour – until his gasp. I figure his distress came when he tried to shift position in his sleep and realized he couldn’t. Then I tried to turn and, like he said, could not without pointing my toes into the tail of the plane. How then to un-point them in that tiny space for sleeping? John was now clear he wanted to get up and out of there. As he contemplated how to do that, I realized he’d be moving around in his struggle to get out, thus I’d be partially covered by him and claustrophobic thoughts were likely to visit me again. Without hesitation, I said “I can get out” and I lifted my legs up, turned them to the partially opened door, and slid out of the plane in one deft move.
Voila! That gave John more room, which he needed with his longer height, to negotiate his exit. Our musings about sleeping in the plane had been laid to rest in one short hour, and we resolved, never to return. THIS is what we found preferable to the plane :)… and maybe for both of these reasons, and it having been our third night in a row, it turned out to be our last night of camping on this trip!
0233 Collapsing Tent (better than us stuffed in the plane)
John & Anne Wiley 
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