What smells like smoke?

Portland seems to be the bain of my travel existence. My security document was printed out, the first flight out in the morning looked good, and my GPS was charged up in case I had a little time for geocaching along the road. Then Blue Sugar Poet sent me a text that one of her pikkens had the flu, roadtrip postponed for another day or so. Since patients are lined up outside our dental office early Tuesday morning because they just love the gingival pain I inflict, I won't be able to participate in the roadtrip. Still, we make plans to meet up in Portland and run around for a few hours. As I pull up to the airport (ok, I admit I only gave myself a half hour before boarding my 645 a.m. flight but thats what happens when you fly non-rev with a carryon and you've regained your faith in your security check-point passability), the throngs of passengers lined up outside the terminal give me cause for concern. Warning bells are going off - literally - and a mechanically female voice is repeadedly insisting that all passengers remain calm and exit the terminal. Turns out a fire (probably at BK, right, J?) had closed things down for over an hour. Needless to say, as soon as the clearance was made for people to return, the security line was insane. But maybe the traveling winds are changing for the better. Im on the plane, only 30 minutes late, and looking forward to seeing some Shanghai tunnels.