Spatial Paradox

Our next day in San Diego was our last, though our flight back home wasn't until late in the afternoon. There was still time to enjoy more, so after breakfast we headed to the retired aircraft carrier USS Midway, now a museum.

I've toured a decommissioned battleship before (back in the years I lived on the East Coast), and I'd imagined that would give me some sense of what was in store. Hardly. Touring the Midway was like plugging all those sensations into an amplifier.

Obviously, the Midway is huge as it sits there permanently moored in the harbor. And while that is impressive, it's easy not to feel the full impact of that when you look around at what else is nearby. An enormous Princess Cruise ship was docked just a bit further down, while across the bay you could see two identical (and enormous) cargo ships loaded down with containers. So yes, the Midway was giant, but it rested among other giants.

You entered at the hangar deck, and there began to better appreciate the ship's size. Several old planes were on display, plus flight simulators, a gift shop, and (of course) hundreds of tourists from all over the world. That all of this was contained and didn't feel at all crowded was really something to behold.

Going further below decks into the guts of the ship was an entirely different experience. Hallways were impossibly narrow. Ceilings were low enough that I often had to duck. In this in particular, I thought that previously touring a battleship might have prepared me. Not even close. Because the Midway just... kept... going. Mess halls, officers' quarters, sailors' racks, sickbay, dentist's office, receiving, storage, machining, shop, laundry, tailoring, brig, on and on and on.

You'd turn a corner, descend a ladder, turn a corner, climb another ladder, and no matter what, it would just keep going. You'd hear the stories about how some of the sailors in these parts of the ship would go for weeks without seeing the sun, and your throat would tighten. It was paradoxically huge in its smallness. The claustrophobia was intense, so much so that I realized after more than 3/4 of the tour that I hadn't taken a single picture -- my mind was more consumed with lizard-brained instincts than tourist thoughts. 30-45 minutes down in the guts of the ship was more than enough to know: I could not have done this job. (Not that I'd ever entertained the notion.)

Eventually, we did escape the maze and return to the hangar deck, and proceeded from there to the flight deck. The runway of the ship was filled with planes from many eras and used for many purposes. The engineering and construction continued to impress me as much as the history, from ideas like fold-up wings to save space on the ship to the steady evolution of technology over time.

In all, touring the Midway was a memorable and potent experience I'd certainly recommend -- unless, I suppose, somehow neither history, engineering, nor the military scratches an itch for you.

With a couple of hours yet before we needed to get to the airport, we squeezed in one last stop at a small local cidery, Bivouac Ciderworks. With half their own offerings and half guest taps, there was plenty to sample (though we avoided the option from one of our least favorite places right back here in Denver). Though we'd originally thought we might hop to a second spot before flying home, the Bivouac creations were good enough that we just stayed put and relaxed until it was time to go.

And those are the tales of our impromptu trip to San Diego.