I fell silent as I pulled into Earhart Field, Technically built on Indian land, the airstrip had only the barest of facilities. Aside from a small radar tower and a reception building, the site remained an underdeveloped meadow fitted with landing lights and spotlights. A host of vehicles drove out onto the field, but waited behind the area set otf with a line of pennants flapping in the light breeze. I had seen a zeppelin before, but never this close up. The cigar-shaped craft always landed well north of Seattle, moving with a sloth that is a luxury only the very, very rich can afford. But I could recall many instances in my childhood when I'd spotted one and vowed to one day ride in one. Somehow, all my dreams about zeppelins, even rolled into one, paled in comparison to the real thing.