Road Stories

It’s not uncommon that writing and photographing a story requires me to be horseback. So a lot of times I’ll pack a pair of spurs and maybe my chaps. On a recent trip to Arizona, I put my spurs in one of my carry-ons. Don’t ask me why. Flying out of DFW, security personnel didn’t ask any questions. It’s likely that they’re used to seeing such contraptions.

But returning home from Phoenix, the nice security lady said, “We need to look in your bag, sir.” Again, don’t ask why I tested fate again. After spending five minutes cross-referencing to see if spurs fit in the category of banned objects such as guns, explosives, fingernail clippers and big bottles of shampoo, security cleared my jingling hardware.

It was a good thing I didn’t pack a set of rock-grinders. The security lady said, “If these [rowells] were sharp, we wouldn’t have okayed them.” I replied, “Thank you very much.” Then she felt the need to add her own opinion. “Either way,” she said, “the horse sure doesn’t like them.”

Despite all the comebacks that came to mind, I held my tongue. “Okay, thank you,” was all I said.

“Next time I’ll be sure to pack them in my checked luggage,” I thought.