The most exciting moment of our Caribbean vacation last week wasn't when Mrs. SportDork and I were able to secure the one TV in the entire resort and watch the Gators' workman-like victory over LSU on Saturday night from the comforts of the open-air "Activity Center". 

No, the most exciting moment of our vacation occurred the next day - the last day of our vacation.  After being made aware of a local "airport", we successfully secured two seats on a direct flight to St. Thomas - avoiding the circuitous two-water-taxi route we had taken to get to Virgin Gorda.

I'm not sure why, but after getting dropped off at the airport I began to question our upcoming mode of transportation:

You can't see it in the pictures, but do I really need to mention that it had a dirt runway?

Once we saw the plane, I almost started walking back to the hotel.

A Cessna.  Those don't ever crash, right?

The fact that it only had eight seats was bad enough, but then the pilot delivered some even more disturbing news: 

No in-flight meal. 

Where's my Biscoff cookie?

Once we made it up into the air, I was beginning to relax and enjoy some spectacular views of the British Virgin Islands (including the aforementioned dirt runway):





But then I glanced toward the cockpit, and any sense of calm instantly vanished:

Any chance you could fill out the flight log AFTER we land?