As I knew that I wasn't going to get upgraded, I decided to try for a decent tasty dinner to make up for that. So the adventure begins with a stop to Bistro Atelier, a newish eatery in the D terminal at Dulles. It's a long thin space, taking up too much of the width of the corridor I think - a lot of the airports are doing this, paring down what used to be a nice airy space to a congested unpleasant one, the trimmings fashioned into rent-generating property. Interestingly, as soon as I ducked behind the host station, I was transported to a brasserie if not in Paris, at least someplace less irritating than the D terminal at Dulles. The bartender/server was attentive and helpful and gave me samples of a couple beers I hadn't heard of (and didn't buy). I ordered a steak frites very rare. The menu describes it as strip steak, pommes frites, house made ketchup, celeriac slaw. Well, they didn't get everything right. What was served: a ribeye with a really dreadful bordelaise on the side, fairly tasty fries, and regular slaw, no celeriac. The meat was insufficiently browned on the outside but still not quite as rare as it should have been. It tasted pretty good despite the inexpert cooking and the what has become standard overdose of salty surface seasoning. Sweetwater 420 ale was your standard American pale ale, a bit hoppier than an ordinary brew but not quite as bitter as a proper IPA. It was classic citrusy and evergreeny but with a touch more sweetness than I'd like. It went okay with the food. UA1646 IAD SEA 1847 2137 739 8F My itinerary was a circuitous one for the mileage credit, involving an overnight in the airport. I'd booked it well before I found out that the concert I had signed on to play was filled with solos, some of them somewhat difficult. I decided to actually try to learn the part before rehearsal and so had to carry an unaccustomed extra carryon. How to do this: take your regular personal item and jam it into your thankfully softsided bag so it becomes a bloated thing that doesn't fit into the overhead except under considerable coercion. Then pretend the violin is the personal item (I think that this may actually be legal according to an act of Congress pushed through by the musicians' union that went into effect March 6, though this trip happened earlier than that. This route is a tough upgrade, so I threw a regional upgrade certificate at it, but it didn't stick, so I was stuck. As of a week later they still haven't refunded the certificate. [Subsequent note: I requested MP look into it still a week later, and it was redeposited a few days after that, with an appropriately extended expiration date.] As I wasn't up front and had a violin with me, I got in line to try to board as early as possible, which happened smoothly enough. I felt slightly but not unduly guilty about hogging the bin space. To ensure sleep on this flight I took Benadryl; it worked pretty much gate to gate. The plan was to hang out at the club until closing and then find a quiet place to continue my snooze until my next plane boarded 5 hours later at 0440. I looked forward to a cup of hot chocolate and a nourbon (not bourbon) or two. The club here offers the amazingly cheap-tasting McCormick American whiskey, but the price is right, so I had three, enough to get me to a state of sufficiently low consciousness, and went back downstairs half an hour early to stake out a napping spot; this turned out to be quite easy, because this airport offers six-foot-long benches, rather narrow and minimally padded in the style of the United business-class beds. I dragged one next to a bank of seats so I wouldn't fall off the side when thrashing around and sacked out. Seattle, as most airports do, features all-night PA announcements that mostly don't apply at oh dark hundred but continue to be played anyway, presumably as a disincentive for people to do what I was doing. These announcements seem not quite as loud and not quite as frequent as at many other airports, and earplugs help a bit as well. I slept okay and woke just as the first new arrivals started filtering in to the gate area. I washed up and appeared bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the gate and planted myself at the front of the line for boarding, important as I was transporting a violin and needed that prime overhead real estate.