Boston, in the Fairbanks airport, is inches away from confirming a Fairbanks-Seattle-Oakland route when one of the agents double-checks and notices that they can get there faster. How? By getting on a plane to Anchorage, and then going Anchorage-Portland-Oakland. Heh. Sure was a lot of driving for nothing, eh, fellas? (I kid, because -- well, like they care what I think now.) Turns out that by flying back to Anchorage, they get to Oakland at least half an hour earlier. Boy, if the gate agent hadn't caught that, I have to think they would have been entirely hosed, so...I hope they sent her a tip or something.

They board their plane from Fairbanks to Anchorage. Back at the airport, Taraweasel checks their backpacks, planning to just abandon them on the plane once they get to San Francisco. Interesting plan. They certainly don't need them anymore, I suppose. Wil also has noted the absence of Chris and Alex, and expresses his happiness at the fact that it's now down to just him and Tara and Blake and Paige. He declares that he now has a "fifty percent chance of winning this cash." Right on cue, Boston's plane lands outside. (Such a good show. Such a very, very good show.) As they de-plane, Alex voices over that they expect to find all the other teams inside, waiting for the same flight to Portland that they're on. He also hypothesizes that the other teams are probably full of predictions about where he and Chris have disappeared to. "It's gonna be interesting to see what's goin' on right now," he muses.

The Teeth and Boston spot each other in the airport. Neither is happy -- especially Blake. "We're not happy to see them at all," he voices over plainly, and who can blame him? Same with Wil, who can only say, "Damn it, man." Who is happy to see Boston? Tara, of course. She and Alex hug and nuzzle against the wall. Feh. For the nine millionth time, we see The Wallflower Wil Boogie as he complains bitterly that because he and Tara are partners in the race, she shouldn't be rubbing up against other teams. Wil? I heard you. I heard you the other twenty or thirty thousand times you've made this point, and you've been full of it on each and every occasion. I get it. You don't enjoy watching her make out with this guy. I don't blame you. Stop torturing yourself; she's not going to stop it, so you might as well roll your eyes and read a magazine. And stop pretending it's a problem with strategizing when it's actually a problem with "strategizing," if you know what I mean. And I am absolutely certain that you do.