At 6:03, the Miss Alli Commemorative Minneapolis Flight lands, carrying all the obnoxious dorks, plus Kris and Jon. One minute behind it, here comes the Boston flight with the Misguided Alliance aboard. You will be glad to hear that Bolo's calf muscles have recovered as he runs through the Reykjavik airport. Wouldn't he have practiced running with his pack on? Hayden and Aaron hop into their SUV, and surprisingly enough, she drives and he navigates. An awful lot of couples do that the other way around, so I'm happy to see them switch it up. "I'm so glad you're here to do maps," she says with relief. Heh. I'd be saying that too, since I'm a person who always leaves fifteen minutes for getting lost, no matter where I'm going. Including into another room.
Spazpants throws their bags into the back of their SUV and gets going. He gets pissed at her when she doesn't immediately spot the waterfall on the map. She tosses him the map, and of course, he's upset with her etiquette for throwing it. Lori and Bolo ask directions from some locals, after asking them out the window, "Are you locals?" Something about that just cracked me up. It's like they're comparing the people to pictures in a field guide, going, "Would you be the friendly locals we've heard so much about?" Fortunately, their chosen local does not object to the characterization, and does give them some helpful directions. Hornio, on the other hand, drives past a sign that shows the 1 dead ahead, as El Hornio snaps, "Figure it out, Rebecca." But she's busy being all touristy. "It's very Scottish-feeling here, you notice that? It's very ominous, and there's that mist sort of lingering on the ground..." El Hornio tells her that she should be reading the signs instead of sitting there with her "thumb up [her] ass, talking about Scotland, where [they're] not." Heh. She tells him, "It doesn't matter what the signs say anyway; I can't read them!" But -- but -- you could probably have read the one with the big arrow and the "1" on it, couldn't you? If not, this is going to be a very long race for you. Or, I should say, a very short race.