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2 a.m., en route to Albuquerque, New Mexico: Clinton again wandered back to chat with a knot of reporters. This time the topic was primarily mango-chutney ice cream, a San Antonio specialty Clinton loves. Somehow this candidate on the cusp of victory conjured up the macabre memory that his first taste of mango-chutney had come the night before he drove former House majority leader Hale Boggs, campaigning in Texas for McGovern, to the airport for what was to be a fatal airline trip to Alaska.
2:10 a.m.: The flight attendant announced, "The flying time to Little Rock is . . ." Cheers filled the plane. Then she corrected, "I'm sorry, it's Albuquerque." In the front of the plane, Clinton, the late-night policy wonk, was actually talking to aides about converting cars to natural gas.
3 a.m.: The plane landed in 40 degreesF weather to the sight of about 5,000 Clinton true believers at an airport rally. Many had been waiting since midnight, but they would have to endure another 28 minutes. Clinton had gone into the bathroom to change his shirt, said an aide, "and I think he fell asleep in there."
"Thank you, New Mexico," Clinton began, as he sailed into a greatest-hits reprise of his stump speech. But he also sounded a new note that aides said was designed to lower voter expectations of a Clinton Camelot after the election: "I'm here to tell you we didn't get into this mess overnight, and we won't get out of it overnight." By the time Clinton left Albuquerque around 4 a.m., the first polls were open on the East Coast.
6:30 a.m., Denver: This was unexpectedly an anticlimax; the predicted five inches of snow turned out to be only a light dusting, and the crowd, though intense, was small. In a poetic sense, the 13-month Clinton odyssey should have ended in Albuquerque before finally heading home.
7:45 a.m.: The flight attendant announced, "I want to welcome you aboard the final flight of the day aboard Air Elvis." Begala exuded confidence that even if Clinton were to lose all six toss-up states, he would still prevail in the Electoral College. Then Begala mentioned Return to Earth, the autobiography in which astronaut Buzz Aldrin discussed his emotional problems after he left NASA. Referring to Aldrin, Begala said, "What do you do when you achieve your life's ambition at age 35?" Begala, 31, had just helped elect the President of the U.S.
10:30 a.m., Little Rock, Arkansas: Someone with a voice uncannily similar to that of a certain large Governor of a small state commandeered the internal p.a. system just seconds after the Clinton plane landed. "We will be taking off again for three more stops," the voice announced with an assumption of authority. "It'll be a little awkward, since we are going to the A's we missed. We are going to Alabama, then we're going to go to Arizona, and then we're going to make one quick stop in Nome before coming home to finally give you a rest."
10:43 a.m.: Clinton, flanked by his daughter Chelsea (who had just boarded the plane) and Hillary, came down the ramp onto the tarmac in Little Rock. A practiced observer would recognize that there was something altered in Clinton's stride, perhaps more than just an effect of fatigue. He put his full weight into every step, as if to underline the gravity of the moment and the heavy burdens he expected soon to bear.