Can mountain fury save Logan's run?

Simon Calder: The man who pays his way

"Living the life of a savage, inhabiting an open tent, sleeping on a beach in a blanket sack with my feet to the fire, seldom taking my clothes off, eating salt pork and ships' biscuits, tormented by mosquitoes."

"Living the life of a savage, inhabiting an open tent, sleeping on a beach in a blanket sack with my feet to the fire, seldom taking my clothes off, eating salt pork and ships' biscuits, tormented by mosquitoes."

Not a bad summary of my experience at the Association of British Travel Agents' annual convention in Kos last weekend. In fact, those are the words of Sir William Logan, the outstanding Canadian geographer, describing the conditions he endured as he mapped the nation's wilderness in the 19th century. Such suffering was rewarded when it was decided to name Canada's highest mountain after him. But 19,550ft Mount Logan, which towers above the rest of the Yukon, is about to become Mount Pierre Elliott Trudeau.

A month ago, Canada's prime minister, Jean Chretien, told the country that the way to honour the recently deceased former premier Pierre Trudeau was to attach his name to the nation's tallest peak. Many Canadians were outraged; the website www.savemtlogan.com gives an idea of the vitriol. Monsieur Chretien, who has just called a general election, seems comprehensively to have miscalculated public opinion. The outstanding natural beauty of the Yukon, where Mount Logan resides, is a world away from the sometimes sleazy political corridors of Ottawa.

Politicians' names should be reserved for pieces of travel infrastructure with which they have some association. The most notable post-war US president is correctly commemorated in the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. But the memory of the assassinated leader is tarnished by the posthumous application of his name to America's worst airport, JFK in New York. President Clinton's immediate predecessors may yet live to regret the haste with which their names were appended to George Bush International airport in Houston and Ronald Reagan National airport in Washington DC. But Mr Clinton himself will no doubt get his own airport once he steps down. The obvious candidate is Los Angeles.

"LAX", as the international airport is known, is much grander than the tiddler at Little Rock in the outgoing president's home state of Arkansas. Indeed, LAX is the biggest US airport that does not bear a politician's name. Los Angeles was also the location for the famous haircut aboard Air Force One that disrupted operations at the airport: Mr Clinton's jet remained on the ground holding up traffic while the presidential locks were trimmed.

What seals the deal is the traffic congestion around the airport, mingled with the smog that so often hangs over the whole of Los Angeles. LAX is the sort of place where you really don't want to inhale.

* One benefit of free e-mail services like hotmail.com and yahoo.co.uk is that they enable you to meet people while you are on the road. Or not. David Orkin, one of our writers, sent me a despatch saying he was flying from Fiji to Los Angeles. I found myself near the airport soon to be known as WJC (William Jefferson Clinton) at exactly the time that his plane was due to touch down. So I went to the international arrivals area and waited. And waited.

Later, he e-mailed to say he was "Off the flight like a rocket, bags were first out so I was probably 50 yards away just outside waiting an hour for a Venice Beach Shuttle and a stay in the 'Cotel' for a $50 top-of-the-range (well, top of the Cotel's range) 'Ocean view' single." Meanwhile, I was three miles away in a bottom-of-the-range bunk at a Santa Monica youth hostel.

"Must have missed you by minutes," David added. "Actually, I almost always have a look at the 'greeters' as I emerge from airports. In the olden days, I also used to check poste restantes in cities that I had told no one I was going anywhere near. I once met a village postman and asked 'Anything for me?'. He looked through his pile of 10 or 15 bits of mail, without asking my name, before saying 'no'."

CAN YOU believe it? Californian citizens are, by state law, allowed to take two hours off work to vote in this week's presidential election. True, they have a succession of electoral choices to make besides voting for the president. But the polling stations are open from early to late, so they could usefully employ the alloted two-hour absence to do something new and wonderful - like getting on a bus.

Nine out of ten Los Angelenos use the car to get around the city once described as "New York lying down". The remaining 10 per cent are described by a term that suggests they have a real problem: "transit dependence". It is not an addiction, but simply means they are the half-million people who use the city's first-rate buses and trains.

In that two-hour break to vote, a citizen could cover the 50 miles from Malibu to Long Beach. But one destination remains infuriatingly difficult to reach: Los Angeles international airport. An elevated railway rushes straight towards it, carrying passengers from the city - but swerves away at the last moment, forcing people to transfer to a bus for the final couple of miles to the airport.

Arrangements for the LAX bus interchange are even more ridiculous. After failing to meet David, I hopped on a shuttle for the short ride to the interchange - but 100 yards from the destination, we were told to get off and transfer to another bus for the final leg. Even a couple of car-dependent LA residents elected to walk.

* When a family asks an airline to be seated together, the usual implication is that they should sit next to one another (as far as I know, only the splendid Southwest Airlines has seats facing each other). But when Peter Shanks, boss of First Choice's retail division, flew from Rome to Cagliari in Sardinia with his wife and their two young daughters, the airline's version of sitting together was novel. They were given seats 1A, 2A, 3A and 4A. This interesting linear arrangement might have hampered intra-family communication, had not the foursome commandeered four adjacent seats and insisted "We're staying here".