As we neared the airport, the driver noted the local homeowners charging up to $40 for parking. There was also a guy on the street selling slices of pizza for $3 each. “That’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “I should get a half a pizza for that.”

Sales were slow for the T-shirt vendors, always prolific at Trump rallies. “On any day, I can make $500 to $5,000, depending on the event. This is a small one. I’ll probably pull in around $500,” one vendor told me. His array of swag included Trumpian decks of cards and socks. A tall African American man in his late 20s, with wife and baby in tow, was selling similar items nearby. Wearing a white T-shirt emblazoned with an American flag in the shape of a marijuana leaf, he shouted, “Don’t be a Democrat. Buy a hat!”

When we arrived at the venue, a party of intrepid reporters had to track down the WiFi information from Trump's MIA staff. Potentially lost forever to the MAGA crowd, we couldn't help but shout “Huzzahs!” upon their unexpected return.

And then we waited two hours for the president.

Earlier that day, around noon, the rural borough of Montoursville anticipated Trump’s arrival with a smattering of alacrity. “The state police aren’t supposed to show up until two p.m.,” a local police officer directing traffic explained. “How nuts is that?”

A record store owner said he usually closed shop on Mondays but decided to sell parking at the going rate. Perhaps an odd record too, if he could. “I think conservatives stab you in the front and liberals wrap their arms around you and stab you in the back,” the sandy-haired man offered jovially. An enthusiast of Lou Reed’s “Rock N’ Roll Animal,” he spoke candidly about politics in central Pennsylvania. “Not so much fans of Trump as you think,” he said.

It was the allure of a president coming to the small rural area that drew people from miles around. Presidents don’t commonly visit this area. “It’s like the circus is in town,” someone said. Across the street from the record shop, a man displayed pennants, flags and signs for sale. A large black flag sported four large white letters: LBGT. Corresponding to the letters were images of the Statue of Liberty, a mug of beer, a gun and a profile of Donald Trump. “You get it don’t you?” someone said to me with a grin.

“Yes. I only wonder why they didn’t include the ‘Q’?” I asked.

“Probably couldn’t think of anything funny like the others,” the blonde, mid-20s young white man in a Pepsi hat said evenly. About a mile from the epicenter, business wasn’t so good. Dolly’s Diner and Grigg’s Coffee and Peanuts shop posted a “closing early” notice on its doors.

“You see the traffic in here,” the manager said. “Hardly anybody. They’re all downtown.”

An elderly couple enjoying coffee in a booth could be overheard talking to one of the waitresses. The couple couldn’t decide whether to go to the rally or not. “It’s like standing in line at Disney World,” the elderly woman said. The elderly man in glasses sitting next to her nodded his head in agreement. “Besides, I’ve seen him once,” the woman added.

About a quarter of a mile away at the Mongolian/Chinese/Japanese/American/processed food buffet, an older employee with a ruddy complexion and obvious years of experience snapping beans sat with a bushel in a back booth. He smiled as he snapped his beans and described himself as a Democrat who didn’t vote for Clinton in the last election and skipped voting altogether in 2012. He would rather snap beans, it seemed, than see the current president. Or vote.

At the other end of the buffet, a young father sat with his two daughters. One, no older than age seven, was in a lavender sundress. “A kindness you gave a stranger will return to you,” she read out loud confidently from her fortune cookie. The father smiled. They clutched Trump stickers and hats in their hands.

Police said a few stalwart Trump fans risked heatstroke by camping out in anticipation of seeing their Elvis in concert. Similar logic from a national television reporter tested one crew’s fitness. Earlier, the reporter had jumped out of the press school bus a quarter of a mile from the site location and ran with a photographer, sound man and producer to get a live-shot at the site first. Amazingly, the bus arrived only slightly before the running network employees. I hear the crew loved the cardio, though.

While the crowd waited, the Trump campaign pumped its regular playlist of music “most artists don’t want him to play” over the sound system. “It’s like going to a Caps game,” one reporter offered. “Too loud!”

To pass the time, some told jokes and bought water at a dollar a bottle. “Trump will say one thing at breakfast, tweet out something opposite at lunch and by dinner deny he said either one,” I was told by a retired man parading a sly grin across a cherubic face he hid under a red MAGA hat. Don Jr., who looks like he’s running for office himself, and the usual assortment of political hacks finally took to the stage and warmed up the crowd with much of the same crap heard for four years. The script had changed little. Press bad. Political opponents losers. Donald good. Everybody chant.

After a few people passed out due to heat exhaustion, Air Force One’s pilot announced to Air Traffic Control that the flight was dropping below 18,000 feet to make its approach. The Trump campaign piped the air traffic chatter over the loud speakers and the crowd cheered.

“Is that real?” someone asked.

A short time later, AF1 rolled into view to the overpowering sounds of AC/DC’s "Thunderstruck." About 15 minutes later than scheduled, the president’s door opened and he emerged to “God Bless the USA.,” where at least we all know we’re free and such. Trump marched to the podium and spoke. A few minutes later he complained about the brightness of the lights and the questionable behavior of those who set them up for him. The crowd, mostly white, probably more than half male and elderly, still dutifully cheered and chanted “Lock her up,” or “Build the wall!” whenever prompted.

The president loves the three-word slogans and even had the crowd help him choose a new one: “Keep America great!” Or was it “Block that kick!”?

The Donald acknowledged he was polling his crowd for slogans because he was “cheap” and wanted to sell more hats. The speech otherwise said little in the way of news, but offered chuckles with new phrases or adjectives that sounded as if they they came from a word-a-day calendar. Many, even some outside the press pen, laughed at Donald’s lament that Fox News broke up with him when it had aired an interview with Mayor Pete Buttigieg.

Despite the fun, after the sixth enthusiastic supporter passed out and had to be attended to by paramedics, hundreds of the faithful began leaving the venue. As the speech continued for 30 more minutes, people fled like my family used to flee church after communion. By the time Trump wrapped, I was on the first bus out, armed only with enough bad memories to keep therapists and several comedians in business for years. Marcy was our driver again.

My last memory of the rally came as I got gas to head back to D.C.. A boy no more than 10 years old, and who apparently had attended the same rally, got out of the backseat of his father’s car. He wore a MAGA hat while holding a can of Coca-Cola in one hand and a Twinkie in the other. As his father pumped gas, the boy said to him, “Dad, next time can we just go camping?”