Here’s what happened in between...
I’ll begin at the end. We were grass-kissing glad to be back on solid ground, having been chucked around the sky for what seemed hours, and almost hurled into Kansas. I’d kissed my backside goodbye and prepared to die high. (30,000 feet high, but who’s counting?)
Back up, old girl…
Ok, ok, as soon as I prop open my tired eyelids….
We were sealed into our 777 ‘heavy’ for a long time; crossing the North Atlantic had taken nearly nine hours, instead of the more usual seven, due to really vigorous headwinds. Crammed into ‘cargo’ with no room to move, those extra hours seemed like centuries.
There was no wifi.
No wiggle room.
We were 40,000 feet above the earth.
The outside temperature, barely two inches away, registered minus 78 degrees.
I read.
I squirmed, trying to relieve a numb bottom.
My legs dangled in the too-high seat- always a problem.
Joe extended his into the aisle and promptly fell asleep.
Not me. I rarely sleep on planes.
But still, all was well –if you don’t mind a sardine-like existence- until we began to approach Chicago. Uh-oh. The huge jet thumped and bumped around, eliciting a few gasps from startled passengers. Then we abruptly turned southeast. The captain spoke.
”Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna divert to Fort Wayne, Indiana; monster thunderstorms have shut down Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. No flights can enter or leave. We’ve sampled the leading edge of that weather just now. So, we’ll circle over Fort Wayne for a while. Maybe things will improve enough that we can zip back to O’Hare between storm cells. I’ll keep you posted.”
So we flew a racetrack pattern over that city’s airspace for about sixty minutes. Hmmm. Ten hours flying, so far. Our monster workhorse wouldn’t say no to a drink…Then, as though he had read my mind, the captain’s voice filled the cabin.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we, ah, need to fly on to Indianapolis to refuel, and then” -(he sighed) “wait some more. Storms are still battering Chicago. The weather’s fine in Indy, by the way.”
Thirty minutes later, in late afternoon sunlight, we landed. I glimpsed lots of cornfields and farmhouses as the plane left the runway to park in an isolated area. One engine still murmured, quietly.
We waited.
People stood, walked up and down the very narrow aisles, stretched, updated family on their cell phones, tried to sleep, or just stared out the window.
Joe dug into his bag of gadgets, pulled out a little portable phone battery, hooked his i-phone into it, then dialed up aviation weather. Wow! O’Hare was smack in the middle of a three-state line of powerful storm cells breeding intense lightning, torrential rain, hail, high winds and other delights. It was a thoroughly intimidating picture.
What would our captain decide?
-We’d been confined for over ten hours. Legs can develop circulatory problems from sitting for so long.
-The captain and copilot had to be tired. A shift change was overdue.
-We passengers would not be allowed off this plane. (Apparently, Indianapolis had no Customs setup.) We were sealed in, and that was that.
-Indianapolis wasn’t used to refueling such a big aircraft, especially with people inside. But they managed. However, the complicated gas hatch confounded the service personnel; they couldn’t get it closed.
We sat some more. Our captain kept us informed, and thanked us for being so patient.
Maintenance eventually drove out to our jet and fiddled with the hatch for a while before finally securing it.
We waited.
I knew the crew was incredibly busy checking radar, reprogramming the computers to approach Chicago from here, rechecking essential navigational equipment, evaluating weather windows, plotting courses for alternate airports, should that become necessary, etc.
Then the captain spoke, crisply.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re fueled up now, and aiming for O’Hare, which has tentatively opened again; we’re gonna slip in between cells. Other flights are slowed way down, because each plane in line must wait till it sees an opening, then dart in, or sneak out. The good news: most of you probably won’t miss your connections. They’re in line, too, or delayed. And they know you are.
O.K. Fasten your seatbelts, please. Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”
Gulp. This aircraft was going to penetrate that nightmare, and so there. Joe quietly reminded me that the captain knew his job. We had to trust his years of experience.
He turned off his i-phone. We went quiet.
Fifty minutes later we entered the maelstrom. One minute the air was calm- the next, towering cumulus clouds boiled all around us. We dropped so suddenly that my hair rose and my iron stomach, which is never ruffled by high waves, or bumpy air, debated whether to evacuate. There were aircraft creaks and other weird noises as the plane was shaken, stirred and flung around. Its structural integrity was thoroughly tested. The pilots expertly navigated around the fringes of those massive storm cells using their ‘third eye’- Doppler radar. Rain pummeled the aircraft. Strong winds tipped the wings suddenly. I shut the window shade- and my eyes. Too much information. Joe and I held hands. Years later we felt the landing gear descend. Large hail, sounding like big machine guns, hammered the plane’s body and windows: wind-propelled rain added to the cacophony. The pilots compensated for every rapid rise or fall, were alert for microbursts, and constantly tailored the airspeed to accommodate sudden wind fluctuations.
It was masterful flying.
Seconds before landing, much bigger, more intense hail briefly assaulted the windows and airframe. The sound was shockingly loud.
The big jet touched down, slowed, and exclamations of relief rippled up and down the aisles as we taxied for a long time through torrential rain toward our docking area, only to be told there was ‘some sort of situation’ there; our gate was blocked by emergency equipment. Ambulances with flashing red lights were parked next to a jet occupying our slot. The weary captain added his heartfelt thanks for our patience. Our response? He got a big round of applause.
Stunned by all that had just happened, we passengers barely registered this new delay, though another twenty minutes would pass before we docked and could exit.
The captain was right; our connecting jet to Traverse City was four hours late. Fortunately. Because now we faced an awesomely long queue of people waiting to go through Customs. Just finding the end of the queue so we could take our places required a very long walk down two very long corridors. I felt sorry for the officials who had to cope with this many frazzled souls. One bleary-eyed guy, back from India, had been awake for 28 hours. But here’s the thing: not one person was obnoxious. People just shuffled along, joking, yawning, laughing, coping. Their children watched, noted. Learned.
Stuff happens. Adjust.
Everyone did. It was a fine thing to witness.
We finally rode the link-train to Terminal 3, and then had to pass through Security all over again. And believe me, those people were just as thorough as the British.
We boarded our much smaller (nearly full) regional jet at midnight, flew through the storm’s northern edge with only a few bumps, and landed at Cherry Capital Airport in heavy rain.
It was breakfast time in Britain, and wee morning here. Dazed with exhaustion, stalked by leg cramps and emotionally spent, Joe and I staggered outside to meet Les, who drove us through the pouring rain to Sunnybank House. It looked like heaven.
Dorothy and Toto were exactly right.
There is no place like home!