'Twas the night before Christmas (actually "two" nights before
Christmas) and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even.daddy,
me, who was 1,000 miles away in Bentonville, Ark., meeting with Wal-Mart.
I'm sure there are a few vendors out there who would say, "I'm not
departing my house on Sunday night, the week of Christmas, for a Monday
morning meeting with Wal-Mart. What are you, crazy?" I suspect those
vendors have moved on to other professions by now, as I doubt they're supplying
to Wal-Mart any longer. As for me and my traveling companion, Randy Fagundo,
Sugarloaf C.E.O., we welcomed in Christmas Eve in the wee hours of the morning
of Dec. 24 after finally getting home from the longest trip ever. We all
have bad travel days, but when trying to get home for Christmas? Of all
the luck.
It's only fair, and important for my career, to state that my Wal-Mart friends had the meeting scheduled for the week prior, and I rescheduled the meeting for Dec. 23, thinking that perhaps I should be home for my wife's birthday the previous week. At 1AM on the 24th of December, very quietly pulling into my driveway, I was questioning my decision.
The trip to Arkansas, as many of you know, is never an easy one. From Denver, I've connected through Dallas, Houston, Chicago, Memphis, St. Louis, and driven from Tulsa, in hopes of arriving in Fayetteville, Ark., the famous home of Wal-Mart. On a good day it's a four-and-a-half hour trip from Denver to Arkansas.
This day, Monday, the 23rd of December, started innocently enough. The meeting with Wal-Mart went well and concluded early. We had a flight scheduled to leave at 3PM, so we decided to drive 40 miles south and visit a few of the Wal-Mart stores in the area. I had heard the forecast was a little iffy. Snow was forecast for later in the day, but in Arkansas, how much snow could that really be? I live in real snow country where "one to two" of snow accumulation usually means feet, not inches. It was about noon and we had just left the place we stayed. It's in a beautiful little town called Bella Vista, Arkansas. I looked at my watch and chuckled. The weatherman had said the storm would move in at noon on Monday. It was noon and no snow in sight. Then it was 12:05 and the snow was coming down in buckets. Big buckets. Maybe trashcan-sized buckets. It was an unattractive mixture of pellet ice and snow. All of the sudden, Nannuck of the North would have been right at home. My Taurus from Hertz was crawling on Interstate 71 South toward Fayetteville. With both hands tightly on the wheel, I was well aware that a major auto accident with my boss and the Director of Other Income from Wal-Mart in the car would not likely be a career-enhancing event.
We toured the Wal-Mart Super Center in about 3.5 minutes. We had to rush to the airport in hopes of catching our flight to Memphis and then home to Denver. Visualize if you will how busy a Wal-Mart Super Center, in Arkansas, two days before Christmas, would be. Now factor in the weather. We crawled to the airport. We were scheduled to arrive in Denver at 6:15PM, in plenty of time to have a nice family evening the night before Christmas Eve.
It was continuing to snow like mad, but Northwest Airlines was consistent if nothing else that all planes were departing on time. We made the airport, barely, and get checked in. A complimentary first-class upgrade? Why, of course. You'd be amazed how empty first class is when you're travelling two days before Christmas. It's Randy and I, and 100 families with children trying to get to grandma's house for Christmas.
The door closes, and a fresh beverage handed to me by a very lovely lady. I needed it. I fly a lot but this weather was horrible, and I was a little edgy. All systems are go, right? Wrong. "This is the captain speaking. We're going to be delayed. The Northwest Arkansas airport just closed. This ice storm has really intensified so we are delayed. We were next in line to take off. Sorry." This isn't good. Oh well, let's get off the plane and regroup. What's this? The door is already closed and the captain says we're staying on the plane until the airport reopens? You must be kiddingbut he wasn't. Two hours and a couple of complimentary beverages of the Rocky Mountains' very best later, and we are told the airport is now open and we're taking off. My partner sees icicles dangling from the left wing. Is that OK, he asks, pointing at the left wing? Heck, no! I don't think they see it. It's now dark and still snowing like mad. Being the safety-conscious flyer that I am, I unbuckled my seatbelt and went and knocked on the cockpit door. "Hey, there's ice on the wing out here." The retort from a couple of captains that looked like they had been legal drinking age for at least a few months was, "Well, that's not our crew that does the de-icing, so maybe we should take a look at it." That was reassuring.
The de-icing crew in Arkansas is not exactly what you experience in Denver or Chicago, or a town where snow is common. It is more than coincidence that the snack bar at the NW Arkansas airport is closed when airplanes are being de-iced. I looked out the window, and there standing with what appeared to be a garden hose in his hand, trickling what I swear was grape juice on our icicles on the left wing, was the guy who sold me my dinner two hours earlier. Or, at least his brother. Now I'm really scared.
We hit the runway and take off. Usually at this time I'm a pretty talkative guy. Taking off in white-out conditions, being the first plane to take off from a closed airport, I'm white as a sheet and saying absolutely nothing. I had to make sure I remembered to breathe. All the way to Memphis, that plane was tossed and turned and tossed again. The storm system we traveled in was a major winter ice storm that stretched from outside Dallas to Memphis, Tenn. I thought, just get me out of Memphis and it should be clear sailing home to Colorado. Naturally, when we landed in Memphis we learned that we had missed our connecting flight and there was nothing else until morning. We visited the American Airlines counter and, perhaps in the spirit of Christmas, ticket agent Betty took our high-priced Northwest Airlines tickets and put us on an American flight that would get us home at 9PM after connecting through Dallas. Now, I'm not real good with geography, but I think we were going to fly right back over Arkansas, where all that wonderful weather was that we just traveled through, and carry onward to icy, snowy Dallas. Christmas Eve is fast approaching and we're further from home than when we started. But that was our plan. Letting the weather pass and finding a warm hotel room and telling my 3-year-old that Santa was going to show up on the 26th this year, instead of the 25th, just wasn't a good option.
We got on the American plane. We were greeted by a good ole boy Captain named Randall. "Hi, I'm Randall," he says. "I'm Randall too," I reply, "and meet my friend and boss Randall." Is this a twilight zone episode or what? Captain Randall had a Christmas tie on that was complete with blinking lights. I'm not a Scrooge, but I wasn't thrilled that my captain was wearing a tie with blinking lights. He continued to show everyone with great pride. If Chevy Chase were going to be a pilot, this guy would be a perfect double. Just get me home
Engines start, and another announcement. "Merry Christmas, all," boomed Captain Randall with a cheerful tone that would have been appropriate if he was about to rebate everyones airfare. "Dallas Airport just closed due to weather, so we're going to sit here awhile and see what happens." Again, no one's allowed off the plane. If there was any good news to be found, it was that I didn't have my whole family on that plane, as many did. It was just Captain Randall and us. He came out from the cockpit and tried to cheer everyone up. It didn't work. We were off to Dallas, two hours later. And the fun had just begun. The plane headed directly back into the eye of the storm, as if we were professional hurricane-chasers trying our hands at ice storms. The plane was all over the place. No drinks or nasty pretzel mixes were served. The flight attendants didn't leave their seats the entire flight. Somehow we made it.
It's a tight connection in Dallas with our delay. There's still a chance. Do we take the train or run a good mile to the gate? I'm thinking train, but being a nice guy, and being clearly out-ranked, we start running for the gate. I'm anaerobic when I get there, but we did just make the plane with at least 30 seconds or so to spare. We may see Denver yet tonight.
We pull out to the runway and all seems well. One plane pulls around us and takes off. Another, and another, and another, and another, and we just sit there. A gentleman from the next seat yells to the cockpit: "Will someone please tell us what is going on!" "They're busy up there, Sir," informs the flight attendant. It's been a long night and fuses are getting short. I've never been guilty of air rage but was flirting dangerously close to the emotion when the plane finally moved to the runway and took off.
We landed at 12:30AM Christmas Eve morning in Denver. I arrived at my
house 30 minutes later. Luckily, all in my house were sound asleep. My traveling
partner for the trip pulls away from my house saying, "Merry Christmas
to all, and to all a good night!"