Part three of a three-part series. Read parts one and two here.

 

Finally, departures opened up, and we got our final, this-is-for-real route. Tower was now advertising a runway we could all use, but the line was a long one: When we pushed back, we were number thirty-plus for takeoff. But the line was moving, and in our case, it was moving faster than the clock, so we’d get out before we timed out and couldn’t legally fly. Neither of us relished the possibility of having to go back to the gate and explain to the passengers that we couldn’t legally fly.

The only route out of Denver was still a west one, and we flew most of the way to the western border of Colorado before turning north, and eventually east. On the radio, we heard an awful lot of airplanes getting holding patterns for Denver—and now crews weren’t just talking about diverting, they were diverting, and some weren’t even waiting.

As we flew east, the ride deteriorated to “moderate-plus” chop. It was awful, even after slowing down. We had to head southeast to avoid both traffic and weather. On the radar, we saw a couple of holes beyond what we could see out the window. I sent a message to our dispatcher asking about a possible new route that was south of what we were filed for. We didn’t have much time, however, because we were headed right to the worst of the line of east-west storms.

Dispatch liked what we suggested and sent us a specific route to request, which I passed on to Center. It took longer to get it back than I anticipated, but we got approved for a route that would ultimately save us nearly 20 minutes. The ride didn’t improve for nearly 90 minutes, but it finally smoothed out enough to let the passengers get up, which allowed us to get our dinner. The weather in Newark was clear and breezy. Thank goodness for small favors.

We landed nearly three and one-half hours behind schedule, exhausted and relieved to be on the ground. I had not had a day like that in a long time, and I was overdue for one. My flight home, it turns out, had cancelled, which was actually a relief—I’d hate to think that I had just missed it. I headed off to my crash pad to get some sleep. The mid-morning flight was wide open, probably because of other missed connections from the night before. But I didn’t care. I was going home.—Chip Wright