When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough go Nowhere

Dave's normal travel time from the mine site to Moncton is about 20 hours.
But his trip time more than doubled a recent return-- and he didn't actually make it "home" for another eight days on top of that.

It was February. Dave was due to arrive home on the 13th. He'd have one night in his own bed, and then, on the afternoon of the 14th, we were heading to the city of our University days, Halifax (I had work related meetings). On the 16th, we were flying from Halifax to Newfoundland to visit his family. The timing seemed so perfect.

Alas, there is no such thing as perfection.
Dave's red-eye flight from Edmonton was delayed. He made it into Toronto just in time to wave goodbye to the flight he should have been taking to Moncton. No big deal really, there are several flights between Toronto and Moncton each day....well, most days.
It just so happened that on this day, the next flight between the two cities had already been cancelled. So, they booked Dave on a later flight. This one would get him in around supper time. At least I'd be off work and able to pick him up at the airport.

There was just one problem. An ice storm hit around mid-afternoon. Dave's flight was delayed by an hour....in hopes the weather would pass (who were they kidding?).
They did eventually take off though, and they did fly to Moncton. Unfortunately, they didn't land. They did a couple of laps above the icy runway, Dave waved at what he figured was our house, and then they flew back to Toronto?....wrong...Quebec city. Yes, Quebec city. The passengers were perplexed as well.

While in Quebec, the passengers were given the opportunity to continue sitting in their cramped seats, with no food, for an hour or so as the plane sat motionless on the tarmac. As Dave describes it, a flight attendant kindly told everyone on board that they would soon be heading to Ottawa, where they would then be put on flights to Moncton?....wrong again...Toronto. And that those flights would leave the next day. I gather a somewhat puzzled passenger did bring up the fact that the people on the plane really didn't want to go to Toronto, they actually wanted to go to Moncton. I'm told the reply of the always pleasant flight attendant went something like "I'm sorry you're having difficulties understanding what I'm saying."

Eventually the crew seemed to tire of the Quebec city tarmac, and they did fly the plane to Ottawa. By the time they arrived, late Wednesday evening, the passengers had been on the plane for seven hours. Dave figures that has to be the longest flight from Toronto to Ottawa ever.

In Ottawa, the news wasn't great. Dave was told the earliest they could get him to Moncton was early evening on Thursday-- at which time I would already be in Halifax-- with our car. Hmmm.....
I will give Air Canada credit here. They did agree to re-book Dave on a flight to Halifax instead of Moncton. And they did pay for a night in an Ottawa hotel for all the passengers on that plane.
So, as it was, Dave arrived in Halifax at about noon on Thursday...44 hours after leaving work.
He got there long before me, so he had time to bond with his buddy Pete before taking me to the Hamachi house for a Valentine's dinner of sushi and wine.

We left for Newfoundland as planned on Saturday, and returned to Moncton on Friday the 22nd.
Dave got to spend two nights in his own bed before flying to Peoria, Illinois for business on Sunday. Maybe I'll tackle his U.S. travel woes in the next post.