When Snowbirds' wings are clipped

Dave's not the only one who's experienced grounded flights this year.

Mom and Dad went to Florida to visit family in February. As is often the case, they drove from Fredericton to Bangor (a three to four hour trip), then caught a flight from there. The journey South was pretty routine. The vacation itself was filled with laughter and leisure. The trip home, well, that's a different story.

They were due to arrive back in Bangor at 3:30pm on February 18th. If the weather co-operated, they would load their luggage into the car and head directly for home. Not a chance.

They left the lovely abode of dad's cousin Bob at ten to six in the morning. They had an easy, smooth, on-time, and roomy flight to Boston (with seats in the emergency rows).

After a four-hour layover, they boarded the 50 passenger plane for the quick jaunt to Bangor. They were happily squeezed into their seats when the flight attendant's voice cracked through the speaker system with an announcement. The plane was overloaded. They needed nine people to get off.

Minutes later, an airline official walked the isles canvassing for volunteers. Anyone willing to bail would be bussed to Bangor, and would receive 400 dollars worth of credit to be used on future flights.

Unfortunately, mom and dad were at the back of the plane, and the nine volunteers were found before the "official" made it anywhere near their row. They got to take the bus anyway.

The flight took off 30 minutes later than it was supposed to. It was in the air for 20 minutes when another announcement was made. This time, it was the captain's voice that squawked through the overhead speakers. There was heavy rain in Bangor. The visibility was only 600 feet, and they needed 1,200 feet to land. Not to worry though, they had eight hours of fuel, so they'd head to Bangor and circle the airport in hopes that the weather would clear.

Mom, dad and the rest of the passengers were spared that dizzying experience, as within 5 minutes, the captain's voice loomed large once again. The storm had knocked out the landing lights in Bangor, so they were turning around and heading back to Boston.

Predictably, passengers soon began asking for information about what would happen next. The flight attendant asked them not to be hostile as it wasn't the airline's fault that the weather was bad. Just before landing, they were told they would all be bussed to the Bangor airport (unfortunately, there was no offer of a 400 dollar credit this time).

The bus ride wasn't particularly pleasant either. Rain pounded the windshield and pooled on the ashphalt for nearly the entire 400 kilometre trip. The driver stopped for a coffee at MacDonald's, but didn't offer his passengers the chance to grab Mc-anything.

Thankfully, at 10:00pm (16 hours after they left Bob's), they arrived safely in Bangor. Mom and dad were able to grab a cheap room at the motel 8, and enough food-like items at a nearby Irving to quiet the rumbling in their bellies.

The drive back to Fredericton the next day was pleasantly uneventful.