Delayed in Denver
On the tarmac at DIA with faulty brakes
I was reading an interesting post by William, writer of the Substack ‘Consequence of Mind’, about what lies beneath Denver International Airport. The post is called ‘Denver’s Dark Secrets: Unearthing the Mystery Beneath the Runways’.
Colorado is on my bucket list. I used to own a couple of photography books displaying the amazing scenery. I have flown over the state a number of times, loving what I saw.
I heard many songs about Denver and Colorado, and top of that list has to be Rocky Mountain High, by John Denver. It’s not a favourite, but it got a lot of airplay in my youth, even though it only reached 9 on the Billboard 100 in 1973. It merits being in the In My Life - Luigi’s Top #500 songs on Spotify.
I sort of understand changing your name from Henry John Deutschendorf Jr to John Denver, not just because Deutschendorf is a name that most people would struggle to pronounce or spell, but also because it is synonymous with the simger-songwriter’s passion for Colorado and the Rocky Mountains.
While there are not many people in the world who haven’t heard of Denver, I’m not sure I can say the same for American people’s knowledge of where New Zealand is. It’s clearly not covered in geography or any other topics at college, other than perhaps as a place that US Navy ships no longer visit for R&R since the anti-nuclear policy of New Zealand clashed with the US not confirming or denying carrying nuclear weapons on board.
I remember watching Kenny Rogers on TV, preparing for a tour to New Zealand in 1974. He asked a number of people where New Zealand was. One person thought it was just below Wyoming. The others thought…. well check this out.
My wife and I were returning from a holiday in the South. We had to stop at DIA on our way to LAX for a connecting flight to Auckland. The scenery was sublime, with the pictures above and below being examples of what we enjoyed from the air.
We changed planes in Denver, which was nothing unusual, except for lots of people at the airport asking for money for various charities, something I haven’t experienced in many departure halls. After a wait of about 3 hours, we were boarded and sat ready to take off from the runway, which is 5,430 feet above sea level, as you may know.
We were seated discussing the inflight entertainment and planning for a pretty tight turnaround at LAX where we would have to bus from one side of the airport to the other to connect with our Air New Zealand flight home. There were only one and a half hours between our scheduled arrival and the departure of our 13-hour flight to Auckland.
An hour or so later, we were still sitting in our seats, wondering when we were going to take off, and whether we would make our connection.
Some time later the Captain did a PA and announced that during the pre-flight checks, a ground crew engineer had discovered a problem with one of the wheel brakes. He suggested that this was a good time to discover the problem and thought the passengers would agree. We would have to wait a little longer.
We started looking at our watches again, calculating time zones and deciding we would have to move quickly when we landed. There were several other people on the flight with connecting flights and we all started chatting about the impact of our late arrival in LA. Travel delays were covered by insurance, but we had no interest in spending a night in a Los Angeles Airport hotel.
Three hours passed and over the PA came a new announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are aware that some of you are concerned about connecting flights. Shortly members of our experienced travel ground staff will come on board and talk with you about connecting flights and make arrangements for you. Please let them know if you need assistance.” At this stage we were frustrated and hot, as they had shut down the engines and turned off the air conditioning, thinking we might have to disembark if it didn’t get sorted soon.
The ‘experts’ duly arrived and made their way down the aisle. When they came to us, I asked them what would happen, because the Air New Zealand flight we were connecting to was the only flight until the following day.
“Don’t you worry sir,” said the ‘experienced’ United Airlines representative, “so you’re going to Auckland. We’ll get you to Australia real soon!”
“NO!” I replied. “I don’t want to go to Australia!” I called at her retreating back.
We had a similar experience a couple of weeks earlier, meeting a couple in an outdoor blues bar in New Orleans, who had ridden their Honda Goldwing from Mobile, Alabama for the weekend.
We were watching Cowboy Neal perform and enjoying a cold one when a woman asked where we were all from. All two of us. :) When we told her, she said, that she had seen the wonderful houses we have in New Zealand on a show on TV and that she had always wanted to visit the Balkans. Well, you couldn’t get much farther than New Zealand than the Balkans other than travelling a little farther north to Spain, which is where you would end up if you dug a hole straight through the earth from where we live.
Anyway, after about 4 hours we were ready to take off. The ground staff had promised to tell us what the arrangements would be for us on landing at LAX, but they never came back. They had probably finished their day shift.
The flight crew did well catching a tailwind, burning a bit of extra fuel, and we were only about three hours late in arriving in Los Angeles. We then made a frantic run to Terminal B, dragging our luggage in the heat, to get to check in and customs, because according to my mobile, the flight was late, and would be departing in about half an hour.
There were queues for flights going in all directions and we had to beg and hustle our way through, telling people we were about to miss our flight. Some were friendly, some were less supportive.
We were pretty sure we were going to watch the plane take off without us, but after a frantic run, with ground staff keeping the departure gate open for us, we got on board. Unbelievable that after a delay of more than 4 hours, we had made our connecting flight, because it had also been delayed on its way from Germany.
After all that stress, it was a bit of an anticlimax getting on the plane, but we were very relieved and looking forward to getting home.
It reminds me of a song I wrote for a Berklee Music assignment called ‘The Best Part of Going Away is Coming Home.” I love going to foreign countries around the world, but I hate airports and planes.
I hate airports
I hate planes
I forget what country I’m in.
I like people
I like culture
Heck I even like the sushi in Tulsa
But the best part of going away is coming home.
Nice read Luigi, it's been awhile!!