Man versus the manhole

More on the subject of this post in a minute. First, the next installment of my great misadventure to Chicago:

Having just heard the pilot announce our maintenance delay, the plane pulled back into the gate. And we sat. After 15 or 20 minutes, we heard from our captain again: They were thinking it was just the indicator, but were going to look at things a bit more closely just to be sure the hydraulics system was functioning normally. Well, OK - no arguments on that. And, he said, they'd have another update in about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, a maintenance truck appeared outside the DC-9 and bundled-up mechanics could occasionally be seen walking near the rear of the aircraft. It wasn't too long before the flaps slid out from their bay in the wing and drooped toward the ground, then retracted. The wing spoilers flapped up in a salute, shaking off some snow. These are parts of the hydraulic system - a good sign.

This captain was punctual, and after that 15 minutes had passed, he had another update. They thought they had discovered the issue, and had fixed it. The paperwork had been completed, and after a few more final systems tests, we "should be ready to go." Hmm. Should isn't exactly the same as will.

So we waited some more. I glanced at my watch and say that our delay was stretching past 9:30; I had two-and-a-half hours to get to Chicago to catch my return flight. It was going to be tight.

By 9:45, snow had piled up visibly on the wings. We still weren't moving, and a maintenance truck was still parked conspicuously underneath my window near the starboard engine. We heard from the captain again: The operations people wanted maintenance to look a bit closer at the problem, because they still weren't convinced it had been fixed. In the mean time, the captain had put in a request to look for a new plane, and had called the gate to get someone to come open the door so we could get off if we wished.

This is never a good sign. Some of the teenagers sitting around me, on the way home from a school trip, started to get antsy. One had a college interview scheduled that afternoon. But clearly, this plane was going nowhere.

Shortly after 10 o'clock, we got word: The gate door had been unlocked, and the plane's door was open. Anyone who wanted to get off could do so.

Naturally, everyone stood up and surged toward the front of the plane like snails fleeing salt.
By the time I stepped off the jetway and back inside the terminal, all 22 rows worth of people ahead of me were in line at the check-in counter to re-book, complain, or God-knows-what. It was clear now that I had no chance of making my noon return flight, so I strolled briskly up the G Concourse until I was several gates away.

I got less skepticism than I expected when I explained my predicament to a couple of gate agents who happened to be at the counter of an otherwise empty boarding area. Maybe I'm not the only one who spends part of a Saturday jetting around the country for fun. They rebooked me on a 2:25 p.m. flight out of Chicago - still on a DC-9, fortunately. I returned back to gate G19 to learn that we had a new plane after all, and a new gate. So it was back the way I'd just been.
The plane was just arriving at the new gate, and the agents told us politely, but firmly, to stay out of the way while its passengers deplaned. What, were they expecting a mad rush of passengers storming the gate door?

Waiting, waiting, waiting. We waited while the plane was cleaned and prepared for us. I munched on Nestle Rasinettes - which I'd brought precisely in case of such a delay - and pondered the scene. Throngs of people crowding every available chair at the gate, tapering flakes outside, gusty winds buffeting the window.

Northwest 126 was scheduled to depart at 9 a.m. It was now going on 11 o'clock. Tune in next time as the adventure continues...with photos!

Now, what you've all been waiting for...our voyeuristic videos of the awesome power of the infamous I-35W manhole geyser. If you're not familiar, Interstate 35W south of Minneapolis has a storm water tunnel underneath it that doesn't have enough capacity for the runoff created by a heavy downpour. All that pressure has to go somewhere, and the result is spectacular. Of course, it's nearly as incredible that the traffic whizzing along seems largely unconcerned with what's happening in the median.

On the other hand, I'd probably stop, too, if I saw that giant manhole cover lying in the middle of the road. But get out of the car to look at it? I don't know what this person was thinking - but I'll bet they were soaked by the time they were sprinting away.

This is as good as anything I saw at Yellowstone. If someone charged admission to watch this sucker spout off live and in person, I'd pay it!