by Tracy Blair

Created on: July 15, 2008   Last Updated: November 24, 2008

"What? What do you mean you're sending me to North Dakota? You can't be serious!" But they were. I was scheduled for a week of training in Bismarck and there was no getting out of it. I was headed for the middle of nowhere, and I was certain it was going to be the worst trip ever.

As if to confirm my fears, my flight plans took me from New York to Chicago, then to Denver (yes, it was a bit out of the way) before going on to Bismarck. And the arrival in Denver was more than a bit rocky. As we neared the airport for landing, dark clouds moved in with us. We were forced to circle as the captain informed us that we were being delayed due to downdrafts and microbursts. Great. This was all I needed. A tornado.

When we finally were able to land, I had missed my connection. Not to worry, they told me, I could sleep in the airport and catch a connection the next day. "Oh no," I argued. This was absolutely not an option. I would miss my training (and might have to do this whole horrific thing over again). I yelled. I pleaded. I needed to get to Bismarck ASAP! Finally, to my relief, they told me that they were able to get me on another flight leaving shortly. At last! Some respect.

My glory was short lived.

I knew something was wrong when I asked for a window seat. "Of course," the woman replied. "They're all window seats." That didn't really sink in until, when boarding, they led us into the basement of the airport. Now I just KNEW something bad was coming. When they led us out onto the tarmac I almost fell on the ground laughing. They were all window seats, all right! My two-and-a-half hour flight from Denver to Bismarck was in a seven seat, twin engine propeller plane! I bit my lip as I boarded. As my fellow passengers and I shuffled down the small aisle, the stewardess went over the basic safety procedures with us. She then pulled aside the curtain separating us from the cockpit, told us to feel free to come and get her if we needed anything, and took her seat in the co-pilot's chair.

Biting the lip has never been called an art form, but I beg to differ. And the biting was no problem. I had plenty of ice for it if I bit too hard. All I had to do was scrape the inside of my window to get a handful of it. One bit of airplane trivia it's COLD at thirty thousand feet! Apparently too cold for a prop plane like this one. The overwhelmingly loud noise of the engines obviously did not include any additional sound from a heating unit. So I vibrated, bit and shivered my way to Bismarck.

Later

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