02-14-2011
After departing the gate on time, and subsequently waiting at 2E for approximately 20 minutes for substantial ground traffic, we began to taxi north on taxiway Mike. In the vicinity of "Echo Delta" I experienced what can be described as a gastro-intestinal "discomfort". The mild nature of this ailment coupled with my type-A personality and a need to complete our mission exactly to our scheduled time-on-target resulted in a PIC decision to press on.
Approximately 300 meters south of taxiway Zulu, I then experienced a second gastro-intestinal "grumble" of a signifigantly elevated magnitude. Instantly, my mind replayed visual renditions of the famous, albiet somewhat mythical, "Tyler Wojo" incident.
Approximately 100 meters south of taxiway Zulu, I then experienced what many have described as the "Meat Sweats". With persperation running down my forehead, and the statement "I didn't quite make it" (the exact words said to me by Wojo himself), I quickly evaluated my options. So it was now: stabbing pains, Wojo folklore, and #10 for takeoff. I then made perhaps the greatest command decision in my aviation career.
I directed the FO to ask Ground for a taxi via Zulu to the west side for a return to the gate to "get some new paperwork". The passengers were also informed of our "paperwork" requirement. Ground Control said "approved, contact the west side on 127.5". While in mid-clench, I managed a strained, yet still professional, "roger".
Abeam the Continental hangar I briefly considered the vast amount of commodes that must exist inside. It was then, as I contemplated a plausable explination to the passengers why we were going to park at the Continental Maintenance hangar, all of my ailments and "internal pressures" instantly vanished. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to make it! However, I did not want to succumb to the pitfal of being overconfident (i.e. the 2007 New England Patriots) and the almost always negative consequences of said over overconfidence. We continued to "taxi with a purpose", while still being safe and under control.
We were parked in Zone 5, and performed a normal, albiet, "brisk" shutdown. I then grabbed the clipboard (thus completing my "new paperwork" illusion) and then proceded to: 1-Open the cabin door. 2-Tell the passengers "I'll be back". 3-Smartly move down the airstairs. 4-Run at a speed normally observed only in sub-atomic particles to the nearest latrine, clipboard still in hand.
After a successful completion of "the download", I returned to the aircraft, bounded up the stairs, showed the clipboard to the passengers stating, "We're good to go". We then taxied out, departed, and arrived at North Platte with no further incidents.
It was not until I settled down in my hotel room that I allowed myself to bask in the introspective and glorious reccount of the successful outcome of the earlier events normally reserved only for athletes of Major Sports Championship teams. It is essential to illustrate that this was slightly tempered by the possible lapse in judgement to skip my "Noon Poop".
