The Course of My Wanderlust
(Or Why Driving Yourself is So Much More Enjoyable Than Flying)
I have to travel to the DC area for two weeks of “drill,” military terminology for work done by a reservist. Typically, that involves having to subject oneself to the current harassment package that is air travel, carried out by what has effectively turned into a monopoly operated by three big carriers: American, Delta, and United. But I just don’t think I can do it this time around.
Maybe I’ll drive it. In the dead of winter. Why?
There was a time when air travel was actually fun, but that is long past now. The consumer used to have competitive options, and this forced the airlines to treat us much better than they do today. For instance, remember Trans World Airlines (TWA), Northwest Airlines, Continental, U.S. Airways, or America-West? I do, vaguely. But then American bought out TWA, Delta bought out Northwest, United bought out Continental, U.S. Airways bought out America-West, and then itself got consumed by American. Now we have three fat, slow-paced, ineffective conglomerates who own most of the flights into garish, overcrowded airports like Atlanta (Delta’s version of Dante’s Inferno on earth), O-Hare, and DFW. Indeed, Delta owns over 80 percent of the air traffic that goes in and out of Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and if you’ve ever had the misfortune of having to travel through that place, you know what I mean. To put it mildly, it ain’t no fun.
To be sure, the experience is so deplorable aboard most of our domestic air carriers and in most of our airports that President-elect Donald Trump made infrastructure improvement a “yuge” part of his campaign, and others have noted that if you get the chance to travel outside the U.S., you really see first hand how much better the experience can be — either aboard an international airline or inside a foreign airport — than what we have to put up with here.
But I digress. The argument for busting up the airline monopoly will be left for another day. I have better stuff to throw my intellectual energy at right now. The point is, all of this makes me want to drive myself, within reason. During my active-duty career we moved so many times back and forth across the country that we got used to long, seemingly-unending drives. But all that driving did two things for me: It allowed me total control over my travel situation, and it opened the beauty and diversity of this great country in ways that can never be realized by flying over it at 500 miles per hour inside a small metal tube. I’ll take driving over flying every single time, not only for the reasons mentioned, but because of its collateral benefit of satisfying my wanderlust affliction. Without question, driving has been the chief culprit that has caused my wanderlust.
I have written before about this road-tripping wanderlust, about how and where I have crisscrossed this country, and all the things I have been privileged to experience, simply by driving instead of flying.
These road odysseys have taken me to and through 44 of the 48 continental United States. I’ve driven every mile of Interstate 10, from its eastern terminus in Jacksonville, Florida, to its western end in Los Angeles; I-40 from Barstow in the middle of California’s Mojave desert, all the way to its eastern terminus at Wilmington, North Carolina; Interstate 70 from its beginning in Utah to its termination in Baltimore. And, as I wrote in Ode to the Road, I’ve been up and across the northern part of our country, heading west out of the DC environs, through Pennsylvania and then along I-90 into Chicago, then through Madison, southern Minnesota, Sioux Falls and Rapid City, South Dakota, Wyoming, Billings, Montana, and finally down into Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks.
I have covered most of I-15 from San Diego, up through the deserts to Las Vegas and Salt Lake city, as far north as Idaho Falls and back; and most of Interstate 5 along the Pacific, from San Diego to Seattle, and it’s interstate parking-lot-alter-ego along the east coast, I-95, as far north as Boston and as far south as Port Canaveral, Florida. Indeed, only a small pocket of America in New England has escaped me to this point, in Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire, but to be certain, it’s on my list.
In summation, there are far fewer roads in our nation that I haven’t traveled than roads I have. But this familiarity creates an ironic situation where the roads and the places along them start to blur together in my memories. Where was that road stop, or Pilot Travel Center, or hotel or food establishment? I think there’s a Sonic or In-N-Out Burger (go armed with the Secret Menu) coming up to cure that guilty pleasure, or is that in another state? And yet, I can probably give you a 5-minute hip pocket brief on any route you are taking.
For example, if you are headed west to southern California from Houston on I-10, I would advise you to top off the tank at San Antonio, because once west of it you’ll be in another world of scarce towns and even scarcer gas stations. By the time you pull into El Paso, the only decision will be whether you stay the night there or continue to push another 50 miles up to Las Cruces, New Mexico (a better place to overnight in my humble opinion). Once west of Las Cruces, the shortage of necessities seen in west Texas is not near as bad, but you’ll still need to keep an eye on your gas tank.
The point is, whether you’re headed into San Diego on I-8 across the desolation of southwestern Arizona and through Yuma and over the stark, rocky Sawtooth mountain range in the southern California border region or up along I-10 through the equally bleak deserts of Arizona and California, you need to keep some things in mind that are not issues most other places: gas, water, engine temperatures, and a full ice chest are always good things to consider.
So you can see; I’m a walking Frommer’s Travel guide. Regarding some places anyway. It can be at times both a blessing and an affliction.
So today, when headed east to DC from my home, driving means essentially three options:
Route 1: Interstate 40 east to Interstate 81 north, to Interstate 66, a.k.a. “The southern route.” This well-worn route claims to be the fastest, but I’ve done it so many times the thought of it is unappealing. Take I-40 east through Little Rock, through rural Arkansas farm country, the delta, and over the Mississippi River into Memphis. Part of the inconvenience of this route concerns a landmark legal case, Citizens to Preserve Overton Park v. Volpe, which concerned a group of local Memphis citizens who did not want I-40 to pass through a mid-town park, as construction plans mandated. The group’s victory meant I-40 was pushed north and around the city, an out-of-the-way route that takes much longer than driving through any other city on an interstate. The concomitant result is that Memphis has been working on this piece of I-40 for decades and it is still not totally complete. Those who have felt the pain of driving around Washington D.C., which also lacks a main interstate thoroughfare through the city, will understand what I’m talking about with Memphis. And I-81 might be the most clogged and congested interstate road in the country outside I-95. At times, I-81 seems like the 18-wheel rig capital of the world, and strange things can happen around Roanoke, where about half the time you run right up on an alleged “accident” or “closure” that shuts down all lanes for an hour or two. These sudden stoppages are always in the same general area, like there’s a Dead Man’s Curve or some sinister force existing under the same spot in the road that causes people to wreck in the exact same place, over and over again. (Likelihood of taking this route: Low)
Route 2: Interstate 44 east to Interstate 64 east, to I-81, a.k.a. “The middle route.” This route is similar to the “southern route,” but it goes up through Missouri along I-44 east, through and over the Mississippi River at St. Louis (a much easier city to navigate through than Memphis), into southern Illinois on I-64, through Louisville, Kentucky, Huntington and Charleston, West Virginia, and then down into Virginia where you pick up I-81 north and follow the same route from that point as the southern route follows. The only strange issue arising on this route are the tolls you must pay on Interstate 64 in West Virginia. Over the years, I’ve grown to enjoy this route. Once east of St. Louis, the ground flattens out into an almost never-ending series of beautiful farmland that stretches out across the delta on that side of the mighty river. A quirk in state lines takes you across southern Illinois, southern Indiana, over the Ohio River at Louisville, and across the Blue Grass state. You pass through the Kentucky bourbon country and eventually hit West Virginia near Huntington. Through Charleston and the rugged and mountainous country and eventually across and into western Virginia near Lexington. Pick up 81 north and continue on to I-66 east until you reach the western environs of the capitol city. (Likelihood of taking this route: High)
Route 3: Interstate 44 east to Interstate 70 east, a.k.a. “The northern route.” This route takes the most time. Take the same route up through Missouri to St. Louis, but instead of taking I-64 east, you take instead I-70 east and pass through Illinois, Indianapolis, Columbus, and southwestern Pennsylvania, drop down to I-79 into West Virginia, around Morgantown, and onto one of my favorite roads in the country, I-68 (The National Freeway) a beautiful and still relatively-not-well-known stretch that travels through the Appalachian Mountains of northern West Virginia and Maryland and finally down back onto I-70/270 and into the DC area. For beautiful vistas, this is by far the best route of the three. (Likelihood of taking this route: High)
I’ve got a decision to make, but as usual, I can make it on the fly.
In the end, to the uninitiated, this probably sounds like insanity; why would you drive all that distance taking a day-and-a-half when you could fly and be there much sooner, even if your flights are delayed?
To me the answers are simple: Peace of mind. Control of my own destiny. Beautiful scenery. Quiet calm. No crowds. No lost baggage or having your carry-on taken away. No cancelled flights. No outdated, shoebox-sized air terminals. And pleasant memories, of spacious skies, amber waves of grain, and purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain. In one word, Freedom.
Yes, I think all of that beats flying any day of the year.
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