Air Travel 2.0

By now, everyone knows I hate traveling on commercial airlines. I now also dislike any mode of commercial travel – air, train, or bus. Lillian and I just completed a two-week visit to Seattle to spend time with our grandsons (and possibly their parents).

The trip up from Southern California was via Amtrak’s Coast Starlight. Usually, I have nothing bad to say about taking the train. The thirty-two-hour ride is relaxing, comfortable, and, dare I say, civilized. The route starts along the beautiful California coast and then turns inland through wine country and up the Central Valley before traversing the beginnings of the Cascades Mountain Range. The scenery is as good as it gets in the lower forty-eight.

The problem I have with taking the train is not the time it takes or even the cost. Our trip from Southern California to Seattle was complete with two lunches, a dinner, and a breakfast in the fancy dining car. Our private room had plenty of seating and beds comfortable enough for the journey. The cost was not cheap, but I knew that from previous trips. For the most part, the Amtrak staff is friendly and helpful and seems to enjoy their job. If you want a mental break from the world, have the means, and aren’t constrained by time – by all means, take the train.

Being the summer travel season meant we were not traveling alone. After this trip, I’ve done a complete reassessment of going by rail. One of the most incredible features of the Coast Starlight is the observation car. Unfortunately, this car is not exclusively for those who paid for a private room. Apparently, coach customers and their ilk can flood the viewing car with their egg salad or tuna fish sandwiches and make a day of it. Or night. As there were hundreds more economy passengers than those of us who sprung for a private room, the rabble took up the fifty-five seats, commandeering the best views. I can’t imagine buying a coach or economy ticket for a thirty-plus-hour train trip. On our journey, plenty of people purchased a coach ticket. Unfortunately for me, they all seemed to prefer the observation car over their coach seat. There was always a bit of a queue of people waiting for someone to relinquish their observation throne.

Now, on a good day and post-COVID, I’m not a fan of mingling with the masses, and I certainly don’t want to be locked into an overcrowded train car with too many people and not enough seats. Venturing into the economy section was like that scene from the movie Titanic, where the ship was sinking, and Leonardo DiCaprio went back into steerage, only to be chased out by all the rats. You’d think that a long plane ride with an overcrowded cabin can get a bit spicy – picture yourself crammed into a stately pullman where families and tourists fill every seat, nobody has showered, and the only lavatory ran out of toilet paper yesterday. I’m wearing my COVID mask and dousing myself in hand sanitizer as I write this.

Did you know that trains employ the same type of toilets as airliners? I always thought that the vacuum action just shot your poop into space. Where does it go if you take the train? I’m not sure, but California grows an awful lot of vegetables.

For a timely return, we flew back from Seattle to Burbank. Our flight was completely full. All airline flights these days are full beyond capacity. Traveling at the beginning of the July 4th holiday meant that thousands of our closest friends would be joining us. Getting to the airport six hours before our flight was of little help in fending off the huddled masses that hang out at major airports throughout our land. The shuttle from the car rental garage to our terminal was our first indication that hundreds of COVID-19 launch vehicles would be traveling with us. The only thing that saves you from having someone sit in your lap for the ride is to stand up and hold on.

The rental car shuttle didn’t actually stop at our terminal either. The end of the bus ride was more like a rolling pass where the attendant threw your luggage out the door and to the curb, leaving you no choice but to jump out. Save the women and children – no way. Navigating a modern airport forces everyone in survival mode.

I began to write this paragraph with the words, “Once inside the terminal . . .” I was going to, but that would be inaccurate. Our experience instead was inside the terminal. Inside the terminal catered to the folks who arrived a day early and formally changed their residences to SEATAC (Seattle/Tacoma). The first of the six lines we would stand in, strip down, and wait impatiently in was what must’ve been like getting onto Noah’s Ark.

Finally, we got through the bag tag line, the get your boarding pass line, and the why’d you bring 4 oz of conditioner into the security line? Line. We’ve learned a lot since 9/11. Most importantly, now, every would-be terrorist has soft, manageable hair.

After four or five hours in various lines, we were finally at our gate. It’s a good thing we got there early, or so we thought. The people who’d arrived a day or two before were the only ones with a place to sit. With over two hundred people holding guaranteed seats, half as many were wait-listed again. “Every passenger who elects to move to a later flight gets a complimentary juice box,” came over the loudspeaker.

One of my few joys in air travel is watching the knuckleheads who were too cheap to pay the check bag fee and opted to bring their rolling steamer trunks onboard. Everyone knows there is no room in the overhead bins for your luggage anymore. The overhead storage is now reserved for children and small farm animals. Congratulations on bypassing the $30 per bag checked luggage fee. Out of spite, the airlines will now send your carry-on to Dubuque.

The real problem with commercial travel these days is not the conveyance, the semi-helpful attendants, or even the various lines as you migrate along your journey. It’s the number of people doing the same thing. Throngs of people scare me. I’m not a fan of crowds, even when it’s mostly nice people traveling to see their loved ones. Perhaps everyone should return to Zoom and leave me the 5 more inches of legroom.