A reluctant traveler goes West
(Originally published April 2023)
I’m not an expert on the pioneers who made their way to the American West in the 19th century, but years ago I did watch my kids play Oregon Trail. So I can say with some authority that although modern cross-country travel has gotten faster, it hasn’t gotten much more fun.
Mark and I took our own journey west this past week, if only for a family visit to Oklahoma. Door to door, the trip took about 13 hours each way, including a layover in Chicago. While at no point did we risk getting swept away by raging waters during a river crossing, I felt a connection to the pioneers who went before us.
“And if the pioneers felt claustrophobic in their 4-by-10-foot covered wagons, they could always hop out and walk alongside, an option we didn’t have at 30,000 feet.”
Traveling by air is speedier than by covered wagon but, I think, no less grueling. Compared to what we went through, those pioneer families had it easy, if only because they were able to take a leisurely trip enjoying the scenery over a period of weeks, whereas we had to do it all in one day. And for a lot of that time, the only scenery we had to look at was the seatbacks 10 inches in front of our faces.
And if the pioneers felt claustrophobic in their 4-by-10-foot covered wagons, they could always hop out and walk alongside, an option we didn’t have at 30,000 feet.
Compared to today’s average airline passenger, look how much fun these folks were having.
Travel has advanced over time, and most people would say the ability to get halfway across the country in a matter of hours without worrying about getting dysentery is an improvement. Sure. But for the convenience of covering really long distances really fast, we put up with a lot of humiliation.
We pay a significant amount of money to get stuffed between strangers for hours and told not to move, and in return we get handed an insultingly tiny packet of miniature pretzels that we sneer at but nonetheless scarf like lions eating gladiators.
It’s not dignified.
I did discover one secret to better flying: I gave up trying to save money. In 2019, we learned that “Basic Economy,” akin to steerage class during the Titanic era, is where you pay $700 for a guaranteed ticket but, it turns out, not a guaranteed seat.
When your only view is a barf bag, are you really having a good time?
This time, older and wiser, I booked “Standard Economy,” a k a “one small step above the plebes in Basic.” For an extra $24 per flight per person (four flights for two of us, so almost $200), I chose the “preferred seating” option that not only guaranteed us seats but also allowed me to handpick them.
“Preferred seating” is, it seems, a hazy term; on two flights we didn’t end up getting our reserved seats. On one flight, we weren’t even in the same row. But at least we didn’t get bumped. (Not risking getting kicked off a flight is now technically an add-on.)
To avoid feeling resentful, I tried to focus on being present during the journey, something I assume the pioneers did too. For them, focusing on their surroundings was essential, given that one careless move, like stepping on a rattlesnake, could put a real damper on the trip.
I’d say I did pretty well at this until the end, when we landed in Burlington. While checking the local weather on my phone, I walked into the restroom and looked up to find six men staring at me from their positions at the urinal.
I get that the pioneers faced pitfalls like bad weather, injury, disease and having to travel with family for long periods. But they didn’t have to endure brusque treatment and a series of rapid and rule-laden transitions between cars and terminals and planes and so on, or take off their shoes in public, or pay $4—two days’ wages in the olden days—for a single granola bar.
When we got home late Monday night, I went to bed exhausted but determined to put the journey in perspective.
The pioneers didn’t have trip insurance to cover them in the event of a lame ox or broken axle.
They didn’t have long-range weather forecasts to help them plan their packing (two words: Donner Party).
Unlike them, I got to leave home assuming I’d survive my journey. That was a biggie right there. And so I drifted off feeling like maybe modern air travel isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.
Still, I think even the pioneers would have been offended by those measly pretzel packets.
