The United States is big. Very big. Not as big as Canada, of course -- a fact of which Canadians never cease to remind us. And not as big as Russia. A country should not be as big as Russia: at some point, it just gets gratuitous. But as countries go, the United States is pretty big.

I know this because I have traveled across it several times by car. And let me tell you: there is no better way to experience the immensity of a country than paying for the gas required to get yourself from one side of it to the other. I took these cross-country trips after much thought and arduous planning, and I made sure I had plenty of road maps, tapes, and CDs; a fine companion; a cooler full of cold beverages and snacks; and lots of enthusiasm and time.

The week of September 11, many of my friends shared with thousands of other people a common pursuit: getting home. They were stranded in cities and towns to which they had flown and from which they had expected to fly back. With the grounding of air travel, that was no longer an option, so they embarked on an American rite of passage: a land-based cross-country excursion. If they were lucky enough to score a rental car, a seat on a train, or a spot on a bus, they were in for that seminal experience that some believe is the only way to experience the nation fully. But without the maps, CDs, cold beverages, time, and enthusiasm, it didn't quite work out that way.

For most, it was simply a glum march home. Or a "speed flee," as one friend of mine put it. Suzanne was in Dallas. Andrea in Atlanta. Jessica in Oregon. Anne Marie in Chicago. Al in Minnesota. Chip in Denver. None of them wanted to see this great land. They just wanted to get home, and fast. Some had lost friends in the terrorist attacks, and felt an overwhelming need for hearth, home, and a big hug from someone to whom they were related by blood, marriage, or friendship. But there was a huge country standing in the way, and only a few methods to cross it. Lack of planes -- and therefore, lack of speed -- rearranged everyone's time clock. "It felt like we had stepped back to the 1940s," Jessica says of her journey. "There were no other options."

Even when you are eager to drive cross-country, there are parts of the trip that aren't fun. In fact, parts of the United States are positively, insanely, interminably boring. It's hard to believe when you're in one of the many metropolises that make up the East Coast (and you don't get a sense of it from an altitude of 35,000 feet), but most of the United States is relatively empty. Our population has clamored for a water view since the Pilgrims landed. Consequently, the interior of this country looks very much like the scenery in a Road Runner cartoon: a whole lot of nothing. And stuck in the middle of all of this nothing were thousands of people just trying to get home. When you're out there for the fun of it, you notice the surreal beauty stretched out before you -- something unseen anywhere else in the world. But during that week, the surreal beauty of the vast American nothingness was just something to survive.

The thrill of stopping in little towns to explore shops and sample the local ice cream, talk to a local cop, or pull out at a scenic overlook became a high-speed beeline across as many states as possible between pee stops. Talk-radio stations blared out the nation's nascent rage. Sleep deprivation replaced enthusiasm as one's constant cross-country companion.

Jessica and two business acquaintances managed a 46-hour drive from Oregon to Massachusetts. There wasn't much talking during the ride. Instead, they listened to the news. "Judging by the radio, most of the people in the middle of America just want to bomb the crap out of Afghanistan," Jessica observed. "It really showed me why we had that little election problem last November."

Andrea was on an Amtrak train from Atlanta to Boston, a 20-hour trip. She tried to sleep, but couldn't stop thinking about a lifelong friend and two co-workers who had been on one of the doomed flights. The train left Atlanta late, and the conductor was trying to make up time by going faster than normal. The train car, unused to the speed, shook so violently during the night that a piece of its interior trim came crashing down near Andrea's head. Andrea can't say she enjoyed what she saw of this country of ours. She mostly remembers the trim.

Chip drove a rental car from Denver to Boston with two co-workers. All three had pregnant wives at home; Chip's wife went into labor -- and then gave birth -- while he was in a motel in Des Moines. The country had never before felt so wide to him.

All of my traveling friends took solace in the fact that they, and their immediate families, had survived what could have been the worst week of their lives. But this is no way to the see the United States. I hope that one day, everyone who had to do that cross-country trip the hard way, everyone for whom America felt, for a few interminable days, like a giant speed bump, gets a chance to do it again -- but this time with friends, time, and a cooler full of cold beverages. Because it really is the most beautiful country on earth.

Kris Frieswick can be reached at krisf1@gte.net.

Issue Date: October 12 - 18, 2001