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