TravelVoice Journal - Planes, Trains, and Greyhound

by David King Heading from New York to Chicago, a traveler finds that an unexpected detour brings him Closer to Fine. I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains. I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain. There's more than one answer to these questions pointing me in a crooked line, and the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.

Planes, Trains, and Greyhound

Heading from New York to Chicago, a traveler finds that an unexpected detour brings him Closer to Fine.

by David King

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains.
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain.
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line,
and the less I seek my source for some definitive,
the closer I am to fine.

It all started with the Indigo Girls.

One day in mid-June, I came across in my apartment in Manhattan a calendar for Ravinia, the famous Chicago-area concert venue. Scanning the list of the summer’s performers, my eye stopped on June 20th: That evening, the folk-pop duo was scheduled to play.

I’m not a huge fan of theirs, but I really like their song "Closer to Fine," and quickly grew excited at the idea of hearing them sing it live. I had recently graduated from college and had some time on my hands. Since several of my relatives live in the Chicago suburbs (and that would be the real reason to take a trip out there, wouldn't it?), I decided the time was right to spend a few days in the area.

With the concert two days away, I searched the Web for a last-minute fare from New York to Chicago. After finding round-trip prices of upwards of $300, I came across Pro Air’s Web site. One way to Chicago's Midway airport, with a stop in Detroit: $69.

I had never before heard of Pro Air, and I didn’t really like the idea of making a stop. But $69…

The next evening, I had an electronic ticket.
On the way to LaGuardia Airport the morning of the 20th, I called Pro Air to confirm the flight. Everything was fine; the plane was set to depart from the TWA terminal at 9:15. I entered the terminal about 40 minutes before departure and grudgingly joined a long line to check in.

As I neared the front, a ticket agent stunned us with the news: the plane would terminate in Detroit.

What?

What was the reason the plane wasn’t continuing on to Chicago, I asked the woman calmly. She didn’t know; she worked for TWA and was only repeating what a Pro Air employee had told her.

That flight had been scheduled to arrive in Chicago at 11:55 a.m. My uncle was to meet me at the airport, and I’d have plenty of time before the Indigo Girls were to go on that evening. Now, the thought of missing the concert sunk in poignantly.

I had two options: go as far as Detroit or wait until the evening flight. I didn’t even ask what time the evening flight would get in; there was no question of waiting. And I didn’t have the resolve to argue for a seat on another airline. I was getting on this flight. "How you gonna’ get to Chicago?" the woman asked me in a slightly accusatory tone.

I didn’t know. Somehow-- bus, train, whatever.
All I could think of was getting to Ravinia in time to hear "Closer to Fine." The woman eyed me quizzically for a moment. Then, she turned to her computer and printed one luggage ticket for Detroit.

Founded only three years ago, Seattle-based Pro Air began service out of its Detroit hub to two cities. Today, it serves five, offering competitive fares between them via Detroit. Although its fleet consists entirely of Boeing 737s purchased within the past few years, there are so few planes that when one goes out of service, at least one other one sacrifices part of its own itinerary to fill in the gap.

I pieced this together after reading an article in Pro Air’s in- flight magazine by Kevin Stamper, the airline’s chairman and CEO, who wrote that that the airline would add a destination with every new plane it bought. So much that that helped me to get to Chicago.

Feeling frustrated and anxious, I stepped off the plane at Detroit’s City Airport, claimed my bag, and turned to the task at hand. Given the circumstances, I would have loved to travel to Chicago by train. Unfortunately, Amtrak’s schedules didn’t work out. Short of renting a car and driving to Illinois (which another passenger decided to do), I had one other option: Greyhound.

A taxi whisked me and a fellow passenger, heading by bus to Kalamazoo, MI, from the airport to the Greyhound station downtown. Arriving at the station around noon, I found I could take a bus at 3:40 directly to Chicago-- arriving there at 7:55. I had no interest in waiting around Detroit. So I opted for the next departing bus, at 12:30, which would get me to Chicago at 7:45, but require a transfer.

In Toledo

The hour-and-25-minute ride down to Toledo was surprisingly pleasant. The woman sitting next to me kept to herself, and I remarked across the aisle, of all things, a monk clothed in a pastel-colored robe. I tried to imagine why a monk would be on a greyhound bus from Detroit to Toledo. I’m still not sure.

After an hour-and-ten-minute layover in Toledo, it was off to Chicago. What would have been a 65-minute flight wound up being a five-hour-and-50-minute ride. But it passed smoothly enough-- Farmland to the left and right. Pangs of hunger. A rest stop to satisfy them. Some rain.

As we cruised along the long stretch of the Indiana Toll Road, two things cheered me out of my boredom. First, I’d be able to tell people that I traversed the entire width of Indiana in one ride. Second: I was, I thought giddily to myself, going to make it.

We arrived in downtown Chicago at 7:55 p.m. My uncle and aunt had gone to the theater for the evening, so I had no ride to the concert. The next commuter train to Ravinia (located in a suburb of the city) left at 8:35 and would get in at 9:15. I was sorry I’d miss the opening act at 8 p.m., a 14-year-old female singer and guitar player who my uncle had heard was very talented. And I regretted missing the beginning of the Indigo Girls’ performance, scheduled to start at 9.

But in the end it didn’t matter. I was going to hear "Closer to Fine."

I got in a taxi and asked the driver to take me to Northwestern Station. He grumbled that it was only a few blocks away, and indeed, by the end of the short hop to the station, I felt kind of silly.

The commuter train line that runs to Ravinia has averaged a 98.5 percent on-time rate this year. Naturally, my train pulled out ten minutes late. When I disembarked at 9:25, I could already hear the faint sound of electric instruments from beyond the gate. I quickly bought a ten-dollar lawn ticket. Only one obstacle then remained-- my wheeled suitcase. I could keep my backpack, heavy as it was, but my suitcase was a different story. I approached a woman at the information kiosk just beyond the gate and explained the situation. No, she said kindly; unfortunately, there was no place to check luggage. However-- she’d be willing to keep it behind the counter with her.
Yes!
I thanked her profusely. She smiled and told me warmheartedly to enjoy the concert.

As I crossed the lawn, I felt strangely comfortable. All around me lingered crowds my age. After more than six hours riding in cramped buses with mostly older adults, the mood inside the park felt like a breath of fresh air. I found a place for myself among a pack of onlookers behind the back railing of the pavilion. In the distance, flanked by large speakers and colored lights, the Indigo Girls stood at center stage, playing energetically with their band to the filled amphitheater. I felt kind of sheepish. I didn’t remember their names, and I didn’t know most of their songs. But knowing they wouldn’t sing what I had come for until towards the end, I was willing to wait for it a little longer.

Song after song passed. Finally, at about a quarter to eleven, the opening chords filled the air. Suddenly, I perked up. A surge of excitement shot through me. A cheer went through the crowd. And just as one of the women began to sing, nearly everyone in the pavilion-- in perfectly coordinated timing-- stood up. We could no longer see.

As "Closer to Fine" played out, I sang along voraciously at times, and listened silently at others. I jumped up to catch an occasional glimpse of the duo. Thoughts came to me of hearing the song at summer camp years ago, and singing it with fellow students a couple of months before, while just then, the men and women at the concert belted out the words into the night air.

The Indigo Girls lacked a passion in their singing that I had looked forward to; but I shrugged it off. How many of the people around me had traveled for twelve hours through five states, subsisting on fast food and Snackwell's, with a $22.10 Greyhound ticket stub and a postcard of Northern Indiana to show for it?

I had had an adventure. And now that I had made it, I felt a high of accomplishment-- and satisfaction. If I had it to do over again, though, I’d search earlier for a low airfare.

David King
November 2000

Oh Savannah

Trevor Sinclair
June 2003

By Trevor Sinclair

My oh so patient partner and I arrived in Savannah after an extremely tedious drive from Atlanta. Trucks, eighteen-wheelers, trucks, trucks and more trucks. If I’d known more I would have flown. With ticket prices under $50 it’s gotta be worth it. The drive along the Interstate is very lush green and somewhat pretty, but it’s not as though there’s anywhere to stop, apart from finding the most wonderful fresh fruit in the small town of Dudley…somewhere off the freeway past Macon.

Planes, Trains, and Greyhound

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