By MARC WOLLIN
Turns out getting to the airport was the fastest part.
It was early in Charlotte, N.C., like 4:30 a.m. on a Saturday. When I woke up I first checked to see if there were any Ubers out and about. The app showed a few, and I figured there would be more an hour later when I was ready to move. I hopped in the shower, then started to gather up my stuff and finish packing. I checked the app again, and indeed, there were a bunch of itty-bitty cars moving around on my screen.
I put in my terminal info, confirmed the pickup location and hit go. The little fever bar started moving slowly as my request was put into the ether. A few minutes later, a match; 10 minutes until Mohammed would arrive. Moments later as I finished zipping up my suitcase my phone buzzed, he was pulling up in a minute. I raced to put all my stuff together, took a last look around the room to make sure I had it all, and headed downstairs.
We hit the carport at the same time and loaded up. At that hour of a weekend morning traffic was nonexistent, and we went from downtown to the terminal in 14 minutes flat. Lots of people were on the move, though, as the place was buzzing. Still, the security check went quickly, my bags were scanned in short order, leaving me way more time than I needed to get to the gate.
Or maybe not. As airports are being redesigned and updated to accommodate larger planes they need more space between gates, increasing the ground part of your journey. Currently the longest haul is at Dallas Fort Worth, where the jaunt from Terminal B to E is more than 2 miles. The good news is that our little regional White Plains airport has among the shortest traverses, as it’s just one dinky terminal with six gates: you can get from gate to curb in two minutes, three if you stop to use the restroom.
But that was at the end of my journey. Because it was early they did not have all the security checkpoints open, so I was shunted to the one closest to the A gates. And since I was flying into our small local airport, my plane was leaving from the E terminal. I’m sure there are airports with F’s and G’s, but you know it’s gonna be a hike when you are out of the ABC’s. And a look at the map showed my gate wasn’t just in the E terminal, it was at the end. The very end.
OK, no problem. I had a wheeled suitcase and was wearing my sneakers. I figured I could stop and grab coffee along the way, and there would be moving sidewalks as needed. Plenty of time with some to kill, and a little exercise before being wedged into a seat for a few hours. Piece of cake. So off I started.
As I walked past the food court, I glanced at my watch noting that it was indeed early. So early, in fact, that many of the places were yet to open. The number of coffee stops was cut even smaller as only those that served breakfast were working. The net result was that every open establishment had a line nearly as long as the boarding line would be. Oh well. I’m sure they will have coffee on the plane.
And then there were the moving sidewalks — there were none on my route. It’s not that they were out of action for mechanical reasons. Rather, it seems they were mostly being upgraded and reconfigured. Those devices are notoriously trouble-prone, with frequent breakdowns. But there is also a movement afoot in airports to make the spaces more akin to malls, with stores and shops catering to a truly captive clientele with hours to kill. And to do that you can’t put potential customers on a conveyor belt that carries them past your door. In that light many are being eliminated or redone to force travelers to window shop during connections.
So I just kept hiking, past the lines, past the construction, down the escalator, through the tunnel, past the weird sculptures that are endemic to these spaces. Perhaps because it was at the end of the earth there was a little café right near the gate with no one waiting, so I pulled in. The time stamp when Mohammed dropped me off? 5:43 a.m. The time stamp on the receipt for the cup of coffee? 6:28 a.m. Forty-five minutes of steady walking at a solid clip to get to my plane.
Other than an hour to kill it had all worked out, even if my feet were tired. And then a bonus: the airline pushed me to the front of the plane. Admittedly, on a little jet that early with few passengers, virtually everyone was either first class or had their own row, but it was still a nice gesture. As I settled into my seat one of those upgrade perks was presented, as the flight attendant offered drinks preflight. Coffee, I asked? Sorry, she said, out of order. Oh well. At least it’s a short walk once we land.
Marc Wollin of Bedford doesn’t mind flying too much. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.