Having just recently survived a near brush with death on an Amtrak trip across this great nation - billed by hubs as a romantic getaway but I'm alive to attest that 52 hours in a snug 6'x4' roomette/sleeper on the California Zephyr is NOT the Orient Express. On our little sojourn we were struck (literally & metaphorically) by the explosion in the population of carry on wheelers being toted by our fellow passengers.
From the first leg of travel - a wee plane from lovely local Westchester White Plains airport to Chicago, it was clear that the new bullies of the skies are the lemming like owners of these chunky fashion failures. It's not like its a class issue either - they seem to appeal across the board from the bland business class battalion - all bleary eyes and practical black Tumi luggage, through to the cattle class, sneaker clad, velour track suited middle American dragging a brightly coloured Heys number that matches the bedazzling on their tote. Even the equally terror inducing tot schlepping Dora the Explorer bags have discovered wheelers. (It could be argued that the real terror of travel is possibly being sat next to one of those Lego lugging, ants in pants pesky beasts for any length of time...).
It's not just the 'ugly' factor that I take affront to, it's the school bully boy effect that seems to emanate from the owners - who hasn't been in an airline queue recently only to have your ankles whacked as the superior packing skilled wheeler owner sprints down the aisle to grab the precious overhead space. Or indeed who amongst us hasn't had a near head clout as owners ram their 22" or 24" lackluster luggage into a space you had your eye on for that small rain forest of magazines you picked up in the airport lounge.
Even in the confines of the California Zephyr the wheeler seemed to rein supreme. Our fellow travellers - and here by fellow travellers I should clarify 'octogenarians' - who else has 52 hours to spare in cramped conditions with 3rd world sanitation, constant motion and limited social skills? In fact "where y'all from, we're from Missouri" as an opening gambit still has hubs twitching and wildly scanning for exits or the emergency pull cord. But even this old batch of explorers had the de rigueur wheeler.
I can see the practicality of keeping your possessions close lest there be the need to trot out on a wing with your toes dipping in the Hudson, but really where is the sartorial elegance going - if not down the Hudson then certainly down the swanny.
But hold, with another trip planned - this time with a mate to a spa (clearly cheaper than the therapy I probably require from the Zephyr trauma but don't have the medical coverage to indulge) - I have been catching my eyes wandering spookily towards these blots on the baggage rack. Being a self confessed 'capsule wardrobe packing phobe' the mere thought of trying to figure out how to get away with 2 days of a zillion clothing changes rammed into a 2' box fills me with the need to grab a pen and paper and start writing endless soothing packing lists. What might go with what, which jeans, flats or heels and what about the inevitable last minute chunky knit that is sure to throw my annotations into a tail spin, not to mention my weight allowance.
Clearly my orange Prada over sized tote may have had its day - even the steward on the Zephyr gave it a wry look as he wedged it into our cell sized compartment, mind you they probably don't sell Prada in Missouri. However I still can't quite take the plunge to the lemming level of the carry on crowd... unless Lanvin come up with one before my next trip... so its back to the packing list for me - now what do I own that goes with orange..
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