"Thanks to the interstate highway system, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything." -- CBS commentator Charles Kuralt
It occurred to me that it was time to get out from behind my desk to check out the competition. After all, the competition has been killing us for several years, and I felt that I wanted to understand them better.
No one writes very much about our competition. They hide under the highway radar, just doing their thing and leaving travel-agent planning to those elitists who can afford a professional's services.
Now when I say "competition," I don't mean the agency down the street, the online giants, or even those agencies that are picking us off, one by one, firing social media bullets. No, I am talking about the real competition: the 79% of Americans who took their vacation by car last year.
With the price of gas still lower than anyplace except OPEC member states, the majority of Americans who vacation by car have no real need for a travel agent. It's all rather well laid out for them, and their GPS or smartphone can find the nearest hotel, pizza restaurant or all-night gas station without much effort.
They scoff at the yuppies off to Europe to sip their fine wines. They shake their heads in disbelief at the price of an airline ticket to Tahiti. They don't get invited to cocktail parties where friends name-drop vacations in the Maldives or describe the great video they got of their kids jumping in the air with Masai warriors.
They have no interest in carrying a valid U.S. passport, and I have discovered they take pride in supporting the economy of America's small towns and cities. Instead of a Mercedes transfer in Stockholm, they would rather gas up in Paducah before crossing the open border into Illinois.
Last month, I decided to drive from the tip of Florida northwest to Chicago, then back, in a couple of long loops that would take me off the interstates and deliver me into the bosom of the South. I allowed five days each way, thinking I might meet some interesting folks along the way. But I did have some sense of purpose.
Why, I wondered, are driving vacations as popular as they ever were? And why are they taking such a huge bite out of discretionary travel spending? What is it about driving vacations that makes them so much fun? And how real were the savings?
To give it my best shot, I started off on a Monday at 5 a.m. Top down in the darkness, Rodriguez in the CD player, I couldn't wait for this adventure to begin.
I reached Central Florida -- really, like much of the rural South but with none of its charm -- when I realized I needed breakfast. After more than an hour of searching, I admitted defeat and stopped at a McDonald's, where the young man at the counter had to ask the manager if they really had an "egg white sandwich." He smiled an apology explaining, "I've never had anyone order one of those."
OK, no big deal. I don't need a fancy breakfast to start my day. The breeze was blowing in my hair and I went back on the open road. I played some Willie Nelson, quickly reaching the conclusion that "Always on My Mind" might well be the greatest road song ever recorded, but wondering if perhaps I felt that way because I was already missing my wife.
That night, I made Dothan, Ala., a collection of shopping center strips and a nice representation of the better-known chain hotels.
I had, by intention, done no advance prep for this trip -- no reading, no studying maps, no perusing online reviews. I wanted to travel the way so many Americans travel for pleasure, pulling up to the front door of a place that looked like it would be clean and quiet after a day of driving.
I had no idea about costs, since I'm lots better at quoting Taj and Aman rates than a room at the well-known chain I selected. It was in the rear of a strip mall that had seen better days. But the property looked nice from the outside.
There was a delay at the front desk. The family of four ahead of me was asking for a discount. The harried clerk asked them if they were AAA members. When they said no, he told them they should be, then proceeded to give them the AAA discount anyway. They seemed satisfied and set off for their room, Dad in the lead because he was the only one wearing shoes.
I was asked if I had any discount coupons. When I said no, I was immediately told I would receive the AARP discount. A slap-in-the-face, yes, but one I quickly excused since it saved me 10 bucks. My room rate was $89. It was the first time I had checked in to any hotel anywhere for under $100 in about two decades. I couldn't wait to see the room.
I have no horror stories to share in that regard. It was fine. The grout in the shower was not as bad as I had expected. The TV worked. Not bad. Considering how much money I've been spending on room nights during my travels, I could handle five nights at $89.
I took a quick shower, started to make a mental note of the soap quality, then laughed at myself. I'm Brooklyn-born. I don't require that my soap has a Hermes wrapper. Nothing wrong with road travel so far. I was already starting to get it. I was about to end my first day of travel having spent about 10% of a typical day on Bora Bora.
Back downstairs, the front-desk clerk directed me to the "best barbecue around here," just up the highway. This is when things started to crumble. The place was huge, but there were only eight customers. The cole slaw tasted rancid. When I mentioned this, the waitress offered me some candied apple slices. I saw them opening the can.
OK, this indeed had been one of my fears. I do not enjoy being a food snob. It is an affliction, not a pleasure, because it sets me up to be mostly disappointed. I love authentic regional cuisine, but I just couldn't find any in Dothan -- or throughout my trip.
Perhaps drive vacations need to include New Orleans if they are to appeal to foodies. Too exhausted to fight with the food, I went on something I call "airborne food alert," tasting only those items that even a sweating, sloppy child-cook would have difficulty contaminating.
Afterward, I made my way back to my room, only to discover that the sheets had not been changed since the previous occupant had checked out. I won't tell you how I determined this to be the case, just trust me on that.
(Next week: My trek through the heartland continues.)
Contributing Editor Richard Bruce Turen owns Churchill & Turen Ltd., a luxury vacation firm based in Naples, Fla. He is also managing director of the Churchill Group, a sales training and marketing consultancy. Contact him at rturen@travelweekly.com.