Some time back I got to whining about the difficulty of getting across Pennsylvania by air, of how connecting to one of America's major cities which sits within our state is hours and hours away, regardless of how you cross the miles. Pittsburgh is not a quick trip.You drive, roughly five hours plus change. That alone argues against driving. That doesn't factor in the monotony of I-80. So help me, there is no bigger fan of green space anywhere than right here behind these keys, but crossing Pennsylvania via I-80 means looking at the same tree for way too long.
By rail, are you kidding me? By rail is only possible via Harrisburg, and that makes for a seven hour trip.
So the easiest way is by air. Actually, although not easy, it is still the quickest trip at three to three and one half hours. However, as indicated earlier, you need to picky about what flights you use, or else turn the trip into an all day event.
So it was on a recent cloudy morning I parked in the new garage at The Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport, yanked the handle on my spinner, and walked into what is truly a beautiful new facility. No joke there. None. The place is impressive. I hadn't flown from Avoca since the new terminal opened. It is very impressive.
Impressive in an empty cathedral kind of way.
Walking up to the check-in I smiled and said, "Uhh, am I the only passenger in the building?"
Without missing a beat, the pleasant guy behind the counter said, "Right now, yeah, you're about it." Do you suppose he's heard that before?
Let me stop here and tell you that out and back, all airline personnel, both on the ground and in the air, were terrific. All NSA personnel were cordial, effective, and quick in the performance of their duties. And best yet, all flights were on time.
But something is wrong. What it is is pretty basic, and it applies to so much these days - it's just not fun anymore.
Leaving from Avoca meant allowing a leisurely hour to have drink or two in the lounge prior to boarding. A couple of belts always made flying easier for me, which is another reason I was partial to afternoon departures. That's not to say that a couple belts can't be had early in the day. Connecting in Philadelphia last week I noticed the bar nearest our gate was full. Saddled up on every stool was a flyer who finds the skies far more agreeable with an eyeopener or two. Looked like a nice variety on tap, too.
That big jet was, somewhat chronologically for me, a DC-9, a 727, next the MD-80, then finally a 737. Real airplanes for real people doing something special. Real airplanes of which there were many, and I assume there still are. What did they do with them all? Are they mothballed somewhere in the desert?
A couple seconds poking around and my own question is answered - yes - yes they are mothballed in a desert, the Mojave Desert. Above is a lonesome fleet of ex-USAir 727s sitting in the Mojave, never to see service again. I'd be willing to bet that at least one of those Boeings up there was in and out of Avoca daily for years. I'll bet I was on it.
The first big jet I ever boarded at Avoca(I don't care where it really is, I'm still calling it Avoca.)was just like the one above; an Allegheny DC-9. Back then, Allegheny had just become USAir and most of the fleet had yet to be repainted. There's a pile of DC-9s sitting in the Mojave, too.Boarding also meant smiling faces of flight attendants, of which there were at least two, sometimes three. Whether two or three, they'd get you settled and be around with the cart shortly after wheels up. Now, there is no cart. Now, there is but one flight attendant. Now, flying sucks.
Finding your assigned seat didn't mean playing Twister with a half dozen sweaty, nervous, and exasperated cabin-mates who'd about had it with flying before the push-back.
The center aisle was wide enough so that you weren't acutely aware that the pressure on your thigh was the backside of someone you really, really don't want to touch as they bent in half trying to insinuate him or herself headlong into a window seat designed for the frame of an athletic nine year old.
So, with that in mind, let's fly out, then fly back. One route there, a different one here.
Avoca to Philadelphia...Check-in took less than a minute. Security, took less than a minute. At the gate, a lovely woman behind a counter from whom to buy coffee and have a bit of a gab. Assembled for the flight, very few people. There was me, and there was...me. Within minutes another passenger arrived. Good. After a few more minutes passed, an announcement; the flight was delayed an hour. Oh, crap. I have a connection to make in order to make a 2:00 PM meeting in Pittsburgh. Another couple minutes go by and another announcement; the flight is back on schedule. Boarding begins. Nothing remarkable, except that it's a regional jet, about the biggest we get here nowadays. What puzzled me were the number of people who showed at the last minute to catch this flight. We're up, we're down. The regional jet is small, uncomfortable, crammed, cramped, and really plain old shoddy looking on the inside. Presumably, it's aeronautically fit and airworthy. Right? Roughly twenty minutes of air-time and I'm now getting coffee in Philadelphia along with my travel-mates, Bill and Lynn, with whom I didn't sit. They made it so much easier. Thank you. I owe you one or two.
Philadelphia to Pittsburgh...Rinse and repeat. Same deal, same flight experience, only a bit longer, maybe an hour in the air, maybe a little less. Oh, we got something to drink, orange juice, water, soda, etc. Yipeee.
Pittsburgh to Cleveland...Quick check-in. Crowded, jammed security, but fast. Shoes off and through in under five minutes. Why Pitt has a land-side terminal and an air-side terminal, I don't know. You hop a subway from one to the other, it takes maybe a minute. This is where the suck part begins. Commence the sucking. I walk to my gate. I look out. No plane. Shortly, there is a plane. It's not what I wanted to see, and sure as hell is not what I wanted to board and fly. To see what I don't want to see, I have to look down, way down. There it sits, a dinky, high-wing twin engine prop job. It's 2008. I'm about to board a plane that looks like something Allegheny Commuter used to fly out of Avoca in the early 70s. We have to walk down a flight of stairs, like we're going into a basement, then walk across the ramp, placing our carry-ons onto a cart ourselves. Now we walk up maybe three steps into a pathetically small aircraft within which the temperature had to have been a chewy 117 degrees. The only AC is the one you'll get once this plane makes altitude (hopefully) and begins to suck in the cooler air to be found at 21,000 feet. To say that everyone in that plane was soaked with sweat is the very definition of understatement. The FA apologizes dozens of times for the conditions. It's not her fault. She's as moist as the rest of us.
Cleveland to Avoca...Same exact experience, only a little longer. The flight is a bit beyond an hour. Once on the ground in Avoca, the pilot actually came out of the cockpit and he apologized for the miserably flawed conditions under which we just paid a lot of money to fly. He, of course, is and was right. Flying is not fun these days, it's barely acceptable. If you ask me, it's not acceptable. Lacking an alternative, we're stuck.
To wrap this up...
Our brand new airport was as empty upon return as when I left. What troubles me is that it's really not at all indicative of some of the great things that are happening here. If your first exposure to NE PA is our airport, you're off on the wrong foot, you've got the wrong idea about this place so many of us are proud to call home.
Demanding that we do something, anything, about the situation is pointless. By all accounts, fewer and fewer people are flying. Even fewer are anticipated to do so in the near future, which makes the future of air travel shaky.
The expense alone is shutting down the occasional pleasure flyer, the person who, perhaps on impulse, wants to wing up to Boston for a weekend, or out Chicago just to sightsee, or feels like the dry heat of New Mexico in the middle of February.
To be sure, air travel will always be there. Also to be sure, major American cities will always have choices and options. It's the little guys like us that worry me.
