Las Vegas Review-Journal (Sunday)
VEGAS OR BUST
Two reporters, two travel modes, one clock on LA-to-LV journey
It stands to reason that airplanes are faster than cars for road trips. But I had to see for myself just how much faster. I had just the trek to do it.
All the recent complaints about long security lines at airports across the country inspired a race to Vegas. The Las Vegas Review-Journal sent me and a colleague from Southern California to the valley.
During a holiday weekend.
When 315,000 visitors were expected to swarm Sin City.
Photographer Bridget Bennett flew. I, reporter Art Marroquin, drove. We traveled May 27 from Long Beach, California, shortly after noon, right around the time most people might try to leave early from work.
If time is money, the costly option of flying is clearly the best way to go, as we would soon see.
Bridget drove a car rented for a prior assignment to Los Angeles International Airport to fly coach on Virgin America to Las Vegas. She’d booked the flight May
25 and paid about $200 for the ticket. I rented a 2016 Hyundai Accent for the day from Alamo, paying about $58.
LAX didn’t have unusually long security lines for airline passengers taking the one-hour hop to Las Vegas. Bonus for Bridget. And, second bonus, she‘d get to see a celebrity along the way.
Meanwhile, I pulled into a service station and paid $30 for gasoline — a bargain for thrifty travelers. I started on a full tank.
We romanticize road trips, perhaps picturing ourselves speeding along the highway, zipping past obscure landmarks as the wind whips through our hair. (In my fantasy, I’m in a convertible, top down).
But, as I discovered, that reverie comes to a screeching halt when you’re stuck in traffic, with packs of other drivers, creeping through the searing desert.
12:22 P.M: THE JOURNEY BEGINS
The weather is a cool 73 degrees as Bridget and I drive north in our separate cars on the 710 freeway from Long Beach. At the 405 freeway, we part ways. She goes north toward LAX; I go south.
Bridget: I have no idea how long it will take as I go to the airport. I’m already nervous because I’m leaving a little later than I’d wanted for my 2:55 p.m. flight. To make matters worse, I got an email saying that I was placed on “standby,” meaning I wasn’t guaranteed a seat. Luckily, I get to the car rental office in 25 minutes. I turn in the car I’d rented for another assignment.
Art: The southbound 405 is already stop-and-go. Big rigs leaving the neighboring ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach contribute to the traffic jam and it takes me about 15 minutes before I finally leave Long Beach and turn north onto the 605 freeway.
1:11 P.M.: FAST LANE, SLOW LANE
Bridget: The car-rental shuttle drops me off in front of my terminal at LAX and I jump into the security line, expecting a 90-minute wait. I am pleasantly surprised to zip through the full-body scanner within 11 minutes. I walk to my airline gate and ask the Virgin America attendant if there’s room on an earlier flight. I’m in luck. She prints a ticket and I walk right on. Passing first class, I see rapper Wiz Khalifa. I immediately get on Facebook and brag to my friends that I’m sitting six rows behind a celebrity.
Art: I get a text from Bridget boasting, “I ended up getting on an earlier flight! Boarding right now!” A wave of jealousy briefly takes over as traffic on the 605 comes to a standstill. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, wondering when I’ll get out of Los Angeles County.
2:15 P.M.: WE NEED A DRINK
Bridget: My flight takes off, and my seat neighbors are clearly anxious about getting to Las Vegas. I settle into my seat and ask the flight attendant for a complimentary beer, which I don’t finish.
Art: I finally reach the eastbound 210 freeway and drive past the Miller beer factory in Irwindale. It’s not my favorite brand, but my mouth waters as I stare longingly at the giant brewing tanks that are painted to resemble towering cans of Miller Lite.
3:15 P.M.: DIVERGING DESTINATIONS
Bridget: My flight touches down at McCarran Airport. The ride made me nauseated and I feel as if I could be sick to my stomach at any moment. I hail a taxi, head home to rest and text Art to say, “Back in Vegas.”
Art: Nearly three hours into my road trip, and I reach the 15 North freeway. A little frustrated that Bridget is already home, I’m curious how much longer this drive will take.
4 P.M.: LONE TRAVELER
Art: Cars and big rigs slink sluggishly through the Cajon Pass on the way to Victorville. My car’s temperature gauge reads 98 degrees and I think about rolling up my windows and turning on the air conditioner. Then I pass a sign warning that the car might overheat if I try to cool myself off this way. Sweat drips from my forehead as I look at the driver next to me. He’s slapping himself to stay awake.
5:05 P.M.: BARSTOW BREAK
Art: I pull off the freeway at Lenwood Road, just past the Outlets at Barstow, to fuel up and grab a snack — peanut M&M’s and a Dr Pepper. Bridget texts me, asking “Are you back yet?” I reply, “No, in Barstow, getting gas.” (I dropped $20 on half a tank). She simply replies, “Oh no.” My sentiments exactly.
6:35 P.M.: NOT MUCH FARTHER
Art: The sun casts a golden glow as it starts to set behind the hills lining I-15. I peel off the exit to Baker and drive the main drag to snap some iPhone pictures of the giant thermometer, which reads 95 degrees. Yeah, I’m being a tourist. I also check on the town’s first traffic signal, which is still flashing a red light since it was installed just a week earlier.
7:28 P.M. BORDER CROSSING
Art: I finally reach Primm and cross Nevada’s state line. Cars were speeding along until now, but a crowd of drivers slams on the brakes to exit and blow hard-earned money. I push on. The Strip’s glittering skyline comes into view about 20 minutes later.
8:03 P.M.: FINAL STRETCH
Art: I head east on the 215 Beltway to the airport, arriving nearly five hours after Bridget. As I top off my gas tank with another $10 in fuel, I wonder why so many people opt to drive to Las Vegas, rather than fly.
Then I look back at the Strip’s twinkling lights and remember that every journey is personal, no matter how you choose to take it.