How to Stop a Human Avalanche
And other important airline travel tips
The past three months have been the most intense travel period of my life, all of which have been firearms-related. I’ve been stranded in Oklahoma City, frozen over the Atlantic Ocean and coughed up large chunks of trachea somewhere above Illinois, all in the name of pursuing firearms journalism. It’s been an adventure, to say the least.
Thus, since the natural travel companion of a gun writer is — of course — firearms, I’ll offer a few hard-earned suggestions to make flying with your guns a less “interesting” experience.
However, in my unique “100% Fact-Free” style, I won’t bore you with things like “arrive early” and “drink plenty of water.” If you haven’t figured this out already, you’re still a lightweight and not yet ready for the rigors of trying to fit a 60” rifle case into the back seat of a rental car. One which turned out to be a sub-compact instead of the promised full-size SUV. With three other XXL writers. In a blizzard. And you’re two hours late already. And you really, really, really have to go to the bathroom. And your credit card just got rejected — just another day in the glamorous world of Firearms Journalism!
Bringing a Gun
When flying around the interior of our country with a gun, you’ll usually face major indifference with an occasional side order of peevishness. This is good because the novice firearms traveler often worries about facing resistance from anti-gun ticket agents. I’ve run across a few but most of the time, if they don’t like guns, they’ve kept the opinion to themselves.
However, things change if you’re near a Port of Entry on our national borders. If you packed a handgun in your luggage — after declaring it to the ticket agent, of course — you get a level of scrutiny that makes brain surgery look slapdash by comparison. They’ll check your nail clippers for explosive residue, go through your dirty underwear with a fine-tooth comb and ultimately, you’ll end up with all your worldly possessions laid out on a countertop. In some cases, it’s in a small room off the lobby but in other cases your junk will lie naked and quivering for all the world to see.
This is the case in Phoenix, an airport I visit several times a year. Here, passing travelers can watch as you stand outside the inspection area while they paw through your belongings. I’ve always felt mildly embarrassed standing there, as if I’ve done something wrong. I find myself talking loudly to assure passersby it’s a routine procedure and I’m not a card-carrying member of the Taliban. “Yep, can’t wait to get to my home in Indianapolis, in the good old Midwestern U.S. of A.,” I’ll say to no one in particular, “Once I get there, the first thing I’ll do is make sure my flag is still proudly flying outside my house. Yessir, I’m sure proud to be an American.”
Meanwhile, the TSA inspectors and other travelers are thinking “What a bozo.”
Some of those travelers amuse themselves by scrutinizing my stuff lying on the stainless steel table. I once heard someone remark, “Gosh, look at those stains! Is that Hormel chili?!” It was embarrassing.
Lock It Up
One insidious problem is failing to “properly” lock your gun case. Once I was taking a pistol home in San Antonio when the inspector informed me the padlock on the gun case didn’t meet FAA requirements. As I had already passed through security on my in-bound flight, I was surprised. To prove his point, he forced the case open enough to create a ¼” gap to demonstrate someone could theoretically reach inside and remove the firearm.
I argued — nicely — several points. First of all, only a toddler with super-human strength could force the case open enough to slip their hand through the small gap. Secondly, I had already passed through several airports and none of them had pointed out a problem with the set-up. And most notably, if someone wanted my gun, they could either simply take the case out of my luggage or take the entire suitcase to open at their leisure. The inspector wasn’t moved.
I asked for options. Abandoning the pistol wasn’t in the cards and I had no idea about the nearest FFL to ship it home, which would also cause me to miss my flight. However, the inspector had a solution: I could go to the nearest airport gift shop which — amazingly — sold a selection of padlocks at wholly ridiculous prices. I purchased two new locks for slightly less than what I paid for my first home, locked the case and made my way to the flight. Those padlocks are now displayed in a shadow box in my entry foyer because I like to keep expensive artifacts I’ve gathered during my travels where visitors can see them.
Beware the (Moving) Stair
My final tip involves escalators and luggage. You know how there is always signage telling you not to bring suitcases and rolling bags onto the escalator, and we all ignore it? Well, don’t.
My most recent trip involved my large, wheeled suitcase along with a rolling case for shooting and video supplies, plus my overstuffed briefcase as a carry-on. The satchel rode nicely on the top of the suitcase but the rolling case was the proverbial third wheel, creating all sorts of problems for a lone traveler.
I arrived at the airport at 4 a.m., happy and full of life, to catch my flight. The first major obstacle of the day was getting this spectacle up the long escalator to the ticket counters. I’ve faced this same challenge when transporting a rifle case so I eased up and synchronized feet and wheels to moving staircase, then stepped aboard.
Things were fine for about the first ten feet.
Suddenly, my suitcase shifted and came off the step above. This threw me off balance, which wasn’t unexpected. What I didn’t know is my rolling case was directly behind me instead of off to one side as intended. When I stepped back, I landed on the rolling case which — who’d have guessed — rolled. Now, the fun started.
I went down on top of the rolling case and the slick hard plastic did a nice impression of a bobsled on the metal stairs. My suitcase, not wanting to miss the fun, tried to ride me as we all began sliding downward with increasing momentum on the Bobsled From Hell.
Shortly thereafter, this churning mass hit a couple standing several steps below and knocked the wife down. During the next several seconds, I was variously on top of her, she was on top of me, our suitcases were on top of both of us and from there things got weird.
I vaguely remember people screaming and alarms going off yet the escalator kept climbing. I belatedly discovered you can’t push off on the walls to stand because they are constantly moving.
Somewhere along the line, I managed to come up on one knee. The man was helping the women up and I thought the crisis had passed until a sudden thought interrupted — would the top of the escalator do a reasonable impression of a delicatessen meat slicer when we arrived? I’ve heard stories of people being shredded and this mental image added a whole new level of panic.
As we approached the top, with strength borne of gut-wrenching fear, I began flinging objects off the end of the escalator — suitcases, backpacks, the woman, her husband plus an uninvolved traveler and her gerbil-sized “service” dog. Everyone lay on the terrazzo in a tangled heap of legs, animals and travel pillows.
Fortunately, everyone survived with only minor bruises and even better, the couple just laughed about the incident. Had we been in Las Vegas, several Personal Injury lawyers would have been standing there to help us up and file the couple’s multimillion-dollar lawsuit against me. I quickly slunk off, feeling like “that guy” everyone would be talking about for the next 42 years.
In the end, it was just another day of firearms airline travel but your mileage may vary. In fact, I hope it does.
