There are good ways and bad ways to travel for the million or so snowbirds flocking south to the Florida sunshine. Unfortunately, most have to take the bad way.
If fate smiles upon you and you do survive I-95 into Florida, it’s a cause for celebration, to throw the top down and enjoy the ride. Mitch Traphagen photos.
Snowbirds come in all shapes and sizes. Some have short wings and orange and red breasts. Some have long wings. Most have not feathers but rather flesh and arrive via automobiles or even the air, using metal wings and jet engines. In Florida, many of the snowbirds really are birds — like the humans who take their name, here to escape the harsh winters up North. But many more are those among the retired or vacationing set, those who flock south once the overnight lows in the North fall to a certain unpleasant point or, perhaps, after spending holidays with family. The migration is long and crowded. There is even yet another designation, one of which I am currently included: snowflakes, described as those who regularly flitter and shiver back and forth between Florida and the North.
There are numerous studies about the sheer number of snowbirds, those who spend the northern cold-weather months in the Sunshine State, few of which agree, coming from institutions ranging from the U.S. Census Bureau to major Florida universities but in all the number is just a guess; as is the amount of money they spend in their winter home.
But on the latter, there is one thing virtually everyone agrees upon: Their spending is well into the billions of dollars.
If, as the rock band AC/DC once sang, there is something called the Highway to Hell, surely it must have, alongside that nightmarish roadway, the red-white-and-blue signs with the epitaph “I-95” emblazoned upon them.
The southbound migration of snowbirds is already underway on I-95, from end to end the nation’s busiest freeway. At any given time, approximately 60 percent of I-95 could be considered “heavily congested.”
A mass southbound migration has already begun, largely on that ribbon of concrete closely following the eastern seaboard; from end to end, the most heavily traveled highway in the United States. At any given time it is estimated that 60 percent of the more than 1,900 miles of I-95 are under “heavy congestion.” At various points during the late autumn and early winter months, it is likely closely followed by its sister freeway to the west, I-75. Somehow, even in an era of a highly mobile populace and relatively easy transit, the Mississippi River flows as a dividing line of sorts, separating those who winter in Florida from those who choose to winter in Texas or Arizona. It is likely those two freeways, both east of the Mighty Miss, are responsible for the ever-increasing number of license plates on South Hillsborough roads betraying the homes of the snowbirds: Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, even Ontario and Quebec.
I have made the trip from North to South in almost every conceivable manner. I’ve flown over it more times than I care to count; I’ve driven I-95, both in cars and on a motorcycle, more times than I care to think about; I’ve bailed on I-95 and have taken to the rails three times — twice planned and the third time unplanned with an old but new-to-me car that had developed problems shortly after the seller was comfortably far back in the rearview mirror.
I even once made the trip south at five-miles-per-hour in my sailboat. That took nearly two months. While it was an interesting trip, it’s not necessarily for everyone.
Of all the ways to head south for the winter, taking to the interstate is, by far, the worst. But for the majority of snowbirds it tends to be the most convenient, economical and, for those pulling trailers, either small or large, it is virtually the only way to go. It’s just you, probably your spouse and an apparent bazillion other people all crowding two or more 12-foot-wide concrete lanes in a desperate dash for the Promised Land that is Florida in the winter.
Of all the ways I’ve traveled south along I-95, whether in a car, on a boat, on motorcycle or in the air, my favorite way to go is with a private roomette aboard Amtrak’s AutoTrain.
And of the various means, flying is, of course, the best in that the journey is over in a relatively few, albeit occasionally dehumanizing, hours. Luggage, of course, tends to be a problem, and packing four to six months’ worth of what might be needed into a bag weighing less than 50 pounds would be a challenge.
For the sheer interest level, the best way to go is aboard Amtrak’s AutoTrain. But for the many snowbirds coming from north of Virginia, it still means a drive on I-95 to just south of Washington, D.C. — a blissfully short drive, all things considered, although rarely a pleasant one.
Unfortunately, Amtrak is no fool when it comes to pricing. Prices for your car, yourself and spouse, and a small stateroom are seasonally adjusted. Right now, southbound tickets are difficult to come by and are quite expensive — but the northbound tickets would tend to be a bargain.
And while you could manage the 17-hour nonstop journey from the AutoTrain terminal at Lorton, Va., to near Orlando in a less expensive, surprisingly large (think first-class airline size) coach seat (which includes power outlets), your comfort level would depend upon how much you enjoyed living in a dormitory in college, or if you’d choose to stay in a youth hostel in Austria. While quiet hours are well enforced by the friendly porters, there is only so much you can do about snoring and various other human habits. Coach offers no privacy and, upon arrival in Florida, it is easy to identify the sleeper car passengers from the coach passengers: the former have had the pleasure of a shower.
On that train, there is no substitute when it comes to having your own private space in the form of a roomette. And — having a sleeping car ticket also means an invitation to a complimentary wine and cheese party before the train departs Lorton, along with one of the best dinners you will ever have while traveling. And since passengers are far from behind the wheel, the wine can safely flow from the complimentary carafes at dinner, while the true beauty of the American Southeast may be enjoyed as it passes by outside of the window.
Traveling south via I-95 is best when someone else is doing the driving. From a dining car window on the AutoTrain, my wife Michelle enjoys the view of the American Southeast.
For those lucky enough to have booked early, the trip south is positively enchanting, all while their cars, overstuffed with everything needed for the winter in Florida, ride silently unseen in huge double-decker transports at the end of the train. But the train is capable of carrying only a small fraction of the seven figures of snowbirds in migration. So that leaves the highway.
I-95 through New Jersey can be terrifying or remarkably convenient, depending on your nerves, comfort level with the unknown, and experience. In the midst of it, when the towers of Manhattan are visible off to the west, it seems as if the entire state is pavement — freeways going every which way abound and I-95 isn’t a straightforward adventure — it splits into two parts. One part is for trucks but cars are welcome as well. The other part is for cars in which trucks are not welcome. Neither side is a guarantee of an easy passage.
But fortunately, it is generally easier than some points south, where snowbirds and everyone else get to freak out through Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Success on this leg is largely a function of timing. If you hit during rush hour you might as well break out your winter supplies because you’ll be sitting in some pretty scary traffic for a while.
And then, if necessity forces you to pass the AutoTrain terminal just off I-95 at Lorton, more adventures await.
I-95 passes through some of what must be the loneliest parts of South Carolina. For one of America’s first states, with known human settlement reaching back centuries, if not millennia, it often appears remarkably sparse and empty. The vista from the freeway can be beautiful. But sometimes it is possible to get too much of it. In the Middle-Of-Nowhere, South Carolina, traffic on I-95 will likely ground to a halt and brake lights will stretch for as far as the eye can see. What may have happened is anyone’s guess but 30, 45, even 60 minutes may pass with the only forward motion coming from cars settling in closer to each other, perhaps in the hopes that even the slightest momentum will somehow inspire the backed-up traffic to begin to flow again. Eventually, of course, it does. But rarely is the reason apparent. Sometimes you’ll see the telltale wreckage that caused the massive backup (or, perhaps, was just a casualty of it), but most times there will appear to be nothing at all.
From there, it’s all downhill, or so you’ll tell yourself. Georgia is only a short 109-mile blip (that only seems like forever) and eventually you’ll be warmly welcomed by the signs at the Florida state line, along with rest areas offering free WiFi so you can more easily notify friends and relatives that they can call off the missing-persons report they had filed possibly days after your supposed two-day journey had begun.
Almost immediately you hop off I-95 and make your way toward U.S. 301, an almost pastoral drive in comparison to the madness you’ve left behind. Of course, you still have to survive the trio of traffic-ticket-terrors known as Starke, Waldo and Lawtey. But, fortunately, times have changed and the latter two communities, after making national news for being named the two worst speed traps in America, have changed their ways as well. The former has always been pretty mellow, which may be due to the numerous traffic lights that don’t allow anyone to build up much speed. But that doesn’t mean you should ever exceed the speed limit anyway. And certainly not there.
And besides, if you’ve made it that far, it means you’ve survived I-95, a significant accomplishment to be certain. And thus you are in the clear, back home in paradise, a place where the only snow is that which is splayed over the evening news for each “snowpocalypse” that blasts through the northern states. You made it.
Until the springtime months, at least. And then you just have to repeat it all again. But that’s OK, just pop some AC/DC into your dashboard CD player and hit the highway, with yet another season ticket on a one-way ride. It will all be over with in a few days.
Or so.
