Let’s Roll (How a Discontinued Turquoise Suitcase Found Me on the Clearance Rack—and Became the Start of Something New)

 

The Right Bag for the Road Ahead

My luggage search has finally come to an end. And looking back, I think I knew it was over the moment I sat down in that quiet corner of the Travelpro factory outlet. Something in me—something older, maybe wiser—knew it was right to wait. Even though it is an entire TWO days away from my first flight that has been booked for weeks.

Because this isn’t just a piece of luggage. Not to me.

This isn’t just a tool to haul socks and chargers from airport to airport. It needed to be more. It needed to feel like a beginning.

A new beginning—not a break from the past, but a continuation, a next chapter. Something familiar yet fresh. I’m on the cusp of 50, straddling the line between where I’ve been and what’s still to come. And I want this part of the journey to feel intentional. To feel right.

And that’s when I found it: the Atlantic Ultra Lite 4 in turquoise. Smooth as can be, no ridges or dimples.. Discontinued. Heavily discounted. A color that pops just enough to say, “I’m ready for somewhere new.” 

I could find the bigger sizes online, sure—but the carry-on? Gone. Nowhere. Not even the travel resale black hole of the internet could turn one up.

So I made a phone call. One of those “just in case” long shots. And then—boom. The heavens opened. The sea parted. And a kind voice on the other end of the line said, “You’re not going to believe this… I have one. Just one. It’s been sitting on the clearance rack for a while now. Not even listed online, show up and I'll make you a heck of a deal.”

It was waiting. Not just for anyone. For someone just like me.

So I drove an hour and a half to get it. Took a required Teams call from the parking lot of an outlet mall like some kind of corporate road warrior. Then drove another hour and a half  home, grinning like a guy who just found something he didn’t know he needed this much. I got such a deal I bought the 24 inch version as well for all the theoretical pleasure trips I hope to take Jamie on with all my free airline miles, and hotel points.

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A set of luggage is more than stitched leather or molded polycarbonate.
It’s the promise of departure and the poetry of return.
Zippers whisper secrets of cities and small towns not yet seen;
wheels hum lullabies down terminal halls under fluorescent stars.

In a corner closet, it waits—quiet, loyal, dreaming—
like a loyal beast waiting for the scent of departure.
Then, with little warning, it’s called to light,
rolling out like a prophecy fulfilled.

To most, it’s just baggage. But to you, it’s a co-conspirator:
a canvas for stickers and stamps,
bearing bruises from conveyor belts and border crossings,
each scar a chapter in the story you’re still writing.

It is both armor and archive.
Within its shell nest worn T-shirts and unspoken hopes,
a dress shirt for something that might happen,
and shoes that remember cobblestones and dance floors.

It carries the rhythm of movement,
the choreography of escape,
and the intimacy of the return.
For every voyage it joins, it promises this:
You’re going somewhere. You’re becoming someone.

And when it’s finally zipped shut,
not just full—but ready—
you can almost hear it exhale,
as if to say,
"Let’s Roll."

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So yeah, maybe I spent more time researching luggage than any 48-year-old man in recorded history. But it was worth every obsessive click, every side-by-side spec comparison, and every mile on the odometer.

Because this wasn’t just about finding a suitcase.

This was about finding my suitcase—at the right time, in the right place, for the right reason.

And now, I’m packed with purpose.

Now the bag’s in the trunk, the road is wide open, and the next chapter’s just waiting to be stamped.
I took a Teams call in an outlet mall parking lot for this thing—and I’d do it again.
Because this isn’t just luggage.
It’s the next step of what’s next.