I’m a backpack guy. Don’t even ask me about rolly bags—they’re like dragging a ball and chain; slow, loud and useless in gravel and snow. They don't fit under your seat. Half the time you end up having to check them anyway. I hope that when I die at the ripe old age of 107, they find me carrying a great carry-on backpack filled with tightly rolled socks and underwear. A great, comfortable backpack allows you to zip through the world, free as a bird. You are on and off planes effortles...
