My first solo train trip had its beginnings when I was a teenager. At the end of a family vacation in Europe, I had an opportunity to cross Canada from Montreal to Vancouver BC, solo, in my own private sleeping compartment. At the last minute due to home sickness and a case of the flu, I bailed and flew home instead. I’ve regretted it ever since. I am about to make amends, traveling Amtrak from Edmonds WA to New York City to see my son.
The Edmonds train station is small and unpretentious. Despite the building being fairly new, it feels old-fashioned. I board the train and store my luggage down below. It’s a 1950s era brown leatherette Samsonite I purchased on Craigslist for $20. There is a 1970s era Amtrak sticker on its face showing that it traveled from Charlotte, North Carolina to Seattle. Maybe I’ll take that route home. On the upper level, I settle into my seat. Comfy. Very comfy. More legroom than I have legs. The seat back reclines to a very low angle and there is a pull-down footrest reminiscent of the knee rests in a church. I feel truly blessed.
The train jerks once, twice, as the connections between the cars expand to their traveling distance. We are picking up speed. To my right, houses north of Edmonds are racing back towards town. To my left, the setting sun is reflecting off the waters of Puget Sound. We pull into Everett, pick up some passengers, and then head out. This is the last major stop before Spokane. The seat next to me is empty, and it looks like it might stay that way all night. The train is very full, so I feel lucky.
“Excuse me, would you mind if I sit here so that I can see the mountains?” A young woman with a pleading expression in her eyes is looking at me. “Yes, of course.” I say. In a much quieter voice, she says “I said that to find a graceful way to change seats. The man I was sitting next to is a smoker and the smell was getting to me.” We exchange names and talk about why we are traveling. She is going back to Spokane, where she grew up, for a surprise visit to attend one of her sibling’s graduation parties. We have a pleasant conversation, share little bits of our personal food stashes, and then settle in for the night. I’m glad to have her company. I’m also glad she is getting off in Spokane, freeing up that seat so I can lay down. Yes!
After a somewhat restful night sleeping in the fetal position, I wake up to a wintry wonderland sunrise. Several miles west of Whitefish, people are ice fishing in the middle of a small pond. As we approach the station at West Glacier, I head back to the observation car. I have heard that the views through Glacier National Park are stunning, and that the observation car is the place to see them. At first, I am underwhelmed by the car. It’s slightly dirty and a little bit tired, but as people trickle in and take their seats, the place comes to life. I start a conversation with the man next to me while his girlfriend sleeps with her head on his shoulder. By the time we are done talking, we have covered climate change, astrophysics, quantum mechanics and US history. She is still peacefully sound asleep. The views of Glacier do not entirely pass me by. During lulls in the conversation, I see beautiful snowy peaks in the distance. Ice-covered rocks on the river shore are almost within touching distance. My feelings about the observation car change. I spend a lot of time here.
My first night in a real bed is in Malta, Montana. I chose Malta because A) I don’t want to sleep in a coach seat two nights in a row, B) A hotel room could be had in Malta for only $60 a night, and C) Malta has a dinosaur museum! I walk through the snow from the station to the motel. The room is just what I want! Wood paneling that was spray-textured and painted years ago, acoustic tiles on the ceiling with garage-style fluorescent lights, and one miniscule window. Oh yes, there is a comfortable bed and a hot shower. I am happy.
I sleep well, take another hot shower, and get ready for my 9am appointment at the back door of the Great Plains Dinosaur Museum. I need an appointment because they are officially closed until May but are opening just for me! A lady greets me at the back door with a smile and invites me in. She gives me a personal tour and directs me to a timeline of life during the pre-Cambrian through Quaternary era. In a loud whisper she says “We don’t show this to everybody. Our governor is a Creationist.”
The next day I walk through the town in the frigid cold, killing time before my 2:45 pm departure. I notice a volunteer fire department with an antique engine out front. Town-folk are streaming in, so I decide to see what’s going on. It is a fundraiser bar-be-cue. While standing in line for food I strike up a conversation with an 80-year-old woman. She invites me to sit with her and her friends. We have a great conversation about murder mystery books. Then, she looks at me and says “Would you like a tour of the town? We can drive around in my car.” I gladly accept, and she powers through the ice and snow, showing me the new high school, the recently closed assisted care facility and some of the more prominent downtown buildings. We talk real estate and she asks me “Would you like to see my house?” She gives me the grand tour, from basement to attic. It is a very nice Craftsman era home, with lots of natural woodwork and unique brass hinges with a fleur-de-lis design on them. She takes me to the train station, and we say our goodbyes.
The station is very small and unmanned. The former ticket office has been converted to storage. It does have nice bathrooms, though, and is toasty warm. The train is on time, and I’m heading east through northern Montana, through a desolate but eerily beautiful landscape. It is easy to imagine the White Witch from C.S. Lewis’ “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” traveling across the snowy hills on her sleigh. I am fortunate to have an empty seat next to me, and I get a good night’s sleep. I wake to different scenery. The snow has lessened, and we are now traveling through a sparse forest. Was that a moose!? Yes, it was. I wish I’d had my camera phone ready.
I noticed during the night before that a gentleman my age (67) was sleeping in a cocoon-like garment, akin to a thin sleeping bag with a hoodie. He would stick his feet out the bottom so that he didn’t have to remove it when going to the bathroom. It looked stupid, but practical. In my book, practical wins over stupid, so I ask him about it. “It looks like you have some experience with train travel.” He says “Oh, yeah, I’m on my 5th consecutive rail pass. My goal is to ride on every piece of rail that Amtrak runs on”. (For my own journey I have one rail pass. It is more than enough to get me to Brooklyn and back home again.) He shows me a map of all the routes, with yellow lines highlighting everywhere he has been. Only a few small side spurs are remaining. He tells me he was in a serious car accident 6 months ago, breaking his back and most of his ribs. He nearly died. “After that happened, I decided to live life a little, but I’m on a budget.” I told him about my motel stay in Malta to avoid two nights in a coach seat and he said “My rule is to never spend more than 3 nights in a row sleeping in a Coach.” Imagine doing that, recovering from a broken back, in your mid 60s!
We are two hours outside of Chicago and the train is running an hour late. I am nervous about making my train connection to Pittsburgh. Twenty minutes outside of Chicago, an announcement comes over the PA system saying “We are sorry to inform you that all connecting routes in Chicago have been canceled due to a communications issue” My nervousness turns into disbelief. I ask my seasoned traveler friend if this is normal. It isn’t. “As long as they pay for my hotel until they fix this, I’ll be fine.” He’s right. For many people who with deadlines, this is a disaster. For us, we are out seeking adventure and this delivers!
OK, I confess. I am exhausted and my can-do attitude has left the station. I should feel at least a little bit better. I’m sitting in my hotel room in the Chicago suburbs. I will be here for 2 nights, compliments of Amtrak. I can’t completely relax, though, because I still need to figure out what to do about my Pittsburg stay which is being blown to Hell. Do I move it two days forward or cancel it altogether? I finally opt to cancel it so that I can still make it to my son Ryan’s apartment on time. That feels good. My trip back is not entirely cast in stone, so I can see Pittsburgh on the way back. That feels good too. After rebooking the rest of my trip to New York and booking my return trip to Seattle, I head downstairs for a late dinner.
I notice two women my age, laughing and joking with the waiter. I recognize them from earlier and know they are part of the Amtrak Fiasco. As they walk past my table on their way out, I say “Hi” and ask about their trip plans. They are starting a one-month rail trip that, in part, follows the Route 66 highway. They decided that this was the year to do it because they are both 66 years old. I notice that one of their T-shirts has a photo of the two of them taken many years ago. “It looks like you have known each other for a while” I say. “Oh yes, this was taken when we were in high school. We were at the tail end of the hippie generation and our dream was to hitchhike to California. We never went, so this trip is to make up for it.” I love it. Two more traveling souls making up for lost opportunities in the past.
I wake up the next morning feeling refreshed and ready to make lemonade out of lemons. I decide to go to the Field Museum. I treat myself to an Uber. My driver is a kick. She is maybe 25 years old, wearing a Muslim head scarf but totally American in mannerism. “My job before this was with a cutlery manufacturer. You know, knives? My boss was really good. At one of the meetings, he said to us “When you fall down, get back up.” Then he paused for a bit and said “When you fall down, get back up.” Then he paused again and said “When you fall down, get back up.” “ When she was finished with the story, she said “I learned more from that than I did during a full semester of college.” She then talked about her Muslim faith, and the importance of praying to God five times a day. “It helps keep me on track, thinking about what is important in life.”
The Field Museum is an amazing place! There is a dinosaur skeleton that is 122 feet long. The living beast weighed 70 tons! There is a really fun display of meteorites that struck houses, along with the damaged parts of the houses on display for full effect. There is also a lost, crying child. OK, she isn’t on display, but she catches my attention. She is no more than four years old. “Can I help you?” I ask. “I can’t find my mommy and daddy. The last time I saw them they were over there.” We walk over to the elevator where she is pointing. It opens up and a 10-year-old boy rushes up to her and says “We’ve been looking all over for you!” He can tell I’ve been there to help her and says to me “Thank you soooooo much! Can I give you a hug or something?” I say sure, we hug, and I’m on my way, feeling good.
I’m in no rush to get back to the hotel, so I opt for public transportation. The first leg of my journey is on the CTA, Chicago’s well-worn light rail. On the train I get to experience a lot of rap music and second-hand pot smoke. People are friendly. The next leg is a bus ride and I am sitting in the back with several men who are down on their luck and probably homeless. As they get off the bus, they say to the driver “Have a great rest of your evening.”
After another great night of sleep, I head to the lobby to check out of the hotel. While waiting in the lobby for transport back to Union Station, a disheveled man sits down next to me. He is not who you would typically find in a suburban Marriott hotel but today all of us are somewhat displaced. He is clean, but his clothes are rumpled, and his teeth look like they might hurt. Many of his teeth look broken, and there is no white enamel anywhere. He wants to talk. His cousin, who he calls his brother, got into the wrong crowd. Last October he got a life sentence in North Dakota for aiding and abetting a murder. “If that had happened in Minnesota, he’d be out in five years.” He says. I think he is probably right. I’ve been reading a detective series that takes place in Minneapolis. Even the most heinous criminal doesn’t get a sentence for more than thirty years. He picks up his phone and shows me the court documents showing the charges. He is really upset by it. I think he needed someone to talk to and I happened to be there. I’m glad I was. Compliments of Amtrak, a shuttle takes me to Union Station. There is a special room with food and drink for “misconnected passengers”. It isn’t much, but I appreciate the effort.
Over the PA system I hear “All Aboard for Capitol Limited 30 to Washington DC.” I grab my bags and head for track number 26 where the train is waiting. I’m about to be in a private sleeper car room, just like the one I gave up, back when I was a home-sick teenager. My sleeper car “Roomette” has a precariously narrow upper bunk, with lots of straps to keep passengers from falling off. Below are two seats, facing each other, that turn into a somewhat wider bed. I opt for the lower bunk and settle in for the night. I can’t sleep. Maybe it’s all the excitement. Maybe it’s the constant swaying back-and-forth and the engineer’s liberal use of the train horn. I don’t feel I need it, but I decide to take a shower. I don’t want to regret missing out on this train experience. It’s kind of fun! It’s like showering inside a porta-potty while delinquent kids are rocking it back and forth. Not something you would want to miss. With two hours left on my ride, I finally fall asleep. I wake at 4:30am for my 5:05 departure ready to greet the dawn, albeit a little bit dizzy. The dizziness continues while sitting in the Pittsburg station, organizing my thoughts. Then, it occurs to me what’s going on. I have rail legs! Just like the sailor who is wobbly for a while after reaching land, it will take time for my body to adjust to the lack of swaying.
According to my ticket, I need to take a six-hour ride in a Greyhound bus to Harrisburg, followed by a four-hour train ride to Manhattan. I didn’t realize this when I booked the ticket and am a bit dissapointed. The Greyhound bus depot is filled with people who are down on their luck and aren’t happy about it. It’s depressing. Since I have four hours until the bus leaves, I decide to wait it out in the Amtrak station. Since I’m here, I check on my phone to see if there are any other rail options available. What luck! There is a train leaving in two hours, heading straight to New York City! I walk up to the counter to see if I can make the change. After ten minutes of mutual head-scratching over how to change tickets on a Rail Pass they get the job done. I profusely thank the three attendants whose combined efforts made my day.
I’m riding on the 42 Pennsylvanian, heading towards New York City! The seat next to me is empty and I just woke up from a four-hour nap! It’s crazy that I have a nearly sleepless night in a private sleeping compartment but can saw logs in a coach seat. Speaking of sawing logs, the guy a couple of rows in front of me sounds like a very loud chainsaw. People are laughing. Nobody seems upset by it.
I’m at Moynihan Station in New York City, looking for the “C” line subway. Google-map’s directions are helpful to a point, but there is nothing quite like human guidance. A nice lady leads me in the right direction, showing me where the elevator is so that I don’t have to lug my bags up a flight of stairs. I ride the “C” train and then switch to the “R” train. My first rail journey has almost ended. I’m hooked! There will be plenty more in the future.
