I had a nice visit with Ryan, but it is time to start my journey home. The trip from NYC to Pittsburgh on the Pennsylvanian was uneventful, but a somewhat different experience than the longer run from Edmonds to Chicago. The shorter routes don’t have observation cars and oftentimes the luggage is stored above the seats, similar to an airplane. It feels more like a commute than an adventure. It did get me to Pittsburgh, though, and that’s where my adventure will begin. It’s night-time, so I opt for an Uber instead of public transport to get to my AirBnb. It is an 1840s era brick townhouse in the Mexican War Streets district. The area was subdivided into lots in 1847 and through a burst of patriotism or perhaps just marketing savvy, the streets were named after battles and generals of the Mexican-American war. I have a huge room on the second floor and am feeling fortunate. After a good night’s sleep, I’m ready to explore the area. Boy, did I score! This neighborhood is gorgeous, with beautiful Victorian era homes and row houses, many with brightly colored paint schemes.
None, however, are more brightly colored than Randyland! Walking towards the bright yellow building, I see a man carrying a pile of sticks, reminiscent of the Led Zeppelin album cover. I ask him if he is the owner. He says “Yes, I’m Randy. I’m autistic and this place is my therapy.” It seems to be therapy for lots of folks. Walking through the grounds I meet people from all over the country who have come to see it. There is even a young couple from France. Randy suggests that I visit The Mattress Factory, and if he thinks it’s cool, then that is where I’m going. As luck would have it, The Mattress Factory is only a four-minute walk. The name was borrowed from its former use as a warehouse for the Stearns and Foster mattress company. It is an avant-garde museum with mind-bending art installations. The best way I can describe it is that it’s like walking through a fever dream, but in a good way. It encompasses several buildings including some dilapidated townhouses. The level of dilapidation has been preserved as part of the art.
One other suggestion Randy had was to visit Bicycle Heaven. It will take me half an hour to walk there, but I’ve got plenty of time. It turns out to be an off-the wall bicycle repair shop and museum with vibes similar to the Factory. There are rows upon rows of vintage bikes, including many Stingray bikes with banana seats. If that doesn’t mean anything to you, you weren’t born in the 1950s. There is no entry fee, so I leave a generous amount in the donation box. I head home for one more night of sleep in my luxurious 1840s townhouse.
It’s my last day in Pittsburgh, but the train doesn’t leave until midnight. I have a full day of exploring ahead of me! Pittsburgh has two 1870s era inclines, which are basically short-distance trolleys set at a thirty-degree angle that go up and down the face of Mount Washington. I laugh as I type this, because this “Mountain” is no taller than Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill. Molehill Washington would be a more appropriate name. Enough with semantics. The Duquesne Incline station is a beautiful structure reminiscent of Seattle’s older fire stations. The ride up offers a nice glimpse of the city and the convergence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, which then become the Ohio River. Now that I’m on top I plan to take a twenty-minute walk to the Monongahela Incline, find a lunch spot and then head back down. The top of the “mountain” was developed around 100 years ago. I enjoy looking at the many nice homes on the bluff that overlook the city. I arrive at the Monongahela station and see that there is a nice pedestrian-friendly business district nearby with lots of great food options. I settle on Mexican, which I thoroughly enjoy, and then follow that with an ice cream cone at a local artisan ice-creamery.
After going down the incline, I pick up my luggage and head to Pittsburgh Union Station. Midnight is still eight hours away, so I find a place to store my luggage and walk into the Strip District, an aptly named strip of land between the base of the Hill District and the Monongahela River. I’ve heard that it is trendy and a good place to look for dinner. It’s still a bit early to eat. I see a sign for the Senator John Heinz History Center. Inside is a replica of the Wright Brother’s 1911 Vin Fiz Flyer, the first airplane to cross the United States. William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper baron, had offered a $50,000 prize to the first person to make the journey in less than 30 days. Calbraith Perry Rogers, who lived in Pittsburgh, attempted to win the prize in the Fiz but it took him 49 days. Actual flying time was only 84 hours, but he was delayed by 75 crash landings including one that put him in the hospital for 3 weeks with a brain concussion and twisted ribs.
Speaking of ribs, it’s time for dinner. Since this is my first time exploring Pittsburgh, I must get a Pittsburgh sandwich. It typically consists of two slices of Italian bread, a grilled meat patty or sliced meat of choice, melted provolone cheese, a vinegar-based coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, and, wait for it, French fries mushed on top. It was, well, better without the French fries. I still have four hours to kill before my train but decide to spend it at the station. I wish I had a comfortable chair to fall asleep in. The 40 Floridian train arrives on time, and I do get some restful sleep on my way to Chicago.
My trip to Chicago was amazing! The seat next to me was occupied, but I was still able to sleep for seven consecutive hours. Better sleep and much better price than my sleeper car experience. I arrive at 8:45am and will be departing on the westbound Empire Builder to Seattle at 3:00pm. It’s not a lot of time, but the Art Institute of Chicago is twenty minutes away by foot, so it is doable. I pay $30 for access to the luggage storage in Union Station’s Metropolitan Lounge. The lounge will also give me access to a hot shower before I board the train. It’s time for breakfast and there is an old-school diner just two blocks away. After a wonderful traditional breakfast, I walk to the Art Institute. Since I don’t have a lot of time, I focus on their extensive Impressionist art collection. I feel like I just took a trip to Paris! I do have a little extra time, and I discover a collection of miniature architectural masterpieces. They are “doll house” rooms behind glass portraying the different styles over the past several hundred years. The image below is a French bathroom and boudoir from the Revolutionary period 1793-1804.
I walk back to Chicago’s Union Station and grab a fresh set of underclothes from my luggage and head to the shower. Total bliss! If I could find a way to sleep on the train but still take showers, I could avoid the big expense of hotels. My train is leaving soon, so I head back to get my luggage. My luggage! Where is it? I’m sure it was right here! I frantically go to the attendant and ask about an old 1950s Samsonite suitcase of mine that is missing. “Oh, I remember that. I helped a really old man get it off the shelf. He just left a few minutes ago.” While talking with an Amtrak police officer, someone overhearing our conversation says “I remember that suitcase and that old man. He was a nasty piece of work. He just got on the Sunset Limited.” Apparently, my suitcase complete with laptop, brand new electric shaver and stovetop milk steamer is heading for Los Angeles. All I can do for now is race to the Empire Builder so that at least I can make it to Seattle. (My suitcase did make it all the way to the lost and found in Los Angeles and was returned to me two months later)
Pleased to be in my seat but bummed about my Samsonite, I settle in to the long-distance drone of train travel. I’ve never been there, but it feels like I’m heading to Mars on a spaceship. Not much to do but look out the window, read, write. Maybe cryogenics would help. In its own way, though, it is very pleasant and recuperative. Outside, I see old friends I made on the journey east; the dilapidated house with the crooked garage, the sun setting behind the White Witch landscape. I fall asleep.
Morning brings a feeling of excitement. One more night and I’ll be in Seattle. True to my original plan of only one night in a row sleeping in Coach, I get off the back of the train in Shelby MT, run to the front of the train, and hop on again as a sleeping car passenger. The privacy it provides is welcome. Losing the luggage took something out of me and I’m not in the mood for small talk. I wake up in Wenatchee, WA giddy with excitement. I’m almost home.
