Railroading 2

June 1, 2012

We trod 7 cars back to the dining car on the rear of the train, Maria doing this with a cane on surfaces bouncing like a waterbed under siege. The car holds 40 diners, and was controlled chaos, as the staff worked to accommodate a constant full house.

The salmon rubbed with spices was quite good. Everyone begins with a roll and salad, desert to follow. You can order drinks, and to my shock, I wound up with a half bottle of Kendall Jackson vintner’s reserve chardonnay, a decent wine for $15. Mr. Thomson, out server, was hysterical as he rushed about. If you asked for water, for example, he’d shout, “No!” and promptly bring it.

We sat with a woman in her 60s who is a medical technology specialist from Tufts heading for Akron, and a 30-year railroad man, formerly with Amtrak, who’s now a dispatcher for the commuter lines out of Boston, headed for Chicago.

As you walk through seven coach cars from first class to the dining car, you see America. There are babies and elderly; students and tourists; every color skin that you can imagine. Veteran travelers set up “nests” with pillows, blankets, digital equipment, and so on. The seats recline far more than airplane seats and are quite roomy. There are two restrooms in each car, and they’re very clean.

We walked off dinner by trekking back to our compartment. It is made up while we’re at dinner by the steward. I climb the ladder to the upper bunk, which has a drink holder, light, air conditioning, and other amenities. There’s even a place (unintended, I’m sure in a car built in 1996) for my iPad when I’m done reading.

I was able to sleep from 10 pm to 4 am soundly, another hour unsoundly, and then arose, only to nearly kill myself when the ladder shifted with the train’s latest belch. Maria and I hiked again to the dining car for breakfast where we were joined by two retired women who had never been to Chicago before. They were thrilled at our adventure when we said we were headed for LA. Mr. Thomson was equally frazzled this morning, and would not allow anything to be left off a meal, so if you didn’t want the potatoes you had to stare at them.

Our room was transformed by Bob back to living quarters from sleeping quarters during breakfast. We’re now 2.5 hours out of Chicago, about 15 minutes late on the 959-mile trip, which is not bad at all. Our next stop is Elkhart, then South Bend, then Chicago.

We’ve seen huge (from my perspective) farms in Ohio, large freight marshaling yards, and the backyards of modest homes through four states. The train is this inexorable force, moving through the night, the fog, the rain, on track laid to arrive at certain places, a Calvinistic sort of predestination-type of transportation. You know where you’re going, you can’t turn left or right, only the speed varies. You can manage your fate within the cocoon (eating, reading, walking, talking, writing), but you can’t change your destiny!

Thus, there is a resignation on board. Everyone is pleasant and amenable, there are no demands, people do their jobs well, and we all settle in until our own station.

Makes me happy I stepped outside for a cigar during the long stop in Albany.