Something I'm working on for my current writing class. I wrote the story several years ago (http://annvinciguerra.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-not-so-great-american-train-ride.html) but have changed its focus in this new version. My writing class will critique it on Monday. Your feedback is welcome
During graduate school, a growing sense
of wanderlust found me longing to embark on trans-American train
ride. I had taken an overnight train from Paris to Rome as an undergraduate,
and as fall semester wore on, the idea of crossing America from
sea-to-shining-sea grew. A passenger train still ran out of Laramie, where I
was attending University of Wyoming, so this trip could be embarked on from my
home.
I envisioned overnight train travel in America to be a delight, a chance to enjoy the scenery of our vast and diverse nation, build camaraderie with other travelers, and get a rare opportunity to do nothing more than sit back, relax, and watch life go by. I thought of an Italian phrase la dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing, and as I rolled those words around in my mind, the idea became more majestic, the train trip became a must.
 |
| Laramie from the bridge above the train tracks |
A plan was hatched to embark on my
much-anticipated train journey during the break between semesters. My travel
itinerary involved sharing a ride to the east coast to visit family for the
holidays and taking the train from New York City to Laramie for my return
journey. While I wasn't anticipating the car ride, I was stoked for the long
train trip. I had visions carefree days filled with rousing card games and a
whole posse of instant friends to engage in deep, mind-expanding conversation.
~
The car ride went as planned, the holidays were the holidays. My cousin Carolyn and I caught Phish's New Year's Eve show at Madison Square Garden, and two days later, I headed to New York City’s Grand Central Station to catch my train. The pinnacle of my winter break had arrived; the great American Train ride was upon me. I couldn’t wait for la dolce far niente to begin.
The Lake Shore Limited would
take me from New York City to Chicago and the Pioneer Route, which
ran from Chicago to Seattle, would drop me off in Laramie. Day one had the
train departing New York City in the evening. Day two had the
train arriving in Chicago late morning where I had
a three-hour layover. After transferring trains in Chicago that
afternoon, I was scheduled to arrive in Laramie late morning on day three.
The train departed New York City as scheduled, and I took my seat, an oversize denim blue arm chair that reclined to an almost flat position. It wasn’t overly comfy but appeared luxurious when I compared it to an airplane seat. There was something freeing about being on the train, not only the bigger seat but the ability to get up as I pleased, to walk around, to avoid the awkward elbow tango with my seatmate. By the time the train pulled out of the station I was certain train travel was the way to go.
The train departed New York City as scheduled, and I took my seat, an oversize denim blue arm chair that reclined to an almost flat position. It wasn’t overly comfy but appeared luxurious when I compared it to an airplane seat. There was something freeing about being on the train, not only the bigger seat but the ability to get up as I pleased, to walk around, to avoid the awkward elbow tango with my seatmate. By the time the train pulled out of the station I was certain train travel was the way to go.
Since it was early January, it was
dark when I boarded so item one on the list of reasons to ride a
long-distance train, enjoying the scenery, was not to be. I
would not get the chance to gaze upon bucolic upstate New York
as the train rolled by. Not that I cared much as I had passed through
the area many times and still had the second reason for riding a long-distance
train to look forward to, meeting people.
The dining car was the logical place to go. There, travelers were scattered throughout the car, some hunched over their books while others stared into their drink. Many of the travelers sat by themselves while others were sitting in silence with their travel companion.
The dining car was the logical place to go. There, travelers were scattered throughout the car, some hunched over their books while others stared into their drink. Many of the travelers sat by themselves while others were sitting in silence with their travel companion.
Seated at a table was a young woman in a
gauzy broomstick skirt, a colorful wool sweater, and the chunky socks-and-sandals
combo. Outwardly, she wore my uniform and could have been a kindred spirt;
someone who shared my love for jam-bands. Perhaps she was at the Phish show a
few nights prior. But her shrill voice boomed as she rambled on comparing major
religions while her tablemates remained silent. She spoke with the grating
authority of a know-it-all, so I avoided her table. After awkward conversation
with a guy in motorcycle gear and a gruff exchange with a woman who
feared flying, I lost my interest in the dining car and returned to my
seat.
My first attempt at chatting with other train riders had fizzled, but I could try again later. I still had reason number three to embark on a transcontinental journey to look forward to, taking time to relax. I settled in to read and soon grew droopy eyed. I reclined my seat back, relieved it wasn’t an airline seat, and was lulled to sleep by the click-clack of the train as it rolled along.
During the night, I woke up a few times and each time the train wasn't moving. Hmmm...I guess the stopping motion of the train must be waking me. Sleep came easily each time and I didn't think anything of it.
The night passed, and I awoke in Ohio where the wet-slate hue of dawn filled the mid-western horizon. As the train passed Lake Erie, the glass-sided Rock and Roll Hall of Fame building came into view. Its bulky form loomed above the lake, full of interesting angles and geometric formations. It was a captivating contrast to the Anywhere USA panorama of high schools and ball fields, sleepy suburbs and shopping malls, storage units and car dealerships we had just passed. Been there, seen that. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was the sort of inspiration I had come for.
During this time, the train was coming
alive with waking passengers. The museum had buoyed my enthusiasm, and I had
hope for great conversation as I revisited the dining car. There I joined the same
crew from the night before, but a crazy rumor was circulating. Once again,
the religious studies girl dominated but now it was more of a
conversation, as the other passengers were contributing to the exchange.
If I were to believe what I was hearing, the train had been delayed for hours in upstate New York. Apparently, some folks were playing a snowmobile game that involved dodging the oncoming train and the game did not go as planned. Yikes! Could it be true? We were behind schedule, no other rumors circulated, and no announcements had been made. What was I to believe? The religious studies girl had a mouthful to say about the karma of the train driver.
We were six hours late. I was going to miss my transfer by three hours. Laramie isn’t exactly on the beaten path so what would it take to get back to Wyoming? Fortunately, Amtrak had it all worked out. Before arriving at Chicago’s Union Station, an announcement instructed passengers with connections to head to the Amtrak customer service center where they would receive further information.
If I were to believe what I was hearing, the train had been delayed for hours in upstate New York. Apparently, some folks were playing a snowmobile game that involved dodging the oncoming train and the game did not go as planned. Yikes! Could it be true? We were behind schedule, no other rumors circulated, and no announcements had been made. What was I to believe? The religious studies girl had a mouthful to say about the karma of the train driver.
We were six hours late. I was going to miss my transfer by three hours. Laramie isn’t exactly on the beaten path so what would it take to get back to Wyoming? Fortunately, Amtrak had it all worked out. Before arriving at Chicago’s Union Station, an announcement instructed passengers with connections to head to the Amtrak customer service center where they would receive further information.
I arrived at the customer service center and introduced myself to the attendant. A small file was produced with my name on it and in it were instructions and tickets for my ongoing travel. Outlined were directions to a shuttle, an airline ticket to Nebraska, and directions to another shuttle that would take me to my train.
I had three hours to kill, but I didn’t
want to venture out in the biting Chicago afternoon. I wondered
Chicago’s Beaux-Arts style Union Station. It’s Great Hall, with
looming ceilings, long oak benches, arched limestone pillars, elegant
light fixtures and decorative chandeliers, was indeed great. At one end, two
statues stood tall representing day and night, a nod to train travelers passing
through at all hours of the day. Union Station had the grandeur of an elegant
train station you’d see in a movie, but I was starting to get antsy and wasn’t able
to revel in the moment.
24 hours after I left New York City, it
was time to catch my shuttle to the airport. There, I checked in with no
problem, but found it surreal to be boarding a flight in the middle of my
train adventure.
As I entered the small
puddle-jumper, I ducked my head to avoid hitting the overhead bin and
jammed my body into the narrow, barely-reclining seat. Sharing the flight with
me were a posse of Nebraska football fans decked out in blocky scarlet and
cream Cornhuskers sweatshirts. Before departing, the pilot announce he wanted
to welcome those passengers and congratulated them as Nebraska
had just won a big bowl game, an announcement he repeated after take-off
instructions and upon landing. The fans we ecstatic, beaming with pride,
woo-hoo-ing and fist pumping. And I sat there alone, feeling out-of-place, and
dejected. I couldn’t wait to get back on the train.
Once off the plane, I found shuttle van
number two where I rode solo as the driver took me to the train. As we drove,
the sense of being in the middle-of-nowhere became more palpable. If it
were daylight, I imagine I would have seen endless cornfields filling the countryside.
Without having to ask, the driver was
kind enough to wait with me at the platform where I was the lone passenger to
catch the train, the same one that I had missed half a day
earlier. Even though I had done nothing more wait and wonder all day, I
was exhausted. I found my seat, settled in, and crashed out for the
night. By morning, my enthusiasm for train travel was waning.
A young man on his first trip across the
country was riveted to the large picture window as the buttes,
bluffs and mesas of western Nebraska passed by. Soon the train dipped into the
eastern plains of Colorado before heading north to Wyoming. As we passed
through Colorado, mountains appeared in the distance, and he stared
wide-eyed at the snow-capped peaks, a soft gasp escaping from his lips.
“Are those the Rockies,” he asked.
I said yes although I didn’t think of
them as the Rockies, they were just the mountains, something I had come to love
and identify with during my time out west. That meant I would soon be home. I couldn’t wait
to be done with this journey.
Exactly as planned, I arrived in
Laramie late in the morning on day three of my voyage. Stepping
off the train was the most magical moment of the trip. On this crisp Wyoming
day, the ever-persistent Laramie wind was still, and a pristine cobalt
blue sky hung overhead. The train stopped downtown right near my favorite pubs
and restaurants and a handful of blocks from my apartment and campus. There, a
friend was waiting to pick me up after 1,800 miles, ten states, and 40+ hours
of travel.
I had journeyed from the Big Apple to
the Gem City of the Plains. Although it wasn't an enjoyable experience, it
was an adventure albeit not the one I had anticipated. I had survived
a (not-so) great American train ride and while I’m not alone
in that accomplishment, how many people can say their trans-American train trip
also included travel in two vans and on a plane?
~
Over 20 years later, I still smile when
I tell this story. It is joyful to recall the youthful optimism that exuded
from me at that point in life. I held tight to the idea that the world is an endlessly
exciting place, certain that adventure and opportunity would be mine if I were
willing to “put myself out there.”
The mishaps and the fleeting moments of
excitement made the train trip something worth doing despite the discomforts,
and I credited myself with the ability to handle it with aplomb. Today, I
remind myself not to forget about my youthful spirit, which becomes harder to
muster as I move through middle-age. I try to channel this energy and remain
open to new experiences, even when it’s easier to stick with what is known and
comfortable.
As for another great American train
ride, I’m not so sure if that’s in my future. With passenger train service
dwindling in the United States, chances to travel across the country
on a train are limited. I experienced an overnight train once in America. Maybe
that’s enough?
Of course, Amtrak's Empire Builder
route runs from Minneapolis to Seattle and makes a stop in Whitefish,
Montana, near Glacier National Park. The romantic in me thinks that sounds
quite idyllic. Perhaps I'll take the chance and board
another a long-distance train. Who knows what sort of adventure awaits?
~
Stories About Trains
The original story: http://annvinciguerra.blogspot.com/2015/12/the-not-so-great-american-train-ride.html
And a story of a train trip in Eastern Europe: http://annvinciguerra.blogspot.com/2013/08/riding-810-pm-night-train.html
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