by Justine Smith
From first hand experience, I knew all the reasons NOT to travel cross-country by train. Maybe the discomforts of my previous cross-country trip had receded in memory after the passing of a few years, as my husband and I embarked on a cross-country train trip from Detroit to California and back.
We had taken many trips by Amtrak between Minneapolis and Detroit in recent Years, and we remembered waiting in the Amtrak station drinking very bad vending-machine coffee waiting for the four-hour late train. Then there was the memory of running down the tracks, luggage in hand along the dark, smelly Chicago station tracks trying to make our connection to Detroit.
Since I hadn't taken an overnight train in a long time, I had forgotten the discomfort of tossing and turning in a reclining seat, that leads to dreams of being fully stretched out in a bed the way someone in a desert can "taste" water on their lips.
We decided against the pricier sleeper car since we liked the more communal feeling of the coach. We were somewhat mollified when a fellow passenger told us how uncomfortable the narrow beds were in the sleepers and that next time he would just save his money and travel coach.
Besides the lengthy time and Amtrak's known unreliability, it really was only slightly cheaper than flying. We bought a two-week pass that allowed only three stops. Any change or addition to our itinerary would require a substantial additional fee. We would be giving up the spontaneity of a road trip--no camping in the Flaming Gorge Park in Utah, no stops at a unique diner in Iowa. I lacked the flying phobia of many of my fellow passengers and knew that flying was efficient and quick.
Since this was to be a budget vacation, the dining car food was out. The food in the snack bar, mostly of the microwavable gas station quality, hamburgers and Danish were overpriced as well. We opted to bring our own non-perishable snacks and just buy beverages along the way.
So why did we take the train? It was a little cheaper than flying and we wouldn't have the hassles of driving. Instead of searching wearily for campsites or motels after a full day behind the wheel, we would arrive at our destination feeling refreshed. We knew we would still see the country from the ground, through all the nooks and crannies not visible from the highway and certainly not from above the clouds on an airplane. We also knew we would meet and talk to people from all over the country and the world on the train.
Our departure was from Detroit, Michigan. The city's old train station, once grand and cavernous, is now a sagging ruin with gaping broken windows, visited only by homeless people and "urban explorers," We boarded the train at one of the new stations, a small glass box the size of a fast food restaurant, in Dearborn, Michigan.
Waiting on the tracks, hearing the whistle of the approaching train, we found all our misgivings slipping away in anticipation of our adventure. We had only been on the train a few minutes when the world outside our window became a blur of dense green forest. How unlike travelling on the freeway, where the landscape is dotted with fast food joints and factories. As we made our way to Chicago we wound our way along rivers and streams that we would have missed altogether on a road trip.
We changed trains in Chicago, the main hub of passenger rail going in all directions across the country. Once on the Empire Builder to Seattle, we settled in our seats, knowing that this would be our home away from home for the next two days and nights. We planned to spend a few days in Seattle, then take the Coast Starlight to Los Angeles for a few days, then going to San Diego before returning through New Mexico to Chicago and finally Detroit.
The Empire Builder left Chicago in the evening, rumbling slowly through worn city neighborhoods of wood-frame three-flats. From the window, we could see children playing outside before being called to dinner, then commercial strips of unkempt gas stations and stores with bars on the windows, which merged into streets of tidy brick bungalows and small neat lawns. We knew we had reached suburban sprawl when we sailed past eight lane roads of bumper to bumper rush hour traffic spread out like a giant parking lot in all directions.
The coach car becomes a communal experience, one that depends heavily on the civility and hygiene of the group to function pleasantly. Picking up one's trash and crumbs, eating non-smelly foods, using of deodorant, and keeping quiet after lights out are all traits greatly appreciated by fellow passengers. Racial differences, profession, religious beliefs, work habits, and political opinions all recede to the background in importance. People in neighboring seats become one's roommates in a travelling dorm room. During the evening, the children were running back and forth throughout the cars, intensely absorbed in a game, the rules of which were unknown to the adults. They had claimed the aisles as their own and used them to stage their play until the conductor curtailed them.
In the morning, we sat in the snack bar, holding steaming cups of coffee, talking to fellow passengers, and looking out at the landscape through the picture windows. The snack bar is one of the best areas to socialize with other passengers. The art of unhurried conversation was practiced on the train trip since all we had was time.
We met a blue eyed octogenarian from Iowa on her way to a family reunion in Montana. Most of her children had left Iowa for "more exciting places," she told us with a sniff. But some had come back. "Most people think there's nothing but corn in Iowa, but there's so much more," she said. She told us how during World War II a farmer had dug up mastodon bones in his yard. He kept digging and unearthed so many he sent them to museums. Finally, when the museums said "Enough!" he made a fence from the bones all around his property.
She told us how Roosevelt had trees planted throughout the state to keep the dust from blowing, but now the farmers cut them down. She wanted the trees back but wasn't sure she wanted the government involved this time.
We also met a man and his grown son travelling to Los Angeles from Virginia. They were going to rent a truck and move the father's belongings from California to his son's house in Norfolk. The son told us how he had bought a house for only a few thousand dollars in the inner city and was fixing it up bit by bit as he had the money. He was creatively working around zoning laws to redo his home from the inside out. We talked a lot about the differences of living in California and the East Coast.
As we left Minnesota, we traveled through Montana's back areas past small weathered shacks and rusted out cars. If Montana has been invaded by yuppies; it certainly wasn't apparent along this route. The landscape changed quickly the next morning. The alpine green of Glacier National Park greeted us with the bright morning sun as we awoke in our seats. During the day we passed the foothills of Montana, slept through most of Washington State, and awakened to lush green hills and waterfalls as we neared the Emerald City. As we approached Seattle, designer homes hugged the hills of the exurbs. We pulled into the station at 10 a.m. and met our friend there.
After three days in Seattle, we just barely made it to the station after being stuck in horrendous rush hour traffic to board the Coast Starlight. The Starlight is a pleasure train known for its majestic views of the California Coast. Even non-train riders take this train for the experience of the breathtaking scenery. The train followed an inland route the first day. The pleasant mood of anticipation was palpable among the passengers as we talked of the oceans and cliffs we were about to see.
Even though the silver train winding its way through the green mountains remained unchanged, we knew we were in a different world when we entered the state of California. Like a theatre company changing the stage set with a new scene, the crew cleared the lower level smoking room of ashtrays and refitted it with colorful beanbag chairs and toys. Since smoking is banned in public places in this state, the smoker's lounge became a children's playroom.
To have called this space a smoking "lounge" was a gross exaggeration. It had all the appeal of an unrenovated bus station or a hospital waiting room. Smokers were not allowed the luxury of bringing food or drink to this claustrophobic room of hard fiberglass chairs lined along the wall. They sat holding small metal ashtrays, looking more like addicts having a quick dose of methadone than guests enjoying a smoke.
Even this Spartan concession to the habit was removed once we crossed the state line. The conductor sternly announced that from this moment forward, anyone caught smoking would immediately become a "pedestrian". The word was said disdainfully, indicated the low status of anyone who must rely on his or her own two feet for transportation. A rumor spread that someone who was caught smoking had been discharged from the train. A padlock was visibly placed on the outside of the offending washroom where the deed had taken place, serving as a reminder to anyone else contemplating such errant behavior.
A play leader, dressed in a clown's costume, traversed the train like the pied piper gathering children to take them to the new play room. Meanwhile the smokers stood outside the train quickly puffing at the short, infrequent stops along the way.
That night, we again slept on the train. The seats were not the easiest to sleep on. They recline slightly and the leg rests can be extended. I found myself tossing and turning and often woke with my face or arm pressed against some hard metal surface of a window frame or armrest. There were periods of unconsciousness that passed as sleep. It was interesting to see how other passengers made themselves comfortable in the seats. Some dangled their legs and feet out into the aisles. Couples slept intertwined, almost on top of each other. Some gave up on the seats altogether and camped out on the floor under the seats.
That morning we awoke, grateful to be through with another night of "sleep." Today was to be the highlight of this trip, our reason for suffering through uncomfortable nights on the seats. Our reward would be the breathtaking vistas of ocean, cliff, and mountains.
Shortly after breakfast the conductor announced that the coastal train ride we were looking forward to was not to be, at least not for us. A sinkhole had collapsed the track near Santa Barbara and would take at least five days to repair. We were told we would still be taken to our destination by motorcoach and a plan would be announced.
The train crew rallied like officers planning battle strategy. Within thirty minutes they announced their plan. We were to deboard just outside San Francisco where we would find our motor coaches waiting. We were assigned a coach based on our destination.
When we arrived at the train station, we were met by a well-organized group of Amtrak employees who plied us with sweet rolls, coffee, and juice and directed us to our buses.
Everyone seemed subdued but accepting. In my experience, train passengers are a civil bunch and it would be surprising to see the rage that is now commonplace on the highway and in airports. Even after we boarded the coach, everyone was uncomplaining, although many wore looks of disappointment as reality set in. We were going by bus along an inland highway. We would see a few hills and many cows but no coastal vistas.
Once we on board the bus, Amtrak employees brought boxes of cold pop and sweet rolls. People became chatty again as spirits lifted and acceptance reigned.
We stopped along the way at a ranch for wonderful buffet lunch courtesy of Amtrak. After leaving the ranch, one of the buses had a break down of its air-conditioning system in the 105-degree desert heat. Most of the passengers elected to transfer buses while a few hardy souls stayed on with the driver.
We arrived on time in Los Angeles and alighted to one of the most beautifully designed buildings I have seen. The Los Angeles train station is a Spanish style building with a relaxing outdoor courtyard.
After a few days in Los Angeles we boarded Amtrak again for the short run to San Diego. This was the first train we were on with a business class section. Some of the cars had little tables set up in front of the seats that served as mini desks for people pecking away at their lap top computers. Many were in business suits, making deals on their cell phones. Others were planning their weekend escape to sunny San Diego.
After visiting with friends in San Diego, we returned on Amtrak through a slightly different route. We took the Southwest Chief through New Mexico and Kansas to Chicago and then on to Detroit.
Since then we have taken several overnight trips from Detroit to the East Coast, a relatively easy journey of just one overnight. We have talked to many interesting people on all our journeys and seen parts of the country not accessible by car. As congress debates Amtrak's fate, I can't imagine a country without passenger rail service.