All Aboard!

I love trains. I love the lonely sound of a whistle at night, the hum of the rails, the sense of not just going somewhere but going through somewhere. I also love train songs and train movies. Maybe it's my British genes, some tiny trainspotting cells inside me, some memories of cheery, adventurous children's stories with sweet, nostalgic illustrations of old steam engines and rows of brightly painted cars.

Maybe it's because I traveled on trains as a child, most memorably a two day journey from Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia (now Harare, Zimbabwe) to Cape Town, South Africa in the beginning of the most epic journey of my life that would take me back to England and ultimately to America.

So it was with great excitement that Glenn and I planned a train journey to San Francisco this past month. It began with a drive to Albuquerque, where we spent the night with friends, Toni and Gordon Getz, and sampled a most delicious salmon dinner. The next day we were driven to the Amtrak station, got on board and off we went,  on an overnight express, the Southwestern Chief, through New Mexico and Arizona, to Los Angeles.

Shortly after leaving Albuquerque we made our way to the club car. Drinks were limited but Kendall Jackson chardonnay was on the menu. Here's the determined traveler enjoying the view.

We didn't have a full sleeping cabin on the way out as they were sold out, so we got what was called a Roomette, only half a cabin wide, and interestingly tight at night. Glenn bravely took the top bunk. It wasn't as much fun as a party with Marilyn Monroe but about as cozy.

The dining car was pretty standard, although not quite up to these requirements of Hercule Poirot. We at least had white tablecloths, though.

At each meal we were placed randomly with other couples so that there were always four at a table. It was forced sociability but always interesting to hear other peoples' stories and where they were heading. No one took us aside and asked us to swap murders, thankfully.

We slept through the brown desert part and woke up in San Bernadino, California.

From there it was on to Union Station in Los Angeles and a transfer to the day train up the coast of California.

 We had booked business class seats for this part of the journey, upper level, bigger seats. When you're a senior citizen you can live large. At least we weren't like these poor beggars in stearage.

So off we went. And since the drought is over now in California, everything looked rich and radiant with colour and contrast. The sun, at times, coated everything in a golden haze.

It was a long trip, eleven hours, when it would have taken about six hours by car (except for leaving L.A.). At times the train seemed to crawl at 20 miles an hour. I felt I could pedal a bicycle faster. Why were we going so slow??

Rather than turn into Gene Wilder, Glenn actually Googled: "Why do Amtrak trains go so slow?" It turns out that was a popular question, with a very simple answer. In some areas, including California, Amtrak does not own its own tracks but uses public access tracks, therefore, freight trains always get the right of way. Our train had to literally slow down to let freight trains in ahead of us on the track. Next time I'm going hobo style.

I kind of miss the days when there was open air between each car. It made it more dramatic going to breakfast.

We did finally arrive in Oakland that night, where we were loaded on a bus and zipped over the brand new, refurbished Bay Bridge just in time to see San Francisco all lit up at night. What an entrance! But more on that place in my next blog.

(stock footage here as I was not camera ready)

And that's my first train ride in sixty years.

For your added pleasure see if you can name all the train movies I referenced.