The train to Washington and back

I went to Washington, D.C. last week, a trip I like to make at least twice a year to visit a friend. I take the train, of course, my preferred method of travel. The seven-hour trip goes by very quickly if I have a good book, a little time to sleep, a window seat, and no chatty seat mates. I get to see big cities like New York and Philadelphia, big waters like the top end of Chesapeake Bay, and interesting bridges, like the Hell Gate Bridge, which crosses over the treacherous waters where the East River and Long Island Sound meet up.

Hell Gate Bridge under construction, 1915.

The trip down was a gem, as 99% of my trips on Amtrak are. The trip back - not so much. In Union Station, our departing train was posted as on time, even though the message boards ominously noted that both north and south trains could be delayed due to extreme cold weather. Indeed, the screen listing train departures was littered with yellow DELAYED notations; our train, however, was happily noted as on time. A half hour before departure, we were herded into the boarding area, where we stood massed together, while all eyes shifted between the clock and the door through which the conductor would arrive to start the process of boarding. By two minutes before departure time, the door remained shut, no conductor was in sight, and in a twinkling of an eye, the yellow delayed sign appeared where we didn't want to see it. We waited. Twenty minutes later, not a bad wait, in fact, all signs changed; the conductor appeared, took our tickets, and we were on our way after a frighteningly but gratifyingly short boarding time. Northward we went, only half an hour late. It was a sold-out train, so I had a seat mate then, and again, and again, and again.

Passengers have developed bold techniques to maintain an empty place next to where they sit. The main trick is to deposit coats and suitcases on the empty seat. The more the better. And - put a bottle of water in the pouch in front of the empty seat.Sometimes the passenger sits on the aisle seat, lowers the tray, and piles it with a computer, coffee, sandwiches, and cords,  while piling personal belongings in the inside seat, thereby erecting a veritable fortress that prevents another heavily-laden passenger from asking: Is this seat taken? But, one by one, each defended seat eventually falls to a wandering passenger. When directly asked, the person claiming both seats always appears totally dumbfounded that there is an extra seat by them, clears the seat, and one more roaming passenger is seated. One middle-aged man, tired of wandering the aisles, finally asked the young person behind me: Is this seat occupied by your coat taken?

Of course, I always hope that the unseated will take one look and consider me an unsavory neighbor, pass by my pristinely empty seat, and pursue a better offering in another car. However, I was taught by nuns, and  they would have considered it rude, if not downright stingy, not to offer hospitality to the wayfarers, so it never fails, I am always among the first to have a seat mate, which will make it difficult to get up and out for whatever purpose - a stroll, some water, or a visit to the (on this train) unappealing restroom.

Preserving open space.on the train

My immediate neighborhood was serially taken up with a variety of talkers: Two young professionals earnestly consulting across the aisle - he the mentor, she the eager learner;  they got off in Philadelphia.Two young people striking up a fevered new relationship, talking breathlessly for miles, exchanging telephone numbers and vowing to be in touch. They got off in New York. A very talkative middle aged man aiming to impress a sweet young thing, expounding on matters such as the pleasures of the French language vs Italian, a beautiful Italian women he knew who died of liver cancer, and trichinosis. She got off in Stamford and he was last seen entering a restroom. Somewhere along the line I spilled a whole glass of diet soda down my pant legs, while my bulky neighbor in a puffy winter coat sat imperviously, with her hands on her purse, staring intently at the back of the seat ahead of her.

And my fourth seat mate, a young, slim woman, spent miles reading a tabloid article titled "I have the bigggest butt in the world."

I won't even go into the last leg of the journey: a hundred passengers were disgorged onto a freezing platform to wait for a connecting train, which usually is ready and waiting across the platform but wasn't there this particular night. Short version: it came, we boarded, we arrived at our destinations.


All told, it could have been much worse, and the restrooms did actually work.

Trains

Trains come in all sizes, from small,

to larger,

to a size fit for a dragon.

Large enough to ride,

and large enough to take several passengers.

Then there is my train, the largest yet, 

leaving at 2:00 this afternoon!

Amtrak hits a home run

I recently travelled to Washington DC and back on the train. It was a great trip on our national railroad and all went as expected; trains were on time, and as usual there was entertainment to be heard from neighboring fellow travelers. There was a guy going to the big city for a court date who was wondering what term he would be given; a woman who apparently worked the streets (oh - there was much more but this is a family oriented site!); sweet and happy kids; whiney whinging and obnoxious kids; first time anxious train riders; an assortment of dour and silent, huge in all directions, and companionable (also silent) seat mates; and a couple who bickered and snarled at each other across the aisle (they stalked forward as the guy was beginning to hit her and she was beginning to tell him he couldn't hit her).


In Union Station on the return trip, our train's station conductor let the business class, seniors and families into a separate waiting area about ten minutes ahead of boarding time and lined us up in our respective groups.


After a bit, he started walking down the line of business class travelers, inspecting each carefully. He stopped at one, and had a quiet conversation with him. I expected an immanent arrest. He pulled the sweet looking young man out of the line, and the young man said: "I'd be glad to do that." All eyes were riveted on the scene, as what else is there to do when waiting to be let through the chute to scramble for seats.The conductor took him over to an elderly woman leaning against the wall, waiting in a line of her own. The three murmured in a low voice. The young man took the woman's suitcase, held out his arm, which she took, and off they went together to the train in a companionable stroll and with beaming smiles. They were the first ones on, and the assembled others all but gave the slight, soft spoken conductor a round of applause. It was a sweet, sweet sight.

Trains from here to there

John Bull Locomotive, 1831

Smithsonian Museum of American History

Chapter 1:  We are delayed in leaving the station, the lights and air conditioning just went off, the babies are crying and fussing at top voice, and my lunch is hidden away in one of the pockets in my duffel bag stashed over my head.

The lights come back on after about ten minutes of everyone's breath and heat filling up every available space in our crowded coach car.

And now - We lurch forward! We are off. The babies screech on.

Chapter 2:  We are positively barreling along. Not only do we have a very sweet conductor who can't be more than a sophomore in high school, but also an AC fix-it-up chappy who might be just out of high school. He came along with a paper towel and wiped dripping water from the malfunctioning AC off the luggage racks, and he reseated a chattery couple who were upset by dripping water from the leaking air conditioner. Luckily, it is not leaking any more. I suspect we have an apprentice engineer - we jerk into stations and even do little forward and backward dances before coming to an abrupt halt.

The toddler howler is amazing. She just belts it out at a continuous pace - loud AAAAAHHHs followed by sobs, with repeats. Everyone smiles and we are all actually in very pleasant moods. Outside the car it is over 100 degrees, so we consider ourselves quite lucky. It is freezing in our car.

The lady a few seats behind me is on the phone for a long time describing a very recent breakup with someone she now says she hates. She has something to say about the Russians (her accent is not Russian), talks a bit about how she is a high powered analyst, and all the time makes out on the phone with whomever she is talking with, eager for August to come when she will see him again, and talking about a gift she left for him – pink, because he is a gentle man - and much more my straining ears couldn't make out even though she was talking with no holds barred.

This trip is a bit reminiscent of a previous trip to Minnesota, where somewhere around Wisconsin Dells some guy got down on his knees in the darkened aisle and proposed to my seatmate. She turned him down.

We have crossed the Big Water. Next stop is, I believe, Philly.

Chapter 3:  My new backseat mate is talking on the phone about assorted surgeries she has had and after enough time passed I learned that she is talking about joint replacement. She moves on to people she knows who died young. One died on the operating table on her thirties.  Now it appears a relative has just died - she is returning from the funeral and a lot of detail follows - yikes! She hangs up and trades death stories with her across-the-aisle mate amidst great hearty guffaws of laughter. Now one of them is getting off and the one of the joint surgery conversation is looking out onto the platform at the people meeting the train and asks– “Is that your husband? The old man in glasses?”

The howling toddler got off in Philly as did the nice young man beside me. I expect a new influx in NYC. When I walked up to the snack car I noticed many seats cleverly disguised to make it seem as if the occupants had a seatmate who just happened to have stepped out for a minute, but the coats, bags, knees and feet actually belong to the single occupants of the double seats, protecting them from having to double up. I marvel at their audacity; they try to look preoccupied and innocent. 

Chapter 4:   As we approach New York City most of the coach prepares to get off. They crane at the windows to see New York, exclaiming in many different languages. We swoop down under the Hudson, and arrive in New York a half hour late, but because of the built-in time allowance in the schedule, we leave on time. I am always happy when we leave Penn Station and emerge into daylight from the tunnels down among the sewers filled with swamp rats and giant alligators that have been flushed down NYC toilets as babies.* The New York skyline is lovely; the buildings appear windowless and shadowy, in flat grays, because of the poor air quality and haze. Not many people are travelling with us now, and the rest of the trip is non-eventful. Two young boys talk and play quietly a few seats back, adults play with their computers, read books, or snooze off, and we all arrive at our destinations with a cheerful conductor – we are on time and happy to be home.

*See, for example, The Great Escape, by Peter Lippman

Louisianna alligator; photo Deb Lohmeyer

Train Travel

My daughter and kids just spent their spring vacation with us. They took the train from Minnesota to Massachusetts, which was an adventure in itself - two trains each way, with a multi-hour layover in Chicago. Train is my preferred method to travel, as not only does the travel time provide an enforced retreat from demands requiring my immediate response or action, but it also serves up a a glimpse of the countryside - from gorgeous panoramas to trackside dumping grounds - that I can not get when drive.

Anyway, all trains the Minnesota crew took were on time, or close enough, as they say, for jazz. Here are two coming and going pictures: The Lakeshore limited as it pulled in to the Albany train station, to the immanent  departure from the Springfield station, small ones shepherded by their cousin.