Always Take The Train

Getting Back from Phoenix

Tuesday night, October the 16th. I have just helped a friend drive all of his earthly possessions down Route 66 from Illinois, and what appears to be the best mode of return is the Amtrak Chief. They have just this week suspended service from Phoenix, and so the only connecting link is a Greyhound bus, and it leaves from the south side of Phoenix at 10:00 P.M. to catch the Chief in Flagstaff at 5:00 A.M. We arrived at the station with 15 minutes to spare, and found ourselves in a typical bus station. People with garbage bags for luggage. Tattooed wonders wandering toothlessly and worthlessly. Women in wild prints with half-naked kids that really needed a bath (both). Almost nobody that spoke my mother tongue and the smell of diesel fuel. My friend waited with me until I was in the right line for the right bus, got the willies, wished me well, and left.

As soon as I boarded the bus a couple of young people completely covered with tattoos and wires sticking out of their faces that were behind me, got into a muffled argument about giving up their weapons to the driver ahead of time, or taking the chance of getting caught with their knives and being kicked off. Finally, the girl won him over, and they came forward with their switchblades, and gave them up to the driver before we started out. Similar people sat to the left, the right, and directly in front of me. I kept my bags close with the handles wrapped around my foot. The bus was an old greyhound, but apparently made for the mountain route we were about to take. Big horsepower. The truck I had driven from Illinois to AZ had been powerful enough on the flats, but in the mountain climbs it sometimes slowed to 20-mph at full throttle. This baby went up the mountain at an easy 75-mph fully loaded. At Glendale we all had to get off of the bus while they fueled. A 60ish black woman spoke to me while standing, and asks if I was going on Amtrak. When I spoke, she lit up, and said: Someone who speaks English! She was obviously as out of place in this environment as I was, and asked if I knew that the bus station in Flagstaff was 3 miles from the Train station, and that she had just been told the cabs may not run at night. I knew that the train left at 5 A.M. and thought about this the rest of the way. Once there, the bus station was nearly identical to the one in Phoenix, and I went up to the ticket station to call Amtrak. They said since we had booked our tickets through them that they would send over a courtesy car, and we were saved. The black woman, Ida, sat down next to me and thanked me for getting us out of the scrape. I imagine she would have found out the same thing, but she was glad to have someone to talk to, and we sat together for the next three hours and got to know one another.

She had moved to Phoenix in ‘97 with her husband to retire. She was originally from Cincinnati, and was going there to attend the wedding of a close friend, and had taken the train as a lark. She said she just wanted to do something different. Neither of us had been on a bus since the 1970’s, and made all of the appropriate comments on the changes that had taken place. She showed me pictures of her husband and grandbabies, and I showed her pictures of my family. We talked like soldiers in a foxhole, and got to know one another. I told her about my children, and she told me about hers. She was very bright, articulate, and I found a kindred spirit in her.

The train finally came, and two travelers boarded for the east. We tried to nap before the sun came up, but the trauma of the bus trip had wired us both up tight. So we talked, and listened, until the sun rose up on some of God’s most spectacular works. New Mexico on the Southern route is a sight every person should see several times in his or her life. I had seen it on the drive out, but not having to pay attention to a 60 foot rig with a car tied on the back, and sitting in a luxury seat up high with no worries are two different points of view. The buttes and the mesas glow in the dawn’s first light, and become absolutely spectacular as the light brightens up the day. There are antelope in herds, coyote, and prairie dogs sticking their heads up out of their holes, cattle, and the most beautiful scenery it has ever been my pleasure to witness. I was suddenly overpaid for my discomfort on the bus ride. Well worth the price, with change to spare. Neither of us had slept that night, but we were as excited about the trip as children, and talked for hours. It turned out that she was diabetic, and so we found ourselves eating every couple of hours. Not an altogether bad thing. The food was good, although expensive. One time I paid eight dollars and fifty cents for a hamburger, not realizing that the cheese and tomatoes were a dollar and a half extra. Coffee or tea was a dollar and a half, and an egg muffin for breakfast was over five dollars. I was glad I had brought more cash than I thought I needed. By the time I got to Illinois I was down to five dollars cash.

The train has always fascinated me, and this trip was all of the things about the concept that interested me. It seems that people who know they are going to be together for a while will develop a little community, and water certainly seeks and finds its own level. They break into groups, and clicks, and regard the people who are only on for a half a day as passerby people. The smoking car is where people of like minds find solace in each other. They ask about each other, and tell about themselves. I met at least 15 people on the trip that I would be glad to ask to my house. Actually, when I got off in Fort Madison IA. a group of about ten people got up to the window and waved me a happy life. I sat with Ida most of the time, and we had the time to discuss politics, work, family, friends, music, places to live, and places it would be nice to live. She was rare find in this circumstance, and would be in any. The dining car was china on linen, with real monogrammed silver and perfect waiters. Meals with scenery and a friend are a true treasure to remember.

The train was called the Chief, I suppose because we went through such a big part of the Navajo Nation. It is what we used to call a double-decker. The seating is on the top level, and the restrooms, handicapped seating, and luggage are on the lower level. The train had a cafe that was on the lower level of one car, and I suppose the lower level of the dining car is where the food is prepared. We were in coach, but I know the train had at least 6 Pullman cars for the first class traveler. I had inquired about this, but the fare was $350. more than coach, and I opted to join the proletariat. I had picked up a little book that explained the benefits of first class, and showed pictures of the comfy beds and private rooms. I will have to say that I wished I had taken that option several times over the days to come while trying to find a comfortable way to sleep in the coach section. I never did get more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time, but somehow the excitement of the adventure took me all of the way to my destination. I will admit I slept fourteen hours in a row in my water bed the night I returned, and after about four hours awake, took another three-hour nap.

We stopped for fuel and a window washing in Albuquerque New Mexico. Apparently, an Indian guide gets on a couple of stops before this stop and gives a travelogue and tells tales of the Indian nations in preparation for this stop. The train stops for 45 minutes, and the front of the station, and the parking lot to the side are full of vendors with dream catchers, t-shirts, turquoise and silver jewelry, authentic Navajo blankets, and all of the things you would expect. I was told by people who make the trip regularly to think ahead, or you would go hungry the last half of your trip. Lots of good stuff. I got a New Mexico T-shirt, but my eyes certainly did wander towards the silver earrings. I knew Peg would look good in several.

The light of day Thursday found us just before Kansas City, and me in particular in the viewing car. It is almost all glass from your knees up. They have first run video movies for the kids in the evening. The conductor told me that the movies are especially edited for Amtrak to remove any language or scenes that would offend children, or other right thinking people. I had not watched these, because I had found plenty of things of interest in other cars. I even watched a dice game in the early morning hours in the smoking car. I had never heard some of those things said. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep, and watched the sun come up around Olathe, KS. Ida found me there, and we watched the perfect sunrise. Fresh coffee and a good breakfast and we were in Kansas City. This was a fuel stop too, and it took quite a while. Oh boy did the train start to fill up with people. What had been a very quiet car of sleeping people turned into a circus. A family of about 8 took up three seats in front of us, and two to the side. The children were high-class miscreants, wound up on sugar, screaming, bouncing off both sides of the car. Dad and mom were busy buying food, and cleaning up spills the whole way. A group of 7 women were a support group for the one who was turning fifty, and had all decided to take the train to Chicago for a couple of days of shopping. I called them a shopping cult in the cafe over breakfast, and they all giggled like schoolgirls. They were in the seats directly behind me, and when the little girls in front of me started singing playground songs, they joined in. They not only joined in; they encouraged them, and made up new ones. The ever-changing personality of the car had taken on yet another virus. Now different things were different again. At first Ida and I felt like all of these people had broken the adventure / trip spell, but we were soon infected with it all and joined into the melee. Before it was over I did my solo rendition of Paper Doll. It was quite well received I might add.

I got into Fort Madison, IA. that same day about noon. It was Thursday, and my ride was over. It was very neat to get the big wave from the people going on towards Chicago and points east of there. My wife arrived almost immediately. The train was still in the station when the big red van pulled up. If she knew how many people on the train knew that my wife was coming to pick me up in a red van, she would have waited down the block until the train pulled out. We went on over to my parents for a little while because we were so close, but I was passing out tired and fitfully slept in the bed in the back of the van about half of the way home to Quincy. Very few know how refreshing to your soul a road trip can be. The car load of people I had met on the way waving me goodbye was just icing on the cake.