Train Travel in the 21st Century

Th e

Amtrak train pulled out of the Spo­kane station right on time: 1:30 a.m. sharp. I dragged my bags through two dark train cars nearly full of mostly sleeping pas­sengers. Finally I nodded toward an empty seat next to a guy wearing a hoodie over his baseball cap. He nodded back and then looked away. He looked out the window all the way to Sandpoint in the darkness, completely ig­noring me, and then slinked off the train. It was nearly three.

Thank goodness. Now maybe I could get a little shuteye. I tried to curl up on the two seats, feeling lucky I had them. I had a blanket, but it never quite covered me, and I never quite slept. I'm not often jealous of short people, but on this trip I was.

We pulled out of White­fish, Mont. at about 7:30, still on time. A man came on the speaker announcing that, in the observation car, he would be describing the beauty of Glacier National Park as we traveled through it. I went to the lounge, in the lower level of the ob­servation car, and bought a coffee and muffin.

Glacier park was stun­ning, but the observation car was stuffed full of pas­sengers, so I returned to my seat and enjoyed the view - and the coffee - without the benefit of a guide. Train travel's fun, I thought, even if I couldn't sleep.

As soon as the park was over, the scenery got flat, and it stayed that way. At each stop, a group of about six passengers got off and stood next to the train, talk­ing to the conductors and smoking.

I had now fully moved in to my double seat, with my shoes off and the seat pock­ets full of various personal items. When we stopped at Havre, Mont., a husky train matron in her wrinkled uniform asked me to move to another seat so a fam­ily could enjoy mine. Seri­ously? I must have looked scary in my unshaven and groggy state, because when I told her I'd prefer that someone else move next to me, she agreed. An equally unhappy young man was soon slouched in the seat next to mine. He refused to answer when I asked where he was headed and we never spoke.

An attractive young woman, probably about 20, was sleeping in the two seats in front of us. Later on, I went for another coffee. When I got back, the girl was awake and my seatmate was hitting on her. He used my return as an excuse to move up a row. Perfect.

You're welcome, pal, I thought to myself, as I stretched out across two seats. If I hadn't refused to move, you'd never have met her. The two young travelers got off together at Williston, N.D., all smiles. The train was still on time.

I was now halfway through my ride on Am­trak's Empire Builder, from Spokane to Portage, Wisc. According to the schedule, I would be on the train about 35 hours in total.

Soon, another train ma­tron walked up to my seat and stared at the slip of paper above me that listed my departure point. Then she stared at me. "You need to be on my car," she an­nounced in a surly voice. Her car was two cars back from the one I was on, and she explained that that was the only car that would open at my departure point about 18 hours from now. Never mind that I could easily walk two cars back when it was time for me to detrain.

At that point I was too tired to argue, so I gathered up my stuff and back I went. An hour later, we stopped in the middle of a cornfield. And we sat. A voice came on the speaker telling us that Burlington Northern, who owns the tracks that Am­trak uses between Seattle and Chicago, was repairing something known as a sun kink - a warp in the tracks caused by hot sun shining on it. It had been high overcast and an unseasonably cool 80 degrees all day, so that ex­planation seemed puzzling. We were also told that we would have to wait for two freight trains to cross the repaired section ahead of us, since Burlington Northern gives their own trains prior­ity over Amtrak's.

So there we sat. I watched the sun go down over that cornfield while sitting in my new seat. Three times during our wait, the lounge attendant got on the speaker and asked for assistance.

Finally, in the darkness, after sitting for more than three hours, the train moved and slowly crossed the re­paired section of track. At the next stop, an ambulance was parked next to the tracks with its lights flashing, and we sat there for another 45 minutes. The smokers were undoubtedly delighted.

It turned out that my new train matron was much friendlier than the old one. I asked her what was up and she told me a passenger had fallen down the stairs to the lounge and been hurt. So we had to wait while it was determined whether she could continue on the train or would be left be­hind at the hospital in Stan­ley, ND. I never found out which it was, but eventually we headed to Minot, now more than four hours behind schedule.

Prior to leaving on this trip (but after purchasing the ticket) I had read that the on-time percentage for Am­trak's

Empire Builder train was approximately zero. Now I believed it.

In Minot, as I prepared for another adventure in train-sleep, I was joined by a young Asian woman. In the dark, I couldn't tell if she was 15 or 35, but she was short and easily curled up on her seat and fell asleep. I dozed off a few times, and each time I awoke and shifted my legs, which were jammed under the seat in front of me, I saw my seat partner frozen in the same position.

In the morning, as we en­tered Grand Forks, we were over five hours behind. I got a coffee and then began to chat with my new seatmate from Minot, ND.

Now I could tell she was probably mid-20s, and she was friendly. She said she was traveling to Minneapo­lis, where she had grown up. She worked for Verizon and, a few months before, had transferred to Minot to open a new Verizon Store.

I told her I was disap­pointed in the reception on my AT&T phone while on the train and she looked at me with a grin. "Verizon has a lot more towers," she said proudly.

I asked her how she liked Minot. "Well, the people are nice," she said.

She told me she takes the train to Minneapolis about once a month, and usually it's not this late. I asked her if she was able sleep okay on the train. "Oh yeah, I sleep fine," she said with a smile.

She told me that the next day, Saturday, she would be participating in a "mud run" north of Minneapolis. "It's a 5k," she said. "It's called the 'Dirty Girl' and it's all women." I told her I had heard of mud runs, which are obstacle courses in which runners must spend part of their time crawling in mud under barbed wire or scaling walls or climb­ing over rocks. She said she had done a few of them in the past and really enjoyed them. She had formed a team with some friends for this one.

"My dad usually buys me breakfast when I come in on the train," she told me as we approached Minneapolis shortly after noon. "I guess today he'll be buying me lunch." I wished her luck as left to meet her father.

I had both seats to my­self as we headed toward Wisconsin. It was now past my scheduled disembark­ing time, but I would be on the train for another seven hours.

Soon an announcement came over the speaker that Amtrak would be serving us all a free dinner in the dining car in appreciation for our patience. I couldn't pass that up, so at the appointed time I went and joined a woman and her grandson at one of the tables.

She was a talker, and she was soon telling me that they were headed to Green Bay, they had gotten on the train at Pasco and that she lived in Prosser. "Oh," I replied, "I live in Dayton." She looked puzzled and said she was new to the area - her husband had recently trans­ferred from Los Alamos, NM to Hanford. She hadn't heard of Dayton.

As I described where Dayton was, I mentioned Bluewood. "Oh, I've been to your little town. It's a beautiful little town. I just didn't remember the name." She told me she had bought a scarf there.

As we finished our left­over beans and rice (with a bit of meat included), we were hustled out of the din­ing car by the wait staff so the next freebees could be served.

At about 7:30, we reached what should have been my noon departure point at Por­tage, Wisc. I had now been on the train over 40 hours. My ride was waiting and we were soon driving north on Interstate 39. That night, in a beautiful rustic cabin in the woods next to a lake in northern Wisconsin, I slept for about 12 hours.

A week later I flew home.