The Portland branch of the Empire Builder is rather empty. I chose this date to start my return to Maine based upon an expectation that not many people would want to travel on the 4th of July – I am apparently correct in my assumption.
After dinner, an interesting and delicious cold salad plate with slices of roast beef and a teriyaki glaze, complimented with a small fruit salad, biscuit and chocolate torte, I make my way to the observation lounge for more viewing. There are some beautiful scenes including a cascade (Bridal Veil?) across on the Oregon side of the river, but I can’t get the camera clicked fast enough to capture the beauty.
As was the case on our inbound trip, the change of vegetation color is dramatic. But unlike that trip, the river and the banks are now filled with people. On many of the small islands that appear to be nothing more than sand banks and eddies, dozens of boats have landed and their occupants taken over the beach to bath in the water and sun. There are many large fishing boats and dozens of personal watercraft buzzing around the river.
Along the shore line I notice numbers of trucks with campers that have found that special place for a 4th of July cookout and some fishing. Some of these camping spots are nothing more than a small grassy knoll between the rails and the water; I wonder how they found this spot and more importantly how they managed to get their vehicles perched on these narrow points of land.
With time, the sun gets lower and now moves from over our right shoulder to over our left. We have started to make the broad turn following the river as she moves north and then teases us briefly with a short western jog. I take my last look at Oregon and watch as the orange sky turns to many shades of purple and red. I calculate our position as just outside of Pasco, the place where five days ago we crossed the Columbia for the first time. I look to the south west and think of my sister now about 200 miles away.
The light on the horizon is fading fast as we make our way across the bridge into Pasco. The conductor had announced when we boarded that we might be able to see some fireworks in Pasco, but it is still not quite dark enough.
Pasco is one of the smokers’ stops so I take the opportunity to get out and stretch my legs. The air is still very hot, but feels good as I watch a small army of passengers head toward the train. The Pasco station is one of the newer ones on the line, but it sits near a neighborhood with some tired little houses and trailers. As we sit in the station taking on our new passengers, a few bottle rockets suddenly pop-up from that neighborhood. I think that these be the only fireworks I will see this 4th.
Within minutes of leaving Pasco we are back to dry open prairie land. I can make out the occasional farmhouse on the ridge off in the distance, the silhouette of an irrigation tower off to the north. We have turned north east and heading for high country.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Saying Goodbye to Mount Hood and Oregon
The Empire Builder picks up speed as it leaves Vancouver, WA. I vary my positions in the train trying to capture as much as I can. It is a stunning ride up the valley past hundreds, if not thousands of pleasure craft, their occupants enjoying everything the river can offer on this hot afternoon.
The sun starts to make her descent toward the Pacific and soon the shadows are growing longer. The hot air is crystal clear and, unlike our westbound arrival, we have clear views of Mount Hood as we ascend into the higher land. Passing Hood Valley, the mountain is resplendent in shape and size. I am now the closest as I will be on this trip. And as the miles stretch into hours Hood can still be seen but growing more distant and obscured as the cliffs of the Columbia Gorge steepen.
Somewhere past Wishram, WA, I lose sight of the mighty mountain altogether. I’m very, very sad.
The sun starts to make her descent toward the Pacific and soon the shadows are growing longer. The hot air is crystal clear and, unlike our westbound arrival, we have clear views of Mount Hood as we ascend into the higher land. Passing Hood Valley, the mountain is resplendent in shape and size. I am now the closest as I will be on this trip. And as the miles stretch into hours Hood can still be seen but growing more distant and obscured as the cliffs of the Columbia Gorge steepen.
Somewhere past Wishram, WA, I lose sight of the mighty mountain altogether. I’m very, very sad.
Heading Home
The morning sun fills my room when I open the curtains at 7:50 am. I am getting acclimated to Pacific Time and waking at a time closer to my norm. I decide we need some real coffee this morning, not the stuff you make in the diminutive coffee pot they have placed in the room. It is the only part of the Homewood Suites that is less than satisfactory. I mean, if two or four people are staying in this suite how are you supposed to manage with a coffee pot that only make two cups?
I let Mary sleep in and fetch two BIG cups of coffee from the bottomless pot in the lobby. I also bring back the local paper, The Oregonian and read it cover to cover. Mary rises around 9:00, too late to get the free breakfast, and we decide to pack up and leave around 11:00.
Returning to Mary’s apartment, I spend the several hours doing laundry and watching the SpongeBob Squarepants Movie – first time for me, second for Mary. It is very silly and we laugh openly, most of the jokes would go over the head of a young child.
At 3:30 pm, Mary announces it’s time to leave. Sadly, we pack up the remaining pieces of my detritus stuffing everything into one of the three bags I am carrying.
We drive to Downtown Portland taking the scenic route over the mountain that Mary takes to work. This circuitous route takes us through a delightful park and winds through some hairy turns that would be a real challenge in bad weather. We soon descend into a series of pretty, affluent neighborhoods in Northwest Portland, past fancy restaurants and eventually to our destination, Union Station.
I am hoping to have some time to soak in the final minutes in Portland, but time is now moving too fast. I take some last minute photos of the station – a grand lady with a feel of the Old West and a fitting terminus for a train called The Empire Builder. I will have to research more information about Union Station when I get access on-line again. And I want to come back here and spend more time soaking in its history and warmth.
We go to the Metropolitan Lounge, the special area for those traveling First Class in the sleepers. The attendant announces that the train will boarding in a few minutes and I ask if there is time to buy some souvenirs in gift shop. Time is now in hyper speed and I am tense with the fear of missing the train even though I know I have 30 minutes left.
We drop the bags and then go to the gift shop for some final mementoes of Portland and Oregon; gifts for my neighbors who have been caring for my plants and a final present for Mary.
A few more photos, hugs and kisses and waves; I make the walk around to the train and look back one more time.
The Empire Builder leaves exactly on time. I am again in the last car although this time on the lower deck. I ask Carl, our attendant if it is okay to stand by the back window and take some photos as we leave the station. He says it is fine and I once again take my perch at the second best seat on the train.
I run the video on the camera and capture the scene of Portland as it is disappearing in the view finder. As we start to cross the Willamette River my cell phone rings and it’s Mary. She is already home and we are both sad that our time together was all gone. She wants me to come back at Christmas; indeed she would like me to move permanently to Portland; an interesting proposition.
We make some small talk and I describe the ride as we continue across the Columbia into Vancouver. We say good bye again and I promise to call her again tomorrow. I’m very sad.
I let Mary sleep in and fetch two BIG cups of coffee from the bottomless pot in the lobby. I also bring back the local paper, The Oregonian and read it cover to cover. Mary rises around 9:00, too late to get the free breakfast, and we decide to pack up and leave around 11:00.
Returning to Mary’s apartment, I spend the several hours doing laundry and watching the SpongeBob Squarepants Movie – first time for me, second for Mary. It is very silly and we laugh openly, most of the jokes would go over the head of a young child.
At 3:30 pm, Mary announces it’s time to leave. Sadly, we pack up the remaining pieces of my detritus stuffing everything into one of the three bags I am carrying.
We drive to Downtown Portland taking the scenic route over the mountain that Mary takes to work. This circuitous route takes us through a delightful park and winds through some hairy turns that would be a real challenge in bad weather. We soon descend into a series of pretty, affluent neighborhoods in Northwest Portland, past fancy restaurants and eventually to our destination, Union Station.
I am hoping to have some time to soak in the final minutes in Portland, but time is now moving too fast. I take some last minute photos of the station – a grand lady with a feel of the Old West and a fitting terminus for a train called The Empire Builder. I will have to research more information about Union Station when I get access on-line again. And I want to come back here and spend more time soaking in its history and warmth.
We go to the Metropolitan Lounge, the special area for those traveling First Class in the sleepers. The attendant announces that the train will boarding in a few minutes and I ask if there is time to buy some souvenirs in gift shop. Time is now in hyper speed and I am tense with the fear of missing the train even though I know I have 30 minutes left.
We drop the bags and then go to the gift shop for some final mementoes of Portland and Oregon; gifts for my neighbors who have been caring for my plants and a final present for Mary.
A few more photos, hugs and kisses and waves; I make the walk around to the train and look back one more time.
The Empire Builder leaves exactly on time. I am again in the last car although this time on the lower deck. I ask Carl, our attendant if it is okay to stand by the back window and take some photos as we leave the station. He says it is fine and I once again take my perch at the second best seat on the train.
I run the video on the camera and capture the scene of Portland as it is disappearing in the view finder. As we start to cross the Willamette River my cell phone rings and it’s Mary. She is already home and we are both sad that our time together was all gone. She wants me to come back at Christmas; indeed she would like me to move permanently to Portland; an interesting proposition.
We make some small talk and I describe the ride as we continue across the Columbia into Vancouver. We say good bye again and I promise to call her again tomorrow. I’m very sad.
Last Night’s Ceremonies
We have a tradition in our family that on the last day of our summer vacation, we celebrate with the “last night’s ceremonies.” This goes way back to my time as a child when the family, Mom, Dad, and sisters Sigrid and Mary, would travel to a place called Point O’Woods (POW) near South Lyme, Connecticut. The annual vacation was almost always during the last two weeks of August and always at POW.
The last night ceremonies were not preplanned and generally consisted of a special cookout dinner and maybe a fire in the fireplace. In those days, the trip to the Connecticut shore from New York City was an arduous one. Schlepping three small kids was probably not a joy, and the 3-8 hour drive likely shortened both my parents’ lives.
To us, the summer vacation was a magical experience. There were new clothes to wear, new toys and activities and of course the beach which the whole family loved and where we spent many happy hours during the two week sojourn.
So it was not surprising when sister Mary suggested that we go out for a special dinner on my last night in Portland. We were to go to a restaurant called Macaroni Grill and be joined by one of Mary’s good friends and co-workers Kirsten.
The last day in Portland was rather low-keyed. Mary had a dentist appointment at 10:30 and while she was there, I brought her new Toyota in for its first oil change. Some how Mary has only accumulated 4,000 miles on an automobile she bought in December. My matching Toyota, which I purchased in August, already has about 18K on it.
Anyway, I found the “Expresso Lube” just up the block from the dentist office and pulled in. Now, I’ve been to a lot of “jiffy-lube” type places over the year, and the one back home that I have frequented the most is pretty nice, but this one was unbelievable. It probably does not come as a surprise to some of you – maybe you have figured it out from the name – but this lube place has an espresso bar in the waiting area. So while, Mary’s car was enjoying a oil change, John was enjoying a blueberry muffin and fine coffee. Also, unlike any lube place I’ve been to before, this one had a gift shop and free wi-fi.
After the oil change and Mary’s dental appointment, we had lunch and then headed down to Mary’s pool for a refreshing afternoon in the water. The temperature was in the high eighties, but the air out here is very dry, particularly in the afternoon. I know that old nugget about “dry heat,” but indeed it was still rather comfortable. We pretty much had the use of the pool to ourselves, although a few other residents of the development came and left.
At around three we left and I returned to my hotel for a quick shower and to get dressed for the special evening.
Returning at 4:30, Mary’s friend had already arrived and we were soon on our way to the Macaroni Grill. The restaurant is located in Hillsboro, a suburb of Portland, just west of Mary’s location. This a trendy area with lots of modern shops and restaurants located in small urban-like streets. The layout was described as “very California” with the whole area taking on the feel of a small town.
The Macaroni Grill was nice and the food was very good. The waiter, who looked about 12 years old, was a bit too attentive and seemed to hover in at all the wrong times. This is apparently a very busy place so perhaps they were trying to move us in an out swiftly before the onslaught. I think we finished dinner in less than an hour.
The ladies and I then went to Bed, Bath and Beyond so I could buy a travel pillow for the return voyage and when had some laughs at a party shop next door. But the real fun of the evening was yet to come.
When Mary was sick and in the hospital a few weeks ago, I filled up a goodie bag and mailed it to her to assist in her recovery. One of the “presents” was the SpongeBob Squarepants Monopoly Game. So this evening – in true last night’s ceremonies style - a wild and intense game of SBS Monopoly would take place with lots of inappropriate silliness, screaming and laughter ("Treasure Chest!!!!"). It is always good to end a vacation with lots of laughter.
For the past five nights I have been staying at the Homewood Suites near Mary’s house. This has been a very luxurious experience with a suite with two bedrooms, kitchen and living room. Mary has stocked the kitchen with food and drink and I have only put a small dent in the supplies. As part of my final night in Portland, Mary comes over to stays. It’s been a warm day – in many ways – and tomorrow, the 4th of July, is supposed to be very hot with temps in the 90s. Mary and I enjoy the comfort of the air conditioned space and not having to make beds in the morning.
The last night ceremonies were not preplanned and generally consisted of a special cookout dinner and maybe a fire in the fireplace. In those days, the trip to the Connecticut shore from New York City was an arduous one. Schlepping three small kids was probably not a joy, and the 3-8 hour drive likely shortened both my parents’ lives.
To us, the summer vacation was a magical experience. There were new clothes to wear, new toys and activities and of course the beach which the whole family loved and where we spent many happy hours during the two week sojourn.
So it was not surprising when sister Mary suggested that we go out for a special dinner on my last night in Portland. We were to go to a restaurant called Macaroni Grill and be joined by one of Mary’s good friends and co-workers Kirsten.
The last day in Portland was rather low-keyed. Mary had a dentist appointment at 10:30 and while she was there, I brought her new Toyota in for its first oil change. Some how Mary has only accumulated 4,000 miles on an automobile she bought in December. My matching Toyota, which I purchased in August, already has about 18K on it.
Anyway, I found the “Expresso Lube” just up the block from the dentist office and pulled in. Now, I’ve been to a lot of “jiffy-lube” type places over the year, and the one back home that I have frequented the most is pretty nice, but this one was unbelievable. It probably does not come as a surprise to some of you – maybe you have figured it out from the name – but this lube place has an espresso bar in the waiting area. So while, Mary’s car was enjoying a oil change, John was enjoying a blueberry muffin and fine coffee. Also, unlike any lube place I’ve been to before, this one had a gift shop and free wi-fi.
After the oil change and Mary’s dental appointment, we had lunch and then headed down to Mary’s pool for a refreshing afternoon in the water. The temperature was in the high eighties, but the air out here is very dry, particularly in the afternoon. I know that old nugget about “dry heat,” but indeed it was still rather comfortable. We pretty much had the use of the pool to ourselves, although a few other residents of the development came and left.
At around three we left and I returned to my hotel for a quick shower and to get dressed for the special evening.
Returning at 4:30, Mary’s friend had already arrived and we were soon on our way to the Macaroni Grill. The restaurant is located in Hillsboro, a suburb of Portland, just west of Mary’s location. This a trendy area with lots of modern shops and restaurants located in small urban-like streets. The layout was described as “very California” with the whole area taking on the feel of a small town.
The Macaroni Grill was nice and the food was very good. The waiter, who looked about 12 years old, was a bit too attentive and seemed to hover in at all the wrong times. This is apparently a very busy place so perhaps they were trying to move us in an out swiftly before the onslaught. I think we finished dinner in less than an hour.
The ladies and I then went to Bed, Bath and Beyond so I could buy a travel pillow for the return voyage and when had some laughs at a party shop next door. But the real fun of the evening was yet to come.
When Mary was sick and in the hospital a few weeks ago, I filled up a goodie bag and mailed it to her to assist in her recovery. One of the “presents” was the SpongeBob Squarepants Monopoly Game. So this evening – in true last night’s ceremonies style - a wild and intense game of SBS Monopoly would take place with lots of inappropriate silliness, screaming and laughter ("Treasure Chest!!!!"). It is always good to end a vacation with lots of laughter.
For the past five nights I have been staying at the Homewood Suites near Mary’s house. This has been a very luxurious experience with a suite with two bedrooms, kitchen and living room. Mary has stocked the kitchen with food and drink and I have only put a small dent in the supplies. As part of my final night in Portland, Mary comes over to stays. It’s been a warm day – in many ways – and tomorrow, the 4th of July, is supposed to be very hot with temps in the 90s. Mary and I enjoy the comfort of the air conditioned space and not having to make beds in the morning.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Mountains, Lakes and Volcanoes
Monday we spent most of the day driving up into the mountains of southern Washington to visit a spot that Mary believes is the most beautiful in the world.Lake Merwin is really a chain of man-made lakes located on the Lewis River east of Woodland, WA. The lakes were created by damning the river for the purpose of hydroelectricity production. The area is now owned by Pacific Power and the company maintains several access points to the lakes allowing boating, picnicking and some camping.
The region is south and west of the famed Mount St. Helens, the active volcano that “blew” in 1980 and caused significant death and destruction. I was last here in 1982, a short time after the eruption and at that time the ground was still littered with inches of dark grey ash and the fallen trees. Trees up to three feet in diameter were mowed down by the pyroclastic explosion. In 1982 we were only able to get within 30 miles of the epicenter, but the destruction even that far away was massive.
The area we are traveling this day is south and west of the blast zone, and although affected by the eruption, did not apparently see the devastation that occurred just to the north. I’ve posted some pictures of the Speelyai Bay Recreation Area which can do more than any words from me.
After Speelyai Bay, we continued east on Rt 503 toward Cougar. We stopped at Yale Lake to take some close up images of Mt. St. Helens which is snow-topped and partially obscured by clouds and a small steam vent. Yale Lake is stunning and reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the Alps in Austria; I feel like yodeling.
Just before Cougar we see a road pointing toward Merrill Lake and decide a detour is in order. We find ourselves climbing quickly from the valley floor and read some ominous road signs about watching out for logging trucks. We are soon looking down on Yale Lake and surrounding countryside from an altitude that must be in the thousands of feet. This is a partially developed paved road, but there are no guardrails and it is quite spooky.
Soon the road turns more to the north and deep into a high growth forest. We start to wind down again and are rewarded with a sight of Merrill Lake. There are some camp sites in the area and a small boat launch. We watch as a father and son team of fishermen launch what looks like a dory. They tell us that this is the time of the year when a particular fly is abundant and the fishing is hot. There are several other small kayaks and canoes on the lake.
Merrill Lake is apparently one of the few lakes on Mt. St. Helens that was spared her violence. The lake was probably affected in some way, but looks clean and vibrant now.
We retrace our route down the winding forest road and to Rt 503. Now heading north we return to Woodland, the interstate and eventually to Portland. Mary is tired from the busy day and we have an early evening.
Comments welcome and Updates
Not sure why some of you have not been able to get your comments to post. They do need to be approved by me before they will appear. This prevents spam and bots from posting junk. So far every comment I have received have been posted.
BTW, I appear to have either lost one of my memory chips or have accidentally erased about 80 images including all those taken around Chicago and up through Wisconsin. I'll keep looking, but I'm not too hopeful.
The good news is that I am leaving tomorrow on my return to Maine. I will make sure I take pictures of the same stretch; although I lost some great images of sunset on the Mississippi near LaCrosse, WI that were quite spectacular.
I will also finish my blog entries of our road trip yesterday up to the base of Mount Saint Helens.
Stay tuned...
~j
BTW, I appear to have either lost one of my memory chips or have accidentally erased about 80 images including all those taken around Chicago and up through Wisconsin. I'll keep looking, but I'm not too hopeful.
The good news is that I am leaving tomorrow on my return to Maine. I will make sure I take pictures of the same stretch; although I lost some great images of sunset on the Mississippi near LaCrosse, WI that were quite spectacular.
I will also finish my blog entries of our road trip yesterday up to the base of Mount Saint Helens.
Stay tuned...
~j
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Just Photos
I have enclosed a few pix from the trip so far. Use your mouse over the image to see tagging about the image.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Fun and Games in Portland, OR
I haven’t seen my sister Mary for two years since she last traveled East and we spent 10 days traveling in Maritime Canada. So, my time here is pretty low-key with easy days and relaxing evenings. It’s time to just visit.My body is still moving with the action of the train and last night when I woke at about 2:30 am, I was certain I was back on the Amtrak. I guess the Amtrak legs effect lasts more than 24 hours. I’ll probably get my land legs around 4:30 Wednesday when I am re-boarding the Empire Builder.
So far my sister and I have made the tour of beautiful downtown Portland including stops at Powell’s Books and Everyday Music. I have restocked reading materials and music for the ride home even though I didn’t really read that much on the train. But as I mentioned earlier, I did not have that much time to install music on my new Zen before leaving home, so I have added two classical and two new age albums to the set. One is George Winston’s “Plains” album. We’ll have to see if that makes North Dakota any more palatable on the return run.
One of the high points in Portland for any visitor is the world renowned International Rose Garden located in Washington Park. I have visited this place before – 23 years ago – but it is still magnificent. The weather on Saturday, the day of our visit, was perfect; temps in the mid 70s and clear blue skies. We packed a picnic lunch and enjoyed it on a bench surrounded by acres of fresh roses. I have included some photos.I’m not sure if it is the weather, the longitude or just the locale, but the color and clarity seem particularly intense here. Perhaps it’s my polarized sun glasses? Has someone been spiking my food?
On Sunday, we have a lazy day of watching videos and doing laundry. In the evening we visit one of Mary’s friends over on the east side of Portland near where she used to live. Debbie is one of Mary’s oldest friends in Portland and they used to work together at the Oyster Bar downtown. Debbie and her mother Lois are also the head cookie chefs at the annual Christmas Cookie Extravaganza that results in the baking of over 3,000 cookies of all varieties and sizes. If you are on the short list you will get a batch for Christmas. Despite it being early July, I am rewarded with a tin of butterscotch chip cookies – yum!
Debbie’s husband Jeff is the barbeque chef for the evening and we dine in the backyard surrounded by friends and family. We find time and many things to laugh about; a nice relaxed ending to a nice relaxed day.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
SpongeBob Squarepants and Patrick Meet in Union Station
I am not able to get a Verizon Wireless signal (only roaming) until almost Vancouver, but sister Mary (alias SpongeBob) calls around 8:00 am and tells me (alias Patrick) the train is supposed to be coming in early at 10:05 am (scheduled for 10:45). I have now figured that one of the ways Amtrak is able to keep on schedule is by faking some of the numbers and adding some wiggle room. The long stops in Minneapolis, Fargo, Havre and Spokane can be shortened to make up for lost time and they add an extra 40 minute to the time it is supposed to take to get from Vancouver, WA to Portland, OR which is just across the river. When we get to Vancouver, the conductor announces we will be in Portland in 20 minutes, we arrive in 15 – customers are happier this way, I suppose.
Soon the skyline of Portland is in view. Coming through The Dalles and Hood River, the clouds had parted and the sun was blinding as it reflected off the wide Columbia. Coming into Portland, the sky was again overcast and we have be hit by a few showers. This throws my sense of direction all off so although I know I am looking at Portland, in my mind it is in the wrong place. After three and a half days of rocking back and forth, I think my brain may be a little frazzled.
But before I know it, Union Station is looming before me and we have reached our final destination.
Feeling a bit like a kid coming home from camp, I am torn between engaging my fellow travelers one last time to exchange some final pleasantries and a burning desire to get to meet my family. I say some final goodbyes and particularly thank Juice, our sleeping car attendant who really was a great addition to the trip.
As I drag my bags across the tracks in front of Union Station, I see my sister Mary waiting for me in front. Hugs and kisses, it’s like coming home.
Union Station in Portland, OR is one of the gems of the American rail system. Not quite restored, it retains many of the old accoutrements of its former glory, and has almost a museum feel to it. Many of the great stations have been modernized on the inside and retain that old glory in the larger spaces, but here in Portland, things look very much like the way they probably did a hundred years ago. When I leave in five day, I will have to take more pictures and explore the station more.
Sister Mary whisks me off in her new Toyota Camry Hybrid and we are soon on the freeway heading toward the Hilton Homestead Suites where I will have an apartment-sized room for the extent of my stay.
After a shower and shave, we head down to Elmer’s for a mid-day breakfast and chit chat. As I sit in the booth, the room is still moving. If I had just gotten off a boat, I would call it “sea legs.” In this case it’s Amtrak Legs!
Soon the skyline of Portland is in view. Coming through The Dalles and Hood River, the clouds had parted and the sun was blinding as it reflected off the wide Columbia. Coming into Portland, the sky was again overcast and we have be hit by a few showers. This throws my sense of direction all off so although I know I am looking at Portland, in my mind it is in the wrong place. After three and a half days of rocking back and forth, I think my brain may be a little frazzled.
But before I know it, Union Station is looming before me and we have reached our final destination.
Feeling a bit like a kid coming home from camp, I am torn between engaging my fellow travelers one last time to exchange some final pleasantries and a burning desire to get to meet my family. I say some final goodbyes and particularly thank Juice, our sleeping car attendant who really was a great addition to the trip.
As I drag my bags across the tracks in front of Union Station, I see my sister Mary waiting for me in front. Hugs and kisses, it’s like coming home.
Union Station in Portland, OR is one of the gems of the American rail system. Not quite restored, it retains many of the old accoutrements of its former glory, and has almost a museum feel to it. Many of the great stations have been modernized on the inside and retain that old glory in the larger spaces, but here in Portland, things look very much like the way they probably did a hundred years ago. When I leave in five day, I will have to take more pictures and explore the station more.
Sister Mary whisks me off in her new Toyota Camry Hybrid and we are soon on the freeway heading toward the Hilton Homestead Suites where I will have an apartment-sized room for the extent of my stay.
After a shower and shave, we head down to Elmer’s for a mid-day breakfast and chit chat. As I sit in the booth, the room is still moving. If I had just gotten off a boat, I would call it “sea legs.” In this case it’s Amtrak Legs!
Morning Has Broken – Passing Pasco
I slept the best this night and vaguely remember stopping in Spokane at about 3:00 am. What I remember was, there were a lot of lights and I reached over and pulled the drapes. The train also was disconnected here with the front of the train (including the dining car) heading to Seattle and the back of the train - including the club/observation car and me - going to Portland. This unlinkage resulted in about 30 minutes of complete silence. The electric is apparently turned off when the train disconnects and, in the newfound silence, I again returned to deep sleep.
At about 5:00 am – I think I was still in Mountain Time – I looked out the window and again saw nothing but flat open plains. For a moment I was startled and wondered if we had returned to Montana, but remembered that western Washington and Oregon is very dry and very flat.
Dozing on and off, I finally got out of bed at 6:30 MT – 5:30 PT. I got dressed and went in search for some coffee. The barrel was pretty empty and there was just a thick syrupy residue in the pot. I poured it anyway and added some bottled water cream and sugar figuring this might be all I’d get. I recalled our attendant Juice, indicated it was a long night for him with little sleep since they had to be awake when the train arrived in Spokane. The train was pretty quiet; I think it might have been me and the engineer who were the only ones awake. However, when I turned and walked down the hall I noticed a new face, a woman sitting in the first cabin. She must have boarded in Whitefish or Spokane. She was sitting up looking tired and annoyed.
Returning to my roomette I finished my coffee concoction and watched as the countryside began to accumulate indications of civilization. First a few houses, then garages and small businesses and eventually a town would appear. This next one looked a bit substantial since there was an airport, an airport large enough to have a radar tower which I could see spinning out on the plain. Minutes later we were in Pasco, the proverbial gateway to the Columbia River Gorge. I reset my watch to Pacific Time and was amazed that we were just about 10 minutes off scheduled.
The sky was overcast as we left the station and slowly made our way over a bridge and the Columbia. The river comes in from the northwest at this point and then makes a sharp turn to the south and then west and drops down into the land creating a rather spectacular gorge. I remember this location from my 1982 trip and know it will be spectacular – the camera is out and I am snapping away.
The gorge, I suppose, has been there for millennia. The sandy rocks that make up the shore line are brown and covered with wisps of yellow grass – it is very dry here in the high plateau. The refreshing and life-giving moisture of the Pacific has already been squeezed out of the air by the time it reaches this place, and the contrast of water and semi-arid plateau is remarkable. But I know the road ahead will be moist and beautiful.
At 7:00 am Juice is up and apologizing. Fresh coffee made, he starts to make up beds. Many of my compatriots have headed to the club car for their cold breakfast. The Amtrak folks warned us that since the dining car was going off to Seattle there would only be cold breakfast for us. So, I decided to skip it and continue my vigil for great scenery with Kodak in hand. I am not disappointed and take many shots of the river with its barges, dams and locks and the occasional bridge. At times the river disappears from view as we duck behind some rock formations and each time it reappears it gets prettier. Soon the vegetation has become more abundant and slightly greener and within a few hours it is lush and vibrant.
The train is routed down the north side of the gorge and you can see a small highway to our left. Across the river you can see semis and large vehicles heading down Interstate 84. We make some stops along the gorge and according to my calculations we are now about 20 minutes late.
Some of the most spectacular viewing is between The Dalles (Wishram, WA) and Portland. By now the train is surrounded by the lush green pines of the Pacific Northwest. We’re almost there.
At about 5:00 am – I think I was still in Mountain Time – I looked out the window and again saw nothing but flat open plains. For a moment I was startled and wondered if we had returned to Montana, but remembered that western Washington and Oregon is very dry and very flat.
Dozing on and off, I finally got out of bed at 6:30 MT – 5:30 PT. I got dressed and went in search for some coffee. The barrel was pretty empty and there was just a thick syrupy residue in the pot. I poured it anyway and added some bottled water cream and sugar figuring this might be all I’d get. I recalled our attendant Juice, indicated it was a long night for him with little sleep since they had to be awake when the train arrived in Spokane. The train was pretty quiet; I think it might have been me and the engineer who were the only ones awake. However, when I turned and walked down the hall I noticed a new face, a woman sitting in the first cabin. She must have boarded in Whitefish or Spokane. She was sitting up looking tired and annoyed.
Returning to my roomette I finished my coffee concoction and watched as the countryside began to accumulate indications of civilization. First a few houses, then garages and small businesses and eventually a town would appear. This next one looked a bit substantial since there was an airport, an airport large enough to have a radar tower which I could see spinning out on the plain. Minutes later we were in Pasco, the proverbial gateway to the Columbia River Gorge. I reset my watch to Pacific Time and was amazed that we were just about 10 minutes off scheduled.
The sky was overcast as we left the station and slowly made our way over a bridge and the Columbia. The river comes in from the northwest at this point and then makes a sharp turn to the south and then west and drops down into the land creating a rather spectacular gorge. I remember this location from my 1982 trip and know it will be spectacular – the camera is out and I am snapping away.
The gorge, I suppose, has been there for millennia. The sandy rocks that make up the shore line are brown and covered with wisps of yellow grass – it is very dry here in the high plateau. The refreshing and life-giving moisture of the Pacific has already been squeezed out of the air by the time it reaches this place, and the contrast of water and semi-arid plateau is remarkable. But I know the road ahead will be moist and beautiful.
At 7:00 am Juice is up and apologizing. Fresh coffee made, he starts to make up beds. Many of my compatriots have headed to the club car for their cold breakfast. The Amtrak folks warned us that since the dining car was going off to Seattle there would only be cold breakfast for us. So, I decided to skip it and continue my vigil for great scenery with Kodak in hand. I am not disappointed and take many shots of the river with its barges, dams and locks and the occasional bridge. At times the river disappears from view as we duck behind some rock formations and each time it reappears it gets prettier. Soon the vegetation has become more abundant and slightly greener and within a few hours it is lush and vibrant.
The train is routed down the north side of the gorge and you can see a small highway to our left. Across the river you can see semis and large vehicles heading down Interstate 84. We make some stops along the gorge and according to my calculations we are now about 20 minutes late.
Some of the most spectacular viewing is between The Dalles (Wishram, WA) and Portland. By now the train is surrounded by the lush green pines of the Pacific Northwest. We’re almost there.
Wine Tasting at 80 mph and Juice
Amtrak obviously likes to keep the folks in the sleeper cars happy. We are, after all the “First Class” passengers, and we are treated to some amenities that the coach passengers are not. One of these was a special event at 4:00 pm on the second day.
Somewhere in the middle of Montana the public address system announced that those passengers in the sleeping cars who have “signed up for the special event” should make their way to the dining car. The chatter in the hallway of the sleeping car is the same – “what event?”
Juice appears to tell us there is a wine and cheese tasting event set up just for us; he has signed us all up.
Like a class full of fifth graders we cheerfully make our way to the front of the train as though on a class outing. At the dining car where we are greeted by Jen – the dining car steward to directs us to our seats where we are presented with a platter full of various cheeses and cups to sip wine.
In classic form Jen announces the names and descriptions of each of four wines: a chardonnay, a chemin blanc, and merlot/cabernet blend and a shiraz. All are wonderful as are the selection of cheeses which include a gouda, two kinds of cheddar and a blue cheese. The wines are all from Washington and the cheeses are from Minnesota.
I am sitting with a couple from Chicago who are a few of doors down from me. We have said hello to each other throughout the trip but now get more familiar. He works for a rail company “on freights” and she is a teacher in Cicero. The other gentleman at our seat is a retired engineer from the Midwest who worked for Caterpillar. The couple across the way is also from the Midwest and he is a retired executive that worked for Lincoln/Mercury. We talk about wine, automobiles, trains and gas mileage.
After the sips of wine have been consumed, Jen has a quick raffle and I win the rest of the bottle of the Chemin Blanc which I gleefully take back to my room. Needless to say I am a wee bit tipsy after this and walking through the moving train is now all the more interesting.
Juice is our sleeping car attendant who has been skillfully taking care of us since leaving Chicago two days earlier. Unlike, Coco, the attendant on the sleeper from Albany to Chicago whom we never saw until the end of the trip, Juice is everpresent and magnificently attentive to the needs of the cranky passengers.
It is a long and tiring trip for these people. They are usually up at 6:00 am and don’t get a chance to rest until 10:30 pm. Since we are moving west, that is a long day. Juice does his job with respect and sincerity. A big man, I am guessing he may be in his early 30s, but he makes his way about the sleeping car with great agility. One minute he is dealing with ice and coffee, the next he is getting fresh towels for someone or making up a bed. All the time he is very congenial and respectful to the passengers.
In Whitefish, I learn that he has been doing this work for nine years and that, as an Amtrak employee, he takes what they give him, traveling a number of different routes and accepting different functions. Sometimes he is a bartender or the club car counter attendant. Sometimes he has to serve in the dining car. And sometimes he pulls sleeping car attendant duty. I think he might be ready for change, and he laments the fact that it is hard to have a family – like he does – when you are away for six days and then only have two days off. When we arrive in Portland, Juice will get to rest up at a hotel over night and be on the next Empire Builder heading east the next day.
Amtrak, if you are listening, give Juice a big raise!
Somewhere in the middle of Montana the public address system announced that those passengers in the sleeping cars who have “signed up for the special event” should make their way to the dining car. The chatter in the hallway of the sleeping car is the same – “what event?”
Juice appears to tell us there is a wine and cheese tasting event set up just for us; he has signed us all up.
Like a class full of fifth graders we cheerfully make our way to the front of the train as though on a class outing. At the dining car where we are greeted by Jen – the dining car steward to directs us to our seats where we are presented with a platter full of various cheeses and cups to sip wine.
In classic form Jen announces the names and descriptions of each of four wines: a chardonnay, a chemin blanc, and merlot/cabernet blend and a shiraz. All are wonderful as are the selection of cheeses which include a gouda, two kinds of cheddar and a blue cheese. The wines are all from Washington and the cheeses are from Minnesota.
I am sitting with a couple from Chicago who are a few of doors down from me. We have said hello to each other throughout the trip but now get more familiar. He works for a rail company “on freights” and she is a teacher in Cicero. The other gentleman at our seat is a retired engineer from the Midwest who worked for Caterpillar. The couple across the way is also from the Midwest and he is a retired executive that worked for Lincoln/Mercury. We talk about wine, automobiles, trains and gas mileage.
After the sips of wine have been consumed, Jen has a quick raffle and I win the rest of the bottle of the Chemin Blanc which I gleefully take back to my room. Needless to say I am a wee bit tipsy after this and walking through the moving train is now all the more interesting.
Juice is our sleeping car attendant who has been skillfully taking care of us since leaving Chicago two days earlier. Unlike, Coco, the attendant on the sleeper from Albany to Chicago whom we never saw until the end of the trip, Juice is everpresent and magnificently attentive to the needs of the cranky passengers.
It is a long and tiring trip for these people. They are usually up at 6:00 am and don’t get a chance to rest until 10:30 pm. Since we are moving west, that is a long day. Juice does his job with respect and sincerity. A big man, I am guessing he may be in his early 30s, but he makes his way about the sleeping car with great agility. One minute he is dealing with ice and coffee, the next he is getting fresh towels for someone or making up a bed. All the time he is very congenial and respectful to the passengers.
In Whitefish, I learn that he has been doing this work for nine years and that, as an Amtrak employee, he takes what they give him, traveling a number of different routes and accepting different functions. Sometimes he is a bartender or the club car counter attendant. Sometimes he has to serve in the dining car. And sometimes he pulls sleeping car attendant duty. I think he might be ready for change, and he laments the fact that it is hard to have a family – like he does – when you are away for six days and then only have two days off. When we arrive in Portland, Juice will get to rest up at a hotel over night and be on the next Empire Builder heading east the next day.
Amtrak, if you are listening, give Juice a big raise!
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Sunrise – Sunset
I’ve seen some interesting sunrises and sunsets in this trip so far. On several of the mornings there has been a bit of an overcast blocking the actual sunrise, but you still get the idea.
My circadian rhythms are all screwed up with the time zone changes and the fact that we are experiencing 18-19 hours of sunlight. It must be like living in Alaska with the midnight sun!
I find myself still awaking with the East Coast even though that means 5:30 am – and by 10:00 pm, no matter where we have been, I find it easy to fall immediately asleep. My best plan is to simply try to figure out how many hours I have been in bed, and when I reach 7.5 hours, its time to get up. I think I might be a little sleep deprived. You betcha!
There was a particularly beautiful sunset to behold in Whitefish, MT. I was figuring this might be the place we would catch the final light of the day, so I was very concerned when I calculated that we were running about an hour and forty minutes late as we approached the Rockies. Fortunately, Whitefish is far enough west in the Mountain Time Zone that sunset was not until 9:05 pm. We caught it perfectly. Sorry, the quality of the photos are not the best.
My circadian rhythms are all screwed up with the time zone changes and the fact that we are experiencing 18-19 hours of sunlight. It must be like living in Alaska with the midnight sun!
I find myself still awaking with the East Coast even though that means 5:30 am – and by 10:00 pm, no matter where we have been, I find it easy to fall immediately asleep. My best plan is to simply try to figure out how many hours I have been in bed, and when I reach 7.5 hours, its time to get up. I think I might be a little sleep deprived. You betcha!
There was a particularly beautiful sunset to behold in Whitefish, MT. I was figuring this might be the place we would catch the final light of the day, so I was very concerned when I calculated that we were running about an hour and forty minutes late as we approached the Rockies. Fortunately, Whitefish is far enough west in the Mountain Time Zone that sunset was not until 9:05 pm. We caught it perfectly. Sorry, the quality of the photos are not the best.
Choo Choo Charlie
As someone whose interest in railroad trains goes back to age five when Santa delivered my first Lionel set, I must say I was very much looking forward to this leg of the trip. But never in my wildest imagination did I believe it would it be so breathtaking.
The Empire Builder moved up and down the passes effortlessly and I found the best viewing location was looking out the rear window in the door of our sleeper car. Not only did this provide a better panorama of the view, but the window in the door is not protected by sun-blocking tint so the colors and dynamics of the scenery were all the better.
Through curve after curve we moved gliding beside river creeks and cascades, our tracks closely followed by the US Route 2. At times the highway would appear on the left and then on the right – it must be a terrific drive.
One of the neatest features of going through these winding mountain passes was being able to see the front of the train ahead as it bent around the sharp curves only to disappear around a bend or into a tunnel. This can be accomplished from my sleeping car – it helps being in the last of 12 cars. But the view from my rear deck was still the best and I ran my camera in video mode to catch (sorry - I closed the YT account due to spam. If you want to see the videos, drop me a line) as much as possible. When I get home I will consider trying to figure out a way to reverse the direction of the “film” so as to create the illusion of being in the front of the train and taking the vantage point of the “best seat on the train” the engineer. What a job!
The Empire Builder makes two more scheduled stops in the park – West Glacier and Whitefish (not technically in the park, but clearly in the mountains) – and Essex, an unscheduled stop. The Essex stop only happens when some one is going to or leaving a lodge, the Izaak Walton Hotel, located there. There is only a bench and an outhouse marking the stop; the passengers are met by a red van. A few seconds later we can see the Hotel and a bunch of their guests are out front waving at the train.
In all too short a time, we have descended though the pass and make our stop in Whitefish. This is a scheduled smoker’s stop and I go outside in search of the best sunset photo.
The Empire Builder moved up and down the passes effortlessly and I found the best viewing location was looking out the rear window in the door of our sleeper car. Not only did this provide a better panorama of the view, but the window in the door is not protected by sun-blocking tint so the colors and dynamics of the scenery were all the better.
Through curve after curve we moved gliding beside river creeks and cascades, our tracks closely followed by the US Route 2. At times the highway would appear on the left and then on the right – it must be a terrific drive.
One of the neatest features of going through these winding mountain passes was being able to see the front of the train ahead as it bent around the sharp curves only to disappear around a bend or into a tunnel. This can be accomplished from my sleeping car – it helps being in the last of 12 cars. But the view from my rear deck was still the best and I ran my camera in video mode to catch (sorry - I closed the YT account due to spam. If you want to see the videos, drop me a line) as much as possible. When I get home I will consider trying to figure out a way to reverse the direction of the “film” so as to create the illusion of being in the front of the train and taking the vantage point of the “best seat on the train” the engineer. What a job!
The Empire Builder makes two more scheduled stops in the park – West Glacier and Whitefish (not technically in the park, but clearly in the mountains) – and Essex, an unscheduled stop. The Essex stop only happens when some one is going to or leaving a lodge, the Izaak Walton Hotel, located there. There is only a bench and an outhouse marking the stop; the passengers are met by a red van. A few seconds later we can see the Hotel and a bunch of their guests are out front waving at the train.
In all too short a time, we have descended though the pass and make our stop in Whitefish. This is a scheduled smoker’s stop and I go outside in search of the best sunset photo.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Editor's Note
My apologies that it has taken a week to get the blog entries of my trip uploaded. I have been journaling the trip in its entirety, but have not had access to the Internet until today - at my hotel in Portland, OR.
I have posted 14 entries so far which - in typical blog style - go in reverse chronological order. So if you want to follow the journey in the correct sequence, scroll down to the bottom of the the page and read the entries from bottom to top.
I am still editing the last few entries and hope to have them posted by tomorrow; and I will continue to the journaling throughout my visit here and the return passage.
I have posted a very few of my photos so far and added a few links here and there in the blogs. I will go back and update these in the next few days and will add more photos and perhaps a few videos to YouTube.
It has clearly been an adventure! Stay tuned!
!j
I have posted 14 entries so far which - in typical blog style - go in reverse chronological order. So if you want to follow the journey in the correct sequence, scroll down to the bottom of the the page and read the entries from bottom to top.
I am still editing the last few entries and hope to have them posted by tomorrow; and I will continue to the journaling throughout my visit here and the return passage.
I have posted a very few of my photos so far and added a few links here and there in the blogs. I will go back and update these in the next few days and will add more photos and perhaps a few videos to YouTube.
It has clearly been an adventure! Stay tuned!
!j
Rocky Mountain High
I have been reminiscing about life 25 years ago, when I drove cross-country for the first (and only) time and how I remember that the Rocky Mountains were a particularly magnificent sight. I can remember somewhere about 100 miles east of Denver you could get the first glimpse to the tops of the mountains on the horizon. And then it seemed to take hours to get to the base of the mountains.
I also recalled that when we drove back across southern Montana there were miles and miles of the “true Big Sky” country with these fantastic mountains interspersed between flat valley floors that would extend 70 – 100 miles. As you descended through a mountain pass you could look ahead to the east and see the location of the next pass. Between you and that pass lay 70 miles of flat, dead-straight roadbed. It was not a matter of miles but rather a matter of how long it took to get from one pass to another.
Well, northern Montana is nothing like this.
I was in the dining car having a wonderful conversation with Mary and Dan, two teachers from a private prep school in St. Paul, MN who are chaperoning a group of fifteen year olds on a trip to Glacier National Park. The couple has been doing this same trip for years and knew some of the dining car wait-staff personally. This was their second trip this summer; they had been out here just two or three weeks ago.
Dan had worked as a ranger here and his description of the park increased my curiosity and desire for more. This might be worth a return trip at some point.
By this evening we had been looking at flat and increasingly dryer terrain for 15 hours and it was getting pretty boring. There was a clear sense among my fellow travelers that we better get there soon – or else.
I finished dinner around 6:30 as the train started moving due west from Cut Bank. Dan explained that this was one of the largest Indian reservations in the state and that the scenery didn’t really offer much until we got further down the road. He was right.
Somewhere out east of Browning we got the first peek at the peaks and the passenger compartments began to buzz with excitement and anticipation. Unlike my experience 25 years ago we got to the mountains a lot quicker than I had expected; perhaps a combination of our 80 mph speed and the fact that the terrain is simply different here led to this phenomena. Then again time seems to move more quickly the older you get.
The landscape changed most abruptly as we climbed the foothills. There were actually very few foothills per se; we were almost instantly “in the mountains.”
I snapped as many photos as I could – hoping that the movement of the train would not blur all of them.
We stopped at the east side of the park first at a location called East Glacier and I could see the stately old lodge off in the distance surrounded by a legion of 1930’s vintage tour busses painted a bright red. Someone was polishing the hood of one apparently getting ready to drive over to the station to meet our train.
I watched with some jealously as Dan and Mary and their brood of teenagers exit the train and head toward the station. Nice life; nice spot.
I also recalled that when we drove back across southern Montana there were miles and miles of the “true Big Sky” country with these fantastic mountains interspersed between flat valley floors that would extend 70 – 100 miles. As you descended through a mountain pass you could look ahead to the east and see the location of the next pass. Between you and that pass lay 70 miles of flat, dead-straight roadbed. It was not a matter of miles but rather a matter of how long it took to get from one pass to another.
Well, northern Montana is nothing like this.
I was in the dining car having a wonderful conversation with Mary and Dan, two teachers from a private prep school in St. Paul, MN who are chaperoning a group of fifteen year olds on a trip to Glacier National Park. The couple has been doing this same trip for years and knew some of the dining car wait-staff personally. This was their second trip this summer; they had been out here just two or three weeks ago.
Dan had worked as a ranger here and his description of the park increased my curiosity and desire for more. This might be worth a return trip at some point.
By this evening we had been looking at flat and increasingly dryer terrain for 15 hours and it was getting pretty boring. There was a clear sense among my fellow travelers that we better get there soon – or else.
I finished dinner around 6:30 as the train started moving due west from Cut Bank. Dan explained that this was one of the largest Indian reservations in the state and that the scenery didn’t really offer much until we got further down the road. He was right.
Somewhere out east of Browning we got the first peek at the peaks and the passenger compartments began to buzz with excitement and anticipation. Unlike my experience 25 years ago we got to the mountains a lot quicker than I had expected; perhaps a combination of our 80 mph speed and the fact that the terrain is simply different here led to this phenomena. Then again time seems to move more quickly the older you get.
The landscape changed most abruptly as we climbed the foothills. There were actually very few foothills per se; we were almost instantly “in the mountains.”
I snapped as many photos as I could – hoping that the movement of the train would not blur all of them.
We stopped at the east side of the park first at a location called East Glacier and I could see the stately old lodge off in the distance surrounded by a legion of 1930’s vintage tour busses painted a bright red. Someone was polishing the hood of one apparently getting ready to drive over to the station to meet our train.
I watched with some jealously as Dan and Mary and their brood of teenagers exit the train and head toward the station. Nice life; nice spot.
You Can Have Her
Here is a quick message to Verizon Wireless (VZW) – great job getting coverage all over the prairies of North Dakota. I got better reception in the middle of nowhere – sorry North Dakotans, but you must admit that this place is pretty remote – than in Augusta, ME. Granted you can probably put a tower in Minot and cover 90% of the state, but I really am getting GREAT coverage.
Crossing the boarder into Montana and VZW is nowhere to be found. We go for hours with a limited roaming signal and then some places with one bar or no service. This happens through most of the state until you reach the Empire Builder’s mid-point coaling station. Why here, why in Havre, MT. The answer is simple; they got the best VZW in the state!
Seriously, check out Google and find out about this place. It is after all Montana’s eight largest city with a population of 9,600 souls. It is also the place where the Empire Builder chooses to re-fuel and we were able to get off the train and roam around the station and take some photos.
But most importantly, I was able to make and receive some phone calls to tell my friends and family my location.
As you can see by the photo, the origin of the name of this is in dispute, but apparently has something to do with a fight between two French Canadians over a woman.
Crossing the boarder into Montana and VZW is nowhere to be found. We go for hours with a limited roaming signal and then some places with one bar or no service. This happens through most of the state until you reach the Empire Builder’s mid-point coaling station. Why here, why in Havre, MT. The answer is simple; they got the best VZW in the state!
Seriously, check out Google and find out about this place. It is after all Montana’s eight largest city with a population of 9,600 souls. It is also the place where the Empire Builder chooses to re-fuel and we were able to get off the train and roam around the station and take some photos.
But most importantly, I was able to make and receive some phone calls to tell my friends and family my location.
As you can see by the photo, the origin of the name of this is in dispute, but apparently has something to do with a fight between two French Canadians over a woman.
Where the Heck Are We?
It appears that a bunch of Europeans settled this part of Montana; some settlers may have been from Maine.
In the last few hundred miles we have passed through Glasgow and Malta and are on our way to Zurich and Harlem (that lady I had dinner with last night would have been impressed). It will be interesting to see if there are any mountains in Zurich, MT and African Americans in Harlem, MT.
We have also passed through Saco – which I am sure is not pronounced the same was as we in Maine pronounce it - and, Bowdoin. I did not see any indications of a college in Bowdoin. And the only river in Saco was the Milk River – which must get its name from the color of the water – chocolate milk!
In the last few hundred miles we have passed through Glasgow and Malta and are on our way to Zurich and Harlem (that lady I had dinner with last night would have been impressed). It will be interesting to see if there are any mountains in Zurich, MT and African Americans in Harlem, MT.
We have also passed through Saco – which I am sure is not pronounced the same was as we in Maine pronounce it - and, Bowdoin. I did not see any indications of a college in Bowdoin. And the only river in Saco was the Milk River – which must get its name from the color of the water – chocolate milk!
Going Backwards and Amtrak Elbow
Now that mine is last car on the train; and my roomette the last at the rear of the car, I have a special reserved viewing spot at the back door of the train right next to my room. From this vantage point you can view all of Montana - in reverse. One passenger came back here from some other part of the train and told me I had discovered the second best view on the train. He appeared jealous of my good fortune.
Now, the observation car is nice and you can see quite a bit, but this spot is more private and quieter, and so far I have only had to share it with a few people – others “in-the-know.”
The ICD-10 will need to add a classification for a new affliction – Amtrak Elbow. Technically it is not an affiliation of the elbow but of the forearms. The impairment/injury comes from constantly banging the backs of your forearms against various parts of the train as you attempt to move from one end of the train to the other. While walking though the sleeper car center “hallway” it is easiest to simply bounce off the walls – quite literally – and use your forearms as bumpers.
Amtrak Elbow is exacerbated by sleeping in a roomette. The Amtrak folks have strategically placed various parts of the roomette chair in locations that when you roll over, or more commonly are rolled over by the action of the train, causes your forearms to smash into these hard, non-impact absorbing chair parts and results in soft tissue damage. I was so unaware of this affliction prior to this trip. Had I known, I would have brought some football equipment. I should write a paper for JAMA. Hopefully the damage is not permanent. I’ll keep you advised.
When I was talking to the guy who came to the back of the train and commented about my view, I mentioned that I would be returning back on the Empire Builder. He asked how long I was going to be in Portland and I told him five days. He said that’s just enough time to recover.
Do you suppose he also suffers from Amtrak Elbow?
Now, the observation car is nice and you can see quite a bit, but this spot is more private and quieter, and so far I have only had to share it with a few people – others “in-the-know.”
The ICD-10 will need to add a classification for a new affliction – Amtrak Elbow. Technically it is not an affiliation of the elbow but of the forearms. The impairment/injury comes from constantly banging the backs of your forearms against various parts of the train as you attempt to move from one end of the train to the other. While walking though the sleeper car center “hallway” it is easiest to simply bounce off the walls – quite literally – and use your forearms as bumpers.
Amtrak Elbow is exacerbated by sleeping in a roomette. The Amtrak folks have strategically placed various parts of the roomette chair in locations that when you roll over, or more commonly are rolled over by the action of the train, causes your forearms to smash into these hard, non-impact absorbing chair parts and results in soft tissue damage. I was so unaware of this affliction prior to this trip. Had I known, I would have brought some football equipment. I should write a paper for JAMA. Hopefully the damage is not permanent. I’ll keep you advised.
When I was talking to the guy who came to the back of the train and commented about my view, I mentioned that I would be returning back on the Empire Builder. He asked how long I was going to be in Portland and I told him five days. He said that’s just enough time to recover.
Do you suppose he also suffers from Amtrak Elbow?
Badlands and Hebrew National
I’ve spent the morning just enjoying the passing countryside and chatting with my fellow passengers. We went through a section that looked like the backdrop for a John Ford movie. I noticed a reference to The Badlands on a sign we pass, but I think this must be the northern most reaches of that famed place. It was pretty as the Missouri River has begun following us – or we, it.
We passed through the town of Wolf Point, MT located in the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation. Apparently the Bureau of Indian Affairs located two tribes on the land – two tribes that have been warring for past three centuries – very clever. The only relatively prosperous thing in Wolf Point was the Indian Casino. We’ve passed a number of them on this stretch.
I stopped down in the club car and had a hot dog and root beer for lunch. We are now in Mountain Time, but I am not sure where my stomach is. I wasn’t real hungry and the hot dog did the trick. And yes, the club car features microwaved Hebrew National hot dogs, just like you can get in Brooklyn. The only bad side was the French’s mustard; you gotta have Gulden’s with a HN dog!
I chatted with another poor soul in the club car. He is traveling from Meriden, CT to Shelby, MT on Amtrak. He was on the same train from Springfield, MA and the Lake Shore Limited from Albany. He’s riding coach and told me hasn’t slept since leaving Connecticut. He was anxiously trying to find a signal on his cell phone so he can call his folks and arrange for a pickup. His service provider, one I have never heard of, was not providing a signal. BTW, I had wonderful Verizon Wireless service all of the way across North Dakota. That ended with the move across the boarder into MT. Now I am roaming and have one bar. I’ve turned the phone off and put in on the charger. Maybe I will get a VZW signal when we get to East Glacier.
The young man tells me his parents left Connecticut several months ago quite suddenly to get away from the violence, and moved to Helena, MT. I think there must be safer places a lot closer to Connecticut, but to each his own. Mom and Pop headed out there without jobs or any prospects. The most economical way for son to get there is via train and have the folks drive three hours up from Helena to pick him up. When I see him later in the day he still has not gotten the phone to work.
I ran into Boyd again. He and his wife is doing fine. He told me the lady running the snack bar in the club car used to work at South Station in Boston; she recognized him. Small world.
We passed through the town of Wolf Point, MT located in the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation. Apparently the Bureau of Indian Affairs located two tribes on the land – two tribes that have been warring for past three centuries – very clever. The only relatively prosperous thing in Wolf Point was the Indian Casino. We’ve passed a number of them on this stretch.
I stopped down in the club car and had a hot dog and root beer for lunch. We are now in Mountain Time, but I am not sure where my stomach is. I wasn’t real hungry and the hot dog did the trick. And yes, the club car features microwaved Hebrew National hot dogs, just like you can get in Brooklyn. The only bad side was the French’s mustard; you gotta have Gulden’s with a HN dog!
I chatted with another poor soul in the club car. He is traveling from Meriden, CT to Shelby, MT on Amtrak. He was on the same train from Springfield, MA and the Lake Shore Limited from Albany. He’s riding coach and told me hasn’t slept since leaving Connecticut. He was anxiously trying to find a signal on his cell phone so he can call his folks and arrange for a pickup. His service provider, one I have never heard of, was not providing a signal. BTW, I had wonderful Verizon Wireless service all of the way across North Dakota. That ended with the move across the boarder into MT. Now I am roaming and have one bar. I’ve turned the phone off and put in on the charger. Maybe I will get a VZW signal when we get to East Glacier.
The young man tells me his parents left Connecticut several months ago quite suddenly to get away from the violence, and moved to Helena, MT. I think there must be safer places a lot closer to Connecticut, but to each his own. Mom and Pop headed out there without jobs or any prospects. The most economical way for son to get there is via train and have the folks drive three hours up from Helena to pick him up. When I see him later in the day he still has not gotten the phone to work.
I ran into Boyd again. He and his wife is doing fine. He told me the lady running the snack bar in the club car used to work at South Station in Boston; she recognized him. Small world.
Lunch with Sanjaya, Jr.
I failed to make a reservation for breakfast and had considered skipping this meal altogether. After a quick shower in a space that was about the same size as the one on the LSL, I dress and journey back to the dining car. It’s about 9:30 so I figure the crowd should be ebbing. Jen the dining car chief lets me in without the reservation seats me with a vegan family of three from New Jersey. They are obviously of Indian or Pakistani decent and I learn they have been in NJ for three years, are taking a month to see as much of the USA as they can, and are reconsidering returning to native Bombay. Dad does most of the talking for the family, although their nine year old son is rather talkative and is obviously interested in social studies. They have traveled by auto to Chicago, are taking the Empire Builder to Seattle, then driving to Vancouver, BC, then a train to San Francisco, rental car to Salt Lake City and Yellowstone and I think flying back. I give them some ideas of places to see and let them know that we should start to see some interesting landscape when we get to Montana.
The little boy has a bright smile and a thick head of curly black hair, so I throw caution to the wind and ask if any asks him if is he Sanjaya, Jr. Laugher follows from Mom and Dad; Junior is beaming. I suggest they capitalize on this looks, get some head shots made and start signing autographs. Dad looks interested. We bid farewell and I’m sure they are still talking about the strange man from Maine.
The little boy has a bright smile and a thick head of curly black hair, so I throw caution to the wind and ask if any asks him if is he Sanjaya, Jr. Laugher follows from Mom and Dad; Junior is beaming. I suggest they capitalize on this looks, get some head shots made and start signing autographs. Dad looks interested. We bid farewell and I’m sure they are still talking about the strange man from Maine.
Day Three – I think
I could be a farmer, ‘cause I have a way
With plants and I make grow well so they say.
And I could be a-plowing this rocky old field
With a broken down plow-horse that I bought on a deal.
And no one works harder than the farmers and fools
And you can’t learn these lessons in your books or your schools
Just take what she’ll gives you and leave all you can
‘Cause a man could be worst than be one with the land.
And today as I wonder what’s waiting for me
I look to the hills and what they means to me.
These are the words (a Dave Mallet song) that I hear in my head this morning as I looked out the window at the lush flat plains of North Dakota. With the “sun barely risen,” I am conscious of the fact that although my watch says it is 5:30 am, it is really 6:30, at least according to my circadian rhythm.
I find the coffee pot at the end of the hall is full and hot. I also notice that some time during the night the last car, a coach, has disappeared and taken all of its passengers with it. I can only surmise that they we jettisoned in Minneapolis/St.Paul where we stopped around 11:00 pm.
I “turned in” – an expression that takes on literal meaning in this particular conveyance – and had dozed off when the train arrived in St. Paul/Minneapolis. I had hoped Garrison Keillor would have been standing on the platform to welcome us - even Guy Noire would have been a welcome sight. But, after going thorough what looked like a relatively large city – tall buildings, etc – the railway station was rather pedestrian. At least on my side of the train which for some reason seems to always be on the wrong side when it comes to stations in the larger thoroughfares.
I understand Prairie Home Companion a little better being out here. This really is Middle America. Homes here are modest and the framed crossroads that carve out the center on each community are classic in their simplicity and grace. Prosperity is relative here.
The prairie looks lush this season with some large puddles still filling the fields and providing healthy habitats of bugs for the plentitude of birds that are gathering their breakfast. And as though framing a Winslow Homer painting, there are one or two mallards strategically placed in each water feature.
As I got out of my roomette to investigate, we were passing through Merrifield, ND, a suburb of Grand Forks. Grand Forks must be a large metropolis; they have at least one traffic light that can be seen from the train.
I have attempted to travel to the dining car and find it full. Americans love their breakfast. I guess it was bad timing on my part. But I’ve had my coffee, so I am set. Now perched in the observation car, I have a view of the outside and inside – this is a busy spot with the multitudes passing through. It is a bit noisy and there is the chattering of people and the occasional child crying.
There are I think five coach cars still attached to Empire Builder. It really amazing to see the scores of people who have camped out in these cars. Families traveling with children still tucked in their blankets and curled three to a seat – ah to be able to sleep like these. As I make my way to the back of the train, there are still many people sound asleep.
Speaking of sleep, last night was decent. There were a couple of times when we hit a big bump and I was aroused from dreamland, but generally the ride was smooth and I slept more hours than last night.
I could be a farmer, ‘cause I have a way
With plants and I make grow well so they say.
And I could be a-plowing this rocky old field
With a broken down plow-horse that I bought on a deal.
And no one works harder than the farmers and fools
And you can’t learn these lessons in your books or your schools
Just take what she’ll gives you and leave all you can
‘Cause a man could be worst than be one with the land.
And today as I wonder what’s waiting for me
I look to the hills and what they means to me.
These are the words (a Dave Mallet song) that I hear in my head this morning as I looked out the window at the lush flat plains of North Dakota. With the “sun barely risen,” I am conscious of the fact that although my watch says it is 5:30 am, it is really 6:30, at least according to my circadian rhythm.
I find the coffee pot at the end of the hall is full and hot. I also notice that some time during the night the last car, a coach, has disappeared and taken all of its passengers with it. I can only surmise that they we jettisoned in Minneapolis/St.Paul where we stopped around 11:00 pm.
I “turned in” – an expression that takes on literal meaning in this particular conveyance – and had dozed off when the train arrived in St. Paul/Minneapolis. I had hoped Garrison Keillor would have been standing on the platform to welcome us - even Guy Noire would have been a welcome sight. But, after going thorough what looked like a relatively large city – tall buildings, etc – the railway station was rather pedestrian. At least on my side of the train which for some reason seems to always be on the wrong side when it comes to stations in the larger thoroughfares.
I understand Prairie Home Companion a little better being out here. This really is Middle America. Homes here are modest and the framed crossroads that carve out the center on each community are classic in their simplicity and grace. Prosperity is relative here.
The prairie looks lush this season with some large puddles still filling the fields and providing healthy habitats of bugs for the plentitude of birds that are gathering their breakfast. And as though framing a Winslow Homer painting, there are one or two mallards strategically placed in each water feature.
As I got out of my roomette to investigate, we were passing through Merrifield, ND, a suburb of Grand Forks. Grand Forks must be a large metropolis; they have at least one traffic light that can be seen from the train.
I have attempted to travel to the dining car and find it full. Americans love their breakfast. I guess it was bad timing on my part. But I’ve had my coffee, so I am set. Now perched in the observation car, I have a view of the outside and inside – this is a busy spot with the multitudes passing through. It is a bit noisy and there is the chattering of people and the occasional child crying.
There are I think five coach cars still attached to Empire Builder. It really amazing to see the scores of people who have camped out in these cars. Families traveling with children still tucked in their blankets and curled three to a seat – ah to be able to sleep like these. As I make my way to the back of the train, there are still many people sound asleep.
Speaking of sleep, last night was decent. There were a couple of times when we hit a big bump and I was aroused from dreamland, but generally the ride was smooth and I slept more hours than last night.
Mad Dash
Well the short story is – we made it!
The long story is much more involved.
At lunch the rumor mill was suggesting that the engineer had somehow made up for lost time and we would somehow get into Chicago in time for everyone to make their connections. I was planning on visiting with my cousin Ralph, who works in Chicago for perhaps a bite to eat – at least a little visit. Ralph had met me in Chicago last year when I traveled by Amtrak to attend a convention. He was eager to meet the train and give me a brief tour before I had to be on the Empire Builder departing at 2:15 pm. According to the schedule there should have been a four and a half hour layover.
As the morning progressed and we determined we were four and then five hours late, I called Ralph to alert him that there were several possibilities: 1) we would arrive in just enough time for me to get to the next connecting train, 2) we would somehow get in in-time for a very brief visit, and 3) I would miss my connecting train and be shanghaied in Chicago for at least 24 hours.
I think Ralph hoped for number three and would settle for number two. Number one was what happened.
When we got to Gary, IN, I knew we were about 30 minutes outside of Union Station. I called Ralph again and told him the situation and headed for the station. I had my bags all packed and as the train came to a stop at 1:55, I was the first one off the train and making the mad dash toward the gate. Several Amtrak employees directed my travel to the awaiting train located on Track B at, you guessed it, the other end of the station.
Scanning left and right as I moved quickly through the crowd I did not see Cousin Ralph anywhere. I climbed into my sleeping compartment #9 at 2:02; the Empire Builder left nineteen minutes later at 2:21 pm. I called Ralph to apologize for the mad dash. He was sympathetic and we hope to connect on the return leg of my trip.
A little more than 90 minutes later and we are in Milwaukee, the home of Miller High Life. I take a picture of world headquarters and wonder if they have an Arnold Brandt wing.
Milwaukee still looks a little tired – I was here 25 years ago, but there is a fair amount of construction and the word is Chicagoans are heading there en masse for the lower rents.
Dinner tonight is at 5:30 for me. We were required to have a reservation for a particular seating – a good idea. I am seated with a Judge from Minnesota, a Black woman from Harlem, and a grandmother from central Illinois. We talk about the weather and Brooklyn, and rents, and our destinations. The judge is the surprise. I would never have guessed his occupation. He looks a little like the actor William Hurt and I keep thinking I know him. He has five daughters and six grandchildren and he looks to be about my age. He tells us that we are in for a treat as the Empire builder would soon find the Mississippi River and Judge John is right.
Some place north of Wisconsin Dells we cross the river and then follow the western bank for a couple of hours. The scenery gets better and better with river boats and pleasure craft and many camps and McMansions along the shore line. One can only figure property in this locale is at a premium since some of the camps appear to cling to a very thin strip of land between the rails and the water.
The towns along this stretch are interesting and appear vibrant. There is the Fastnail Company in Winona that seems to be doing well.
The sun is setting and I get some great shots of the river and the orange sky. Soon it is too dark to see the river and can only see the lights of the towns ahead dotting the shoreline. I look forward to the return trip and seeing more of this locale in daylight.
I settle in to my room and watch The Untouchables on DVD. It seems fitting, having just left Chicago, to view this movie and I’ll probably dream about gangsters and prohibition.
The long story is much more involved.
At lunch the rumor mill was suggesting that the engineer had somehow made up for lost time and we would somehow get into Chicago in time for everyone to make their connections. I was planning on visiting with my cousin Ralph, who works in Chicago for perhaps a bite to eat – at least a little visit. Ralph had met me in Chicago last year when I traveled by Amtrak to attend a convention. He was eager to meet the train and give me a brief tour before I had to be on the Empire Builder departing at 2:15 pm. According to the schedule there should have been a four and a half hour layover.
As the morning progressed and we determined we were four and then five hours late, I called Ralph to alert him that there were several possibilities: 1) we would arrive in just enough time for me to get to the next connecting train, 2) we would somehow get in in-time for a very brief visit, and 3) I would miss my connecting train and be shanghaied in Chicago for at least 24 hours.
I think Ralph hoped for number three and would settle for number two. Number one was what happened.
When we got to Gary, IN, I knew we were about 30 minutes outside of Union Station. I called Ralph again and told him the situation and headed for the station. I had my bags all packed and as the train came to a stop at 1:55, I was the first one off the train and making the mad dash toward the gate. Several Amtrak employees directed my travel to the awaiting train located on Track B at, you guessed it, the other end of the station.
Scanning left and right as I moved quickly through the crowd I did not see Cousin Ralph anywhere. I climbed into my sleeping compartment #9 at 2:02; the Empire Builder left nineteen minutes later at 2:21 pm. I called Ralph to apologize for the mad dash. He was sympathetic and we hope to connect on the return leg of my trip.
A little more than 90 minutes later and we are in Milwaukee, the home of Miller High Life. I take a picture of world headquarters and wonder if they have an Arnold Brandt wing.
Milwaukee still looks a little tired – I was here 25 years ago, but there is a fair amount of construction and the word is Chicagoans are heading there en masse for the lower rents.
Dinner tonight is at 5:30 for me. We were required to have a reservation for a particular seating – a good idea. I am seated with a Judge from Minnesota, a Black woman from Harlem, and a grandmother from central Illinois. We talk about the weather and Brooklyn, and rents, and our destinations. The judge is the surprise. I would never have guessed his occupation. He looks a little like the actor William Hurt and I keep thinking I know him. He has five daughters and six grandchildren and he looks to be about my age. He tells us that we are in for a treat as the Empire builder would soon find the Mississippi River and Judge John is right.
Some place north of Wisconsin Dells we cross the river and then follow the western bank for a couple of hours. The scenery gets better and better with river boats and pleasure craft and many camps and McMansions along the shore line. One can only figure property in this locale is at a premium since some of the camps appear to cling to a very thin strip of land between the rails and the water.
The towns along this stretch are interesting and appear vibrant. There is the Fastnail Company in Winona that seems to be doing well.
The sun is setting and I get some great shots of the river and the orange sky. Soon it is too dark to see the river and can only see the lights of the towns ahead dotting the shoreline. I look forward to the return trip and seeing more of this locale in daylight.
I settle in to my room and watch The Untouchables on DVD. It seems fitting, having just left Chicago, to view this movie and I’ll probably dream about gangsters and prohibition.
Sad Stations
One of the more interesting aspects of this trip is the range of station facilities on the Amtrak line. Ranging from the elegance, already spoken about South Station, the facility in Albany is also quite exquisite. And having been in Chicago’s Union Station before, I know what a wonderful place it is. But many of the stops along the way are pretty sad. Springfield, MA is particularly ugly and Cleveland is also pretty sad. Both these stations look like they had been grand places in bygone years. Now the multiple cover “tracks” are in great disrepair, or abandoned together. In Cleveland there is a rather simple and functional brick building which is in sharp contrast to the Cleveland Browns stadium and Rock n”Roll Hall of Fame building which grace the beautiful lakefront. I would think that there would be a fair amount of passenger train traffic running through Cleveland, but apparently they don’t care what the station looks like. Contrast this with the excitement and civic pride that has gone into the planning of the new train stations along the Downeaster line. Strange.
The saddest site today was in Sandusky, OH where two young people got on our train. They had been waiting since 3:00 am and had reservations for another train that apparently did not stop. They were only going to Toledo, the next stop about an hour down the rail and were going to catch a bus to Detroit, their home. They carried a number of odd bags with their belongings and paid for their tickets in cash. Sandusky is one of those very sad train stations as is Toledo. I bid them farewell in Toledo and wish them the best. Traveling is never easy and down right miserable if you’re poor.
Last year when I took this route, we slept through Cleveland, Sandusky and Toledo and didn’t really see anything. Perhaps they did this on purpose.
The saddest site today was in Sandusky, OH where two young people got on our train. They had been waiting since 3:00 am and had reservations for another train that apparently did not stop. They were only going to Toledo, the next stop about an hour down the rail and were going to catch a bus to Detroit, their home. They carried a number of odd bags with their belongings and paid for their tickets in cash. Sandusky is one of those very sad train stations as is Toledo. I bid them farewell in Toledo and wish them the best. Traveling is never easy and down right miserable if you’re poor.
Last year when I took this route, we slept through Cleveland, Sandusky and Toledo and didn’t really see anything. Perhaps they did this on purpose.
Rumors
By lunchtime rumors have it that we have made up some lost time and are now back to being four hours late. This would get us into Chicago around 1:45, just in time to make the connection.
They just opened the dining car again and one of my tablemates indicated that he heard we might make it by 1:30 pm. We’ll see.
We are just stopping in Elkhart, IN. Someone needs to go out and mow the lawn next to the station.
They just opened the dining car again and one of my tablemates indicated that he heard we might make it by 1:30 pm. We’ll see.
We are just stopping in Elkhart, IN. Someone needs to go out and mow the lawn next to the station.
Life on the train
Life in the sleeper compartment makes one feel a little like Gulliver. Everything is just smaller than in real life; the bed, the aisles, the sink, the shower, and especially the toilet. I had to go down to the dining car and the lounge car a couple of times to re-experience normal size proportions.
June 27, 2007
Once again amazingly I am able to sleep on the train. It is not perfect sleep, but I probably got five or six hours of decent sleep. I don’t remember any stops along the way. The most noticeable thing is the fact that the air conditioning stopped working – I’m guessing at about 3:00 am. At five I get up and check the thermostat and also my travel clock which has a thermometer on it. It’s 79 in the roomette.
By 7:30 I am too hot to sleep and go out to find the dining car. Relatively speaking it is frigid in the dining car, but breakfast is good and I sit with a lady who returning to Sacramento, CA from NY. She has spent the last three weeks with her daughter in Fort Lee, NJ. We talk about California and NY, Broadway and trains. She’s a smoker and cannot wait until the next time we can stop and she can have a cigarette. I suggest that this might be a good time for her to stop. She reports that she had “lost her husband” last March and it would be hard to stop smoking now. Maybe she wants to join him sooner than later, I think.
The big news is the train has stopped and we are still 20 minutes out of Cleveland – EAST of Cleveland. This means we are now close to five hours late.
My roomette is too warm for blogging, so I have headed up to the club car to find some cool air. I call cousin Ralph to give him an update on the delays and he starts to develop contingency plans. Once in the club car, I find a conductor. He is NOT optimistic about our arriving in time to catch the Empire Builder. When asked what happens then he indicates that since they are guaranteed connections that Amtrak will provide accommodations in Chicago and a plan to get me to Portland. The word “bus” is mentioned. The adventure continues….
By 7:30 I am too hot to sleep and go out to find the dining car. Relatively speaking it is frigid in the dining car, but breakfast is good and I sit with a lady who returning to Sacramento, CA from NY. She has spent the last three weeks with her daughter in Fort Lee, NJ. We talk about California and NY, Broadway and trains. She’s a smoker and cannot wait until the next time we can stop and she can have a cigarette. I suggest that this might be a good time for her to stop. She reports that she had “lost her husband” last March and it would be hard to stop smoking now. Maybe she wants to join him sooner than later, I think.
The big news is the train has stopped and we are still 20 minutes out of Cleveland – EAST of Cleveland. This means we are now close to five hours late.
My roomette is too warm for blogging, so I have headed up to the club car to find some cool air. I call cousin Ralph to give him an update on the delays and he starts to develop contingency plans. Once in the club car, I find a conductor. He is NOT optimistic about our arriving in time to catch the Empire Builder. When asked what happens then he indicates that since they are guaranteed connections that Amtrak will provide accommodations in Chicago and a plan to get me to Portland. The word “bus” is mentioned. The adventure continues….
Chicago Bound
We’re on the Lake Shore Limited now chugging our way through the Boston suburbs and should be in Albany around 5:30 pm.
I had lunch in the Club Car and noticed a couple who I had seen in the Acela Lounge. He reminds me of Uncle Dick Weagly; I have a sneaking suspicion they may be brother and sister… I’m guessing they are returning to the mid-west somewhere…I’ll guess Minnesota. Or perhaps they will be going all the way across the country like me. They seem to be “of means” and obviously are grabbing a sleeper in Albany too. We’ll keep you posted.
We are now about an hour and a half out of Boston in the hill country west of Worcester – the second largest city in New England. I recall that this is where the Amtrak starts to climb into the foothills and ultimately, the Berkshires (you all know the James Taylor song where he sings, “…the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of the frosting…” – those Berkshires).
When I came though here 14 months ago it was late winter and the trees were all bare – no frosting. Despite the full vegetation now, there is still much to see. The track follows the extent bodies of water – the old railway architects certainly picked beautiful places to put their track.
We’ve passed through a number of small mill towns that seem to be fed by the river/stream that we are following. There was a beautiful mill and waterfall a few miles back. We’ll have to see if we can figure out what town that was. Very pretty.
7:00 pm
We finally arrived in Albany about an hour and a half late. The train experienced several delays, some due to “mechanical” issues and some related to the fact that CSX owns the lines and freight gets priority over people. All of the trainmen I’ve spoken to do not have nice things to say about CSX. I find out later that there was a high temperature restriction – when the temps get above 90, the trains need to stay under 45 mph. This was part of the delay. There was also a delay due to a traffic light that would not turn green. On two occasions we actually had to pull off to a siding and wait for another train to pass, then back up and resume our trip. That was a first.
In Albany I met Randy, an “Albanian” who was taking the Lake Shore Limited to Chicago for a conference. We had a nice chat and as I was the senior and resident expert on sleeper cars, I filled him in on what to expect.
There was a woman sitting in front of me with two boys. I noticed she was reading the Portland Press Herald, so I soon learned she was heading to Chicago with her son and nephew. She was concerned about the dining car being open once we go on the main train. I assured her I thought it would be open, and then checked with the information booth in Albany to confirm this.
When we arrived in Albany, I overheard a conductor’s radio report that the LSL coming up from NYC was running at least an hour late due to “a fatality.” This was later confirmed by people I met who were on that train. Apparently someone south of Poughkeepsie decided to commit suicide by Amtrak.
I also met Boyd and his wife, a Rhode Island native who was also heading to Portland, OR. They are going to a wedding. Boyd is retired railroad and his son also works for Amtrak. Boyd and his wife get to ride for free, but have to take coach. Boyd may come in handy.
The train from NYC did not arrive in Albany until almost eight. We finally boarded and I went to the dining car. It was now close to 8:30 and I met a professor from U Maine Farmington. We had a nice chat and ordered our meals, and I a bottle of their finest Chardonnay. We had just started eating our salads when the lights went out. It was a bit romantic for about five minutes. But then the 90 degree outside temperature started to invade the space and they stopped serving – railroad rules.
Those who had not ventured down to the dining car were ordered to stay in their rooms and seats while they tried and failed to fix the problem. Forty five more minutes and another engine hooked up and we are back in the light, but still sitting in Albany. It is now after 9:30 pm – we are about 2-1/2 hours late.
I return to my room and the fatigue of the day is getting to me. I take a shower then return to my roomette to listen to some music. Beddy-bye before 11:00.
I had lunch in the Club Car and noticed a couple who I had seen in the Acela Lounge. He reminds me of Uncle Dick Weagly; I have a sneaking suspicion they may be brother and sister… I’m guessing they are returning to the mid-west somewhere…I’ll guess Minnesota. Or perhaps they will be going all the way across the country like me. They seem to be “of means” and obviously are grabbing a sleeper in Albany too. We’ll keep you posted.
We are now about an hour and a half out of Boston in the hill country west of Worcester – the second largest city in New England. I recall that this is where the Amtrak starts to climb into the foothills and ultimately, the Berkshires (you all know the James Taylor song where he sings, “…the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of the frosting…” – those Berkshires).
When I came though here 14 months ago it was late winter and the trees were all bare – no frosting. Despite the full vegetation now, there is still much to see. The track follows the extent bodies of water – the old railway architects certainly picked beautiful places to put their track.
We’ve passed through a number of small mill towns that seem to be fed by the river/stream that we are following. There was a beautiful mill and waterfall a few miles back. We’ll have to see if we can figure out what town that was. Very pretty.
7:00 pm
We finally arrived in Albany about an hour and a half late. The train experienced several delays, some due to “mechanical” issues and some related to the fact that CSX owns the lines and freight gets priority over people. All of the trainmen I’ve spoken to do not have nice things to say about CSX. I find out later that there was a high temperature restriction – when the temps get above 90, the trains need to stay under 45 mph. This was part of the delay. There was also a delay due to a traffic light that would not turn green. On two occasions we actually had to pull off to a siding and wait for another train to pass, then back up and resume our trip. That was a first.
In Albany I met Randy, an “Albanian” who was taking the Lake Shore Limited to Chicago for a conference. We had a nice chat and as I was the senior and resident expert on sleeper cars, I filled him in on what to expect.
There was a woman sitting in front of me with two boys. I noticed she was reading the Portland Press Herald, so I soon learned she was heading to Chicago with her son and nephew. She was concerned about the dining car being open once we go on the main train. I assured her I thought it would be open, and then checked with the information booth in Albany to confirm this.
When we arrived in Albany, I overheard a conductor’s radio report that the LSL coming up from NYC was running at least an hour late due to “a fatality.” This was later confirmed by people I met who were on that train. Apparently someone south of Poughkeepsie decided to commit suicide by Amtrak.
I also met Boyd and his wife, a Rhode Island native who was also heading to Portland, OR. They are going to a wedding. Boyd is retired railroad and his son also works for Amtrak. Boyd and his wife get to ride for free, but have to take coach. Boyd may come in handy.
The train from NYC did not arrive in Albany until almost eight. We finally boarded and I went to the dining car. It was now close to 8:30 and I met a professor from U Maine Farmington. We had a nice chat and ordered our meals, and I a bottle of their finest Chardonnay. We had just started eating our salads when the lights went out. It was a bit romantic for about five minutes. But then the 90 degree outside temperature started to invade the space and they stopped serving – railroad rules.
Those who had not ventured down to the dining car were ordered to stay in their rooms and seats while they tried and failed to fix the problem. Forty five more minutes and another engine hooked up and we are back in the light, but still sitting in Albany. It is now after 9:30 pm – we are about 2-1/2 hours late.
I return to my room and the fatigue of the day is getting to me. I take a shower then return to my roomette to listen to some music. Beddy-bye before 11:00.
On the road…
June 26, 2007 – 12:30 pm
I left Bob K’s house this morning at 8:00 in what is the first leg of the journey to the other Portland. Bob drove me to the Amtrak station in Wells where I boarded the 8:40 am Downeaster which arrived right on time. In less than two hours we were crossing the Charles and arriving at Boston’s North Station exactly on-time.
North Station, located below the famous Boston Garden has always been the wicked stepchild of train stations. Unlike its step sibling, South Station, North is really nothing more than a commuter rail station. But much to my surprise they have undergone some renovations since I was last here, expanding the waiting area with a new spacious hall. Still not of the grandeur of South Station, at least it’s no longer a dump.
A quick taxi ride to South and I checked my baggage and then reclined in the luxury of the Acela Lounge, a nice perk for those traveling First Class or who have a sleeper to Chicago. The Lounge is on a mezzanine overlooking the main waiting area. It’s nicely climate controlled space – a big advantage on this warm and humid morning – offering free snacks, drinks, newspapers and Wi-Fi. I did not notice the WiFi sign until it was almost time to leave, but used it long enough to gather some e-mails and check out some free books. More about the books later.
The funny story of the trip so far was an overheard conversation on the Downeaster. Two young women boarded in Dover, NH were walking down the aisle looking for seats when one of the women faced me and spoke, “Oh, half the seats are facing one way and the other half are facing the other way.” It was a rhetorical statement, no doubt, but being the instant comedian I responded to her that “we’re going somewhere else.” I of course was in one of the seats facing the back of the train.
A few minutes later the women headed back up the aisle when the one who spoke again rhetorically announced, “I think this half of the train may not be going to Boston, they are going ‘somewhere else.’”
I guess you had to have been there.
As a going away present to myself I bought a new MP3 player. My old one, a first generation SansDisk had never worked correctly and had committed Hari-Kari earlier in the week. I had contemplated making the trip without a MP3 player and relying on my laptop and some CDs. But the more I thought of it, the more I realized this would add more weight to the trip. So, I popped over to Sam’s Club and picked up a Creative Zen Vision: M. I did this literally hours before leaving for Bob’s so I barely had time to charge it and move some music over on to it. Today I played around with some of the features including the ability to view pictures and videos. It also has a microphone for podcasting and has an FM radio receiver which nicely was able to pick up some Boston classical stations.
The Zen had a free book flyer in the box announcing that one could log into some website and download two free books. What they failed to mention was the fact that one was required to sign up for the service for a year and pay $20 a month. No, thanks.
~j
I left Bob K’s house this morning at 8:00 in what is the first leg of the journey to the other Portland. Bob drove me to the Amtrak station in Wells where I boarded the 8:40 am Downeaster which arrived right on time. In less than two hours we were crossing the Charles and arriving at Boston’s North Station exactly on-time.
North Station, located below the famous Boston Garden has always been the wicked stepchild of train stations. Unlike its step sibling, South Station, North is really nothing more than a commuter rail station. But much to my surprise they have undergone some renovations since I was last here, expanding the waiting area with a new spacious hall. Still not of the grandeur of South Station, at least it’s no longer a dump.
A quick taxi ride to South and I checked my baggage and then reclined in the luxury of the Acela Lounge, a nice perk for those traveling First Class or who have a sleeper to Chicago. The Lounge is on a mezzanine overlooking the main waiting area. It’s nicely climate controlled space – a big advantage on this warm and humid morning – offering free snacks, drinks, newspapers and Wi-Fi. I did not notice the WiFi sign until it was almost time to leave, but used it long enough to gather some e-mails and check out some free books. More about the books later.
The funny story of the trip so far was an overheard conversation on the Downeaster. Two young women boarded in Dover, NH were walking down the aisle looking for seats when one of the women faced me and spoke, “Oh, half the seats are facing one way and the other half are facing the other way.” It was a rhetorical statement, no doubt, but being the instant comedian I responded to her that “we’re going somewhere else.” I of course was in one of the seats facing the back of the train.
A few minutes later the women headed back up the aisle when the one who spoke again rhetorically announced, “I think this half of the train may not be going to Boston, they are going ‘somewhere else.’”
I guess you had to have been there.
As a going away present to myself I bought a new MP3 player. My old one, a first generation SansDisk had never worked correctly and had committed Hari-Kari earlier in the week. I had contemplated making the trip without a MP3 player and relying on my laptop and some CDs. But the more I thought of it, the more I realized this would add more weight to the trip. So, I popped over to Sam’s Club and picked up a Creative Zen Vision: M. I did this literally hours before leaving for Bob’s so I barely had time to charge it and move some music over on to it. Today I played around with some of the features including the ability to view pictures and videos. It also has a microphone for podcasting and has an FM radio receiver which nicely was able to pick up some Boston classical stations.
The Zen had a free book flyer in the box announcing that one could log into some website and download two free books. What they failed to mention was the fact that one was required to sign up for the service for a year and pay $20 a month. No, thanks.
~j
Sunday, June 24, 2007
All Aboard!
Tuesday I am setting out on an adventure. An adventure that will take me to the "left coast" from the "right coast" and back. An adventure that involves choo choo trains.
I hope to be able to blog and post pictures and videos along the way. I don't imagine there will be too many places to log in once I leave Chicago, but we'll see. Will definitely post when I get to the other Portland. Stay tuned and mark this blogspot.
Whhhooooooooooahwooooooooo...
~j
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Cap'n Crunch is Dead
Not really.
But the woman who is credited with inventing that wonderful, tooth-rotting taste has died at the age of 79.
According to the AP story in the Boston Globe, Pamela Low of New London, NH died last Friday at the age of 79. They report:
Low, who lived in New London for the past 34 years, was working for the Arthur D. Little consulting firm in the Boston area when she was asked to help find a flavor for the corn-and-oat cereal. She had studied microbiology at the University of New Hampshire, but drew upon a recipe that her grandmother, Luella Low, used to serve at home in Derry.
"She used to serve rice with a butter-and-brown sugar sauce that she made. She'd serve it over the rice on Sundays," William Low, an Ohio resident and one of Pamela Low's younger brothers, recalled in an interview with the Lebanon Valley News on Saturday.
Cap'n Crunch cereal was introduced in 1963 - I was ten years old and personally am responsible for the company's success as I ate about three tons of the stuff that year. I even had a Cap'n Crunch "treasure chest" which contained a square plastic bowl and shovel-shaped spoon in which you could enjoy your morning treat of sugar and milk.
Imagine my surprise when 27 years later, when I first worked on a college campus, I discovered that the only two breakfast cereals that were served in the college cafeteria were Cap'n Crunch and Lucky Charms.
Pamela Low is personally responsible for getting at least three generations hooked on that stuff. Let's see someone top that!
~j
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Pink Flamingos
The words "pink flamingos" conger up a number of memories for me; the John Waters film in particular. However, when I read the story today about the closing of the manufacturing plant in Massachusetts that held the patent on those plastic little darlings I recalled another pink flamingo story that most people don't know about. Yes, the good news is another company has taken over the patent and they will now be spitting the pink birds out in upstate New York. But it must have been around 1980 when this event took place, an event that will forever remain my best pink flamingo story. . .
I was living in the pastoral village of Lower Bartlett, New Hampshire, just north of the tourist trap town of North Conway with its miles of stores, restaurants, motels and drinking establishments. That was at the time when "The Valley" (the Mount Washington Valley to be precise) had just started to explode with development. The land grabbers had come in the first wave in the 1970s and changed what had been a sleepy little hamlet into a resort town. Eight major ski resorts were within an hour's drive of North Conway, so it became the service center for all the tourism industry with lots of places to stay and eat. In the 90s this would expand further with rampant condo development and malls. By 1980, North Conway looks nothing like it did in 1970 when I first visited it on a family trip.
During the time I lived in Bartlett, 1979-1983 the population and development was pretty stable. They were still primarily a two seasons resort - winter and summer - but entrepreneurs were always trying hard to find things to make it a four-seasons resort.
As a two-season town there were a number of transient types who worked and played the ski slopes in the winter and labored in construction and low-paying jobs in the summer. Many of these folks were "fond of the drink" and kept the beer taps in the multitude of bars and restaurants pumping year round. This crowd - and life style - tended to draw a collection of interesting "characters," who spiced up the life in the Valley and created enough gossip and small talk that they had their own weekly newspaper called The Mountain Ear which had a whole page devoted to weekly gossip and "pub chatter."
So one should not have been that surprised when one Monday morning while I was driving to work I had my first sighting of wild pink flamingos. The location, a bog/wetland that was created between the relatively new by-pass highway and the steep embankment that carried the railroad tracks up the valley to the north, would be a logical place for flamingos to roost, right? Except it was late April, and this was New Hampshire, not exactly part of the native migration territory for tropical birds. Goodness knows, April in New Hampshire is more winter like than spring like.
I first noticed them on that overcast morning when the car in front of me tapped his brakes and started to drift into the breakdown lane. Being on autopilot myself, I unconsciously hit my brakes and looked off to the right. There they were. Two of them standing gracefully in the middle of the clear pond centered in the wetland.
It must have been the brain crustiness of a Monday morning as it took me a couple of seconds to react. "Pink Flamingos?" I mumbled to myself.
I stopped the car behind the guy in front of me and got out for a better look. "Yup, them's pink flamingos alright. But they gotta be plastic, right?" More rhetorical mumbling.
As me and the guy from the other car stood there staring in disbelief several other cars stopped and one gawker produced a camera and started taking pictures. People driving in the northbound lane also slowed to look and soon there was big crowd of people standing along the side of Route 16 pointing and laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Now having two plastic pink flamingos along the side of a road in New Hampshire, even in the end of April, was not that uncommon. What was unique about this event was the fact that this wetland sat about 70 feet below the road bed and 30 feet below the rail tracks. The area was a complete bog with no dry flat ground anywhere near the water. For someone to have placed two plastic pink flamingos into this location was quite a feat of ingenuity. And that's what people started to buzz about. How HAD these two birds been "flown in?"
As I was now late for work, I climbed back into my car and headed off to my destination. Once there I told my working companions about the amazing discovery. Soon others came in telling the same tale. By noontime everyone in town was buzzing about it, and apparently the Bartlett Police had to be called in to direct traffic and keep the rubberneckers away.
Later that day, as I drove home in the fading light there were still people standing by the side of the road. The police had ordered people to park at the scenic overlook up on top of the hill and walk back if they wanted to see the pink flamingos. The pink flamingos had become The Valley's latest tourist sensation.
That night on the local radio station the lead news story told of the pink flamingos and how the people were driving in from all over the valley to see the spectacle. On a call-in chat show later that night, caller after caller offering their theory about how the birds had come to rest in that most unusual of locations. One guy was convinced that they had to have been brought in by helicopter; UFOs and aliens were also mentioned.
The next day and the next day, the buzz and the excitement grew. There were new sightings in other locations in The Valley reported on the evening news, but they all turned out to be false. Apparently, some of the business people wanted to steer some of the new traffic in their location.
That Friday, the Mountain Ear had a whole issue devoted to the flamingos including maps and special interviews. However in the gossip column there seems to be some coded messages suggesting some of the local characters had the skinny on who it was who had done the caper.
It was all in good fun and a welcome diversion from the otherwise boring post winter - pre summer doldrums (locally known as Mud Season) that tended to invade this locale.
But then a new mystery came about. Some time between Sunday night and Monday morning, the Bartlett pink flamingos flew the coop! Gone! Vamoose!
Just as mysteriously as they had appeared, they had somehow managed to evict themselves from that unlikely spot, and vanished.
The buzz now shifted to the disappearance. "Could the birds have been the victims of fowl play" the headlines in Wednesday's paper read. But as Mud Season slowly turned into spring and then summer, the talk about the Bartlett Bog Pink Flamingos eventually trickled down and disappeared too.
To this day it remains a mystery. The true story about how two plastic pink flamingos flew into Bartlett, New Hampshire on a spring fling and flew off a week later may never be know.
But it will not be forgotten.
~j
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Queen
This week I picked up the video release of Academy Award winner "The Queen", but I haven't yet had a chance to view it.
I love Helen Mirren and am very much looking forward to the film which not surprisingly, never did appear in any of our Augusta cinemas, despite nine screens.
I'm not sure I could say I "love" Queen Elizabeth. I frankly find her a rather sad individual, cool, perhaps "uptight." But my impressions were warmed when I saw this video clip on the MSNBC site. It's about a 4.5 year old British lad who launched a balloon in hopes of finding a pen pan. You'll have to view the video to hear "the rest of the story!"
I'm not sure I could say I "love" Queen Elizabeth. I frankly find her a rather sad individual, cool, perhaps "uptight." But my impressions were warmed when I saw this video clip on the MSNBC site. It's about a 4.5 year old British lad who launched a balloon in hopes of finding a pen pan. You'll have to view the video to hear "the rest of the story!"
UPDATE: 6/2/07
"The Queen" is masterful...Mirren is fabulous, as is the rest of the cast. Run out and see it today if you have not seen it. You will want to see it before all the whoop-la starts in August surrounding the 10th anniversary of "that week."
~j
~j
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Deleted
They say that nothing in the blogosphere is ever really deleted. Apparently, two hundred years from now some anthropologist will be able to dig through the remains of some server that housed my last blogger entry and reveal that I was a very cranky individual. Well I was, and to some extent I still am. But I did delete the last blog entry made here because, after reading it, it was just plain rubbish. That's a British term for something we in Brooklyn would call "crap."
My last entry was a rather snobby recitation about the fact that the rest of the USA was apparently obsessed with the television show American Idol and I was the only person not "glued to the tube" the last night of the season. But then I picked on that poor Indian boy, you know the one with all the hair, and said some unkind things. It wasn't his fault he was apparently not very talented when it came to singing and that there were people manipulating his image on both sides. But quite frankly, I found the entire American Idol idea rather stupid. I think what made me the most cranky was its popularity - this fact was one more indication the entire American psyche had gone to the dogs.
It is not just that Americans are getting dumber - they are - but that's another issue. What bothers me on a basic level is that this stupidity might suggest that all popular culture ideas, in any generation, are simply rubbish too. Is that possible? Could the Peace Movement of the 1960's that led to the end of the Viet Nam war be nothing more than the cultural equivalent of American Idol? It could be. Could the Woman's Movement, the Civil Rights Movement, even the Gay Power movement have been nothing more than a popular cultural fad of its time, ultimately - like American Idol - meaningless?
I am waiting for the day when of all those Baby Boomers who lived through the 60's sit up and take notice of what a mess this country has become and once again, donning peace signs and tie-dye t-shirts, rise from the background din and call for revolution.
Or is it more like that they will just pass me in the high speed lane of the Interstate driving their SUVs and give me the finger?
Anyway, I am cranky for a lot of reasons, but whining - even though I am good at it - does nothing to cheer me up. So, I'll shut up and ponder my navel.
Peace
~j
Friday, May 18, 2007
Rainy Friday
I think this is the first time I've had five minutes to think for a couple of weeks. It is one of the crazy times of the year work-wise and I'm not sure I have a lot accomplished that I can point to.
The weather here has turned rainy and cold - unseasonably cold with lows in the 30s. I decided last weekend that despite the rather lovely weather of temps in the high 60s and abundant sun, I would wait another week before brushing off my "green thumb" and putting the container garden in.
I did go so far as to purchase topsoil and filled all the pots and flower boxes. I cleaned off the porch chairs and swept the "winter dust" off of the porch, but the flowers will have to wait.
At the local Shop N'Save they have a display of some various cover flowers in some racks outside the store...they looked pretty sad today...almost as if they were begging some one to bring them in out of the cold.
But this is just temporary and I know we will be complaining about the heat soon.
The big news here at the building is the crazy landlord is at it again with another construction project that will no doubt create a summer - or longer - of havoc, discomfort and misery.
They never do any job quickly around here. The porch project - where they constructed new patio/porches on the two buildings - too over three years to complete. The landlord apparently pays for these project on the layaway plan, and when he has enough materials in stock, does a little more.
So this project is a new entry way for the west end - my end - of the building. It's gonna look like Tara from Gone With the Wind - and in no way consistent with the architecture of the building. I'll take some pictures when it stops raining.
~jeb
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
A Hole in One
Almost.
So, what can be better than a hole-in-one in golf? How about hitting the flag on a fly.
That's what I did on Sunday, May 6, 2007 at the Sable Oaks Golf Course in South Portland. It was the 13th Hole - I used a 7-iron on a 142 yrd hold. There was a steady wind from the right and I tend to pull shots when I tee them up and use an iron. The pin was placed on the front left. I aimed just right of center and tried to keep my head down.
It was like something in a dream, a perfect draw and it hit the flag about half-way up. The ball dropped below the hole and to the left about 5 feet away. I should have birdied, but took a par and walked off with a smile.
So how do I feel?
About the same way I did when I almost won the lottery about 20 years ago. I had five of the six numbers and won $1,000. I loved winning the money, but after a few days realized I would probably never come that close again.
Let's hope the "golf gods" are better to me than the "lottery gods."
~j
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)