I’m not gonna lie: The words miserable and torture were bandied about a fair amount between Steve and me during the course of our first-ever, cross-country train trip in February. In fact, just a few days into the trip, I found out that he was surreptitiously checking out flight schedules, plotting a possible escape from our rail journey. Now even though I was pretty miserable (there’s that word again) at the time, I immediately shut down any thoughts of trading in trains for planes, and here’s why: This was an adventure we’d both been looking forward to for a long time, and despite the fact that it wasn’t playing out perfectly (not even close!), I couldn’t imagine giving up. I felt strongly that we needed to finish what we started, and I’m glad we did. So is Steve.
Just to back up a bit and reiterate what I covered in previous columns: Our questionable (OK, stupid) packing decisions left us lugging super heavy bags that even a pack mule would refuse; loud, drunken passengers served as a source of irritation on more than one leg of our journey; and the fact that our trains were often running behind schedule caused us a few headaches. And, then there are the things that I never even got around to mentioning, like: Trying to sleep in coach was even worse than I’d anticipated; and the bathrooms, while not as bad as we’d feared they’d be, were…well, they were train bathrooms, so I’ll let you use your imagination and deduce from that what you will.
After almost a month of travel, we were both so, so ready for the trip to be over, that by the time we pulled into the depot in Selma we were all but delirious with happiness. But almost immediately after returning home, I found myself wanting to do it all again. Well, not all (I’ve already put new packing protocol in place). But I did find myself already dreaming about another train journey. That surprises a lot of people, not the least of whom is Steve. I just kind of assumed he was feeling the same way, until recently when I asked him if he wanted to take another train trip and he looked at me like I was crazy, before stammering, “I…well…I…you want to?” We’d both already agreed that we’d love to do a day trip, say to D.C., but he definitely wasn’t prepared for my interest in another long journey.
And I don’t know how to explain it except to say this: I still remember all the bad parts of the trip, but they’ve softened around the edges. Plus, as is often the case in life, the stuff that seems horrible in the moment it’s happening, is the same stuff that makes for your best stories at the dinner table — and Steve and I have both gotten some pretty good conversational mileage out of the drunken rowdies we thought would drive us insane on the train. And then there’s the old adage, that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I don’t know about stronger exactly, but I think I can speak for Steve when I say that we both absolutely feel a sense of accomplishment at having completed the journey.
The other thing is this: I’ve talked about the bad parts of the trip, but there were also a lot of good parts. And the good parts weren’t just good, they were great: People often talk about train travel as a wonderful way to see the U.S. and that’s true. Even as I type this, in my mind’s eye I see egrets wading in the wetlands of Louisiana and a group of javelinas dashing into the woods in Texas. A gray sky hovering above an equally gray Mississippi River. The skyline of Houston at dusk. The grandeur of the Great Hall of Chicago’s Union Station. The sleek sophistication of the Daniel Patrick Moynihan Train Hall in New York City.
Some of the places and landscapes we saw were indescribably beautiful. Others were quite the opposite. We passed through small towns where desolation hung in the air, with houses whose littered, unkempt backyards butted up next to the train tracks, because life had pushed their owners back until there was no further they could be pushed.
From the tracks, we were privy to an honest look at America, its best and its worst. It felt very intimate. But most of all, every single day, it felt like the adventure that it was.
So, would I ever take another long-distance train trip? In a skinny minute. Would I be able to talk Steve into going with me? I sure hope so. Would we do things differently next time around? Oh, absolutely. And would I return with a whole new batch of stories to tell? Count on it!
Next week: Starstruck in Vegas!
