A Day > 24 hours

Waiting for the Train

Thursday, August 30. Judgment may not be my strong suit. I worked in my characteristic, driven way all day yesterday and arrived home after five – hot, tired and grumpy. I made supper for Bob, washed a load of dishes, cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen. By the time I took my shower, I was sweating profusely. Barely coherent after packing, I couldn’t even find a pair of earrings to wear for my 10 days away from home. No matter. The Romney acceptance speech put me in a thoroughly foul mood, just in time to leave the house shortly before 10. The train station is only a mile from home so we were soon parked an in the station. The gruff Amtrak employee who had sold us our tickets to Whitefish in June was on duty, and she had shed a little of her correctional officer demeanor as we checked our baggage.  We soon entered the “sleeping car passenger” waiting room, accessible only by keypad. Coach passengers looked enviously through the glass door, where we sat in frigid discomfort waiting for the train, running about an hour late.

All Aboard

Thursday, August 20. The train finally arrived at about 11:10. A stretcher flanked by St. Paul Fire Department EMTs stood outside, waiting for a passenger arriving on the train from Chicago – a sobering sight on the steamy platform. Finally, an Amtrak rep looking more like a Polar Express staffer sat down at a makeshift table and scanned our tickets, only to issue a paper boarding pass with the numbers of our car (731) and roomette (8). Our car attendant escorted us directly to our quarters, in a car near the front of the train.

Dismay! The beds were made up and we had to stand in the narrow passage while we scrambled with our carry-on luggage. By this time, Bob’s shirt was soaked with sweat. I looked up at the shelf that would soon be my berth and wondered how I would get up there. No ladder, just the arm of the seat to climb on.

Across the passageway, fellow passengers were sound asleep, even though I was laughing loudly at the present and presumed future predicament. It was nearly midnight and we walked back a few  cars to the “lounge”. The train moved slowly out of the station, through Dinkytown and the University of Minnesota. We recognized little of Minneapolis, since we don’t know the neighborhoods near the tracks.

We packed our jackets before we checked our bags, knowing that 90-degree heat would last for at least the next 24 hours. It was a bad idea. We were freezing and felt we had to go to bed to warm up.

A Night on the Train

Thursday, August 30 – Friday, August 31. An online review I read last week warned that the upper bunk was for the young, light and nimble. Because I have none of those attributes, I figured Bob would have to push and stuff me up on that bed, but it was an easy climb and I was soon sprawled on the bunk, with a foot or so of clearance above my head. Time to undress. I` started with my socks and worked my way north. Decided that nightie was too damn difficult to put on, so I wriggled under the covers, a little worried that some kind of emergency might force me out of the train stark naked in the dead of night. Bob hooked up the safety harness that would keep the bottom half of my body restrained, at least for a time, if I fell out of bed headfirst.

I attempted to stifle my laughter as the train finally began to gain speed and I gripped the side of my 20” bed to prevent a fall. I periodically heaved myself from one side to the other and slept a little. Very little. Bob woke at 5 and we both went to the lavatory at the east end of the car. I had to put my nightie on to venture out, but the view from behind was not pretty as I climbed down less than gracefully, shielded from public view by a pleated blue curtain.

I was ready to get up but Bob wanted to sleep some more, so I stayed in the rolling coffin of my berth until 7, when our attendant put our compartment back together for the long day ahead. This is not a return to the golden age of rail travel, whenever (and whatever) that was.

Breakfast at Devil’s Lake

Friday, August 31. My old motor home legs have come back quickly, and I’ve regained the serving skills acquired in those long ago days, when Bob and Chris sat in the cab of the Coachmen while I walked back and forth with snacks, beverages and trash. Navigated the passageway to get the very hot coffee and gracefully returned to the little box, where Bob had claimed the seat moving forward and I got the other, directly facing the light on the hot eastern sun.

Had breakfast in a tight booth with Hugh and Darlene, a retired couple from Pennsylvania. The omelet and scrambled eggs were mediocre at best, but the juice and company were good. The North Dakota landscape rolls peacefully by, past fields and cattle, wetlands and prairie lakes. The train is running 90 minutes late as we approach Minot at about 10 a.m. The train has already switched over to Mountain Time, although we don’t officially hit that time zone until the Montana border.

I will sign us up for the “wine and cheese event” this afternoon. Limit of 20 passengers per sleeping car. Bob is not too enthusiastic but he said he’ll join me if I manage to get on the sign-up sheet.

Minot

Friday, August 31. Pulling out of Minot at 10:41 a.m. We “detrained” (a new word for me) and noted that the day will be very hot.  The train whistle blows incessantly as we pass fields of sunflowers, rolled hay, and other acres of nothing. Cornfields are brown from drought, and some of the cattle watering holes re dry. I’m waiting for the promised trestle bridge but no sign of it yet. Half an hour out of Minot, oil wells – the source of the new prosperity in North Dakota – begin to appear.

I asked Bob if he knows of a famous monastery in Minot, but he doesn’t, and I miss wifi! Google will have to wait for Whitefish.

Restrooms on the Train

Friday, August 31. We’re on the second level of the car, where there is one restroom, an old, somewhat disgusting one. It’s not really dirty, but the floor was covered with what I hoped was water earlier this morning. I gagged, praying that I wouldn’t throw up and make matters worse. Fortunately, I’m good, for now at least.

At least two of the restrooms on the lower level are fine. One of these has a newer looking shower in a very confined space, the kind with a semi-circular Plexiglas  shower door. Lots of bath towels and face cloths, but I’m not about to take a shower in a train going 80 mph. I can just hear myself: “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

I am somewhat fanatic about brushing and flossing, but I seem to have packed my teeth accessories. I hope to God that checked baggage makes it.

5 O’clock Somewhere

Like in England. At about noon Central time Bob poured us a drink and I must admit that our two cocktails have made this journey more pleasant. Or less unpleasant.  An hour later we’re travelling through the Badlands, not so pretty as the South Dakota Badlands but nice enough in a rugged, depressing way.

We get free meals with our sleeping accommodations, and we do plan to head to the dining car for lunch. However, the dining car attendant just announced that there’s a waiting list for lunch so we may, or may not, get there. I’m going to walk down there now (the 5 cars) and put our name in.

The landscape reminds me our trip to Yellowstone when Chris was a little guy. Fun times, then and now. Bob and I have laughed so much in the last 18 hours!

Hennessey – Party of Two

Friday, August 31. Our name was called shortly after the promised 20-minute wait and we bounced our way down to the dining car, balancing ourselves between the walls. Meals are “community seating”, and we found ourselves with a pleasant couple from Massachusetts, Ray and Esther, on their way to Seattle for Ray’s Navy reunion and then to Los Angeles to visit their sons. Most passengers are “d’un certain age” and seem to have plenty of money, enough to travel “First Class”. Doesn’t seem like first class travel to me but that’s what Amtrak calls it.

Bob and I both had the Angus Burger, a dry hunk of salty meat served on a bun with cheddar cheese, tomatoes and onion. Chips on the side. I ate only the meat and declined the dulce de leche ice cream. I did taste Bob’s, and it was delicious.

Bob is sitting with his extra polo shirt wrapped around him, reminding me of Clark Griswold locked in the attic in Christmas Vacation. I’m not cold right now, and the laptop is warm on my knees.

Wine & Cheese

Friday, August 31. The vin fromage event was called out over the PA promptly at 3. This time, Pat & Jim from Bigfork were our table companions. They’re a career military couple retired in Montana. The four wines served were all from Washington State, two white (Chardonnay and a Gewur-something), two red (a Cabernet Sauvignon and a Gamay). The cheeses: a cheddar, bleu cheese and something white. All good but not spectacular.

We answered trivia questions to win bottles of the wines served. I didn’t know one of the answers and, in fact, can barely remember the questions. 95 degrees in Malta, according to the bank sign. Since I drank most of Bob’s wine, I expected to be thoroughly tipsy walking back to our car, but no; I walked as steadily as the rest of my AARP peeps. I’m astounded that these people, many of them easily 80+, can walk through the train, let alone climb up on the bunks.

Here we are at 4:00 p.m., near Hwy 396, on our way to Havre. Another opportunity to step out of the train and warm up.

Warmed up TV Dinners

Friday, August 31. The ten minutes we spent outside in Havre warmed us up pretty well, for awhile, at least. We started to look forward to our 6:45 p.m. dinner seating, even though neither of us was hungry. We were seated with Ray and Esther once again, and we all had equally disgusting meals. Chicken for them, tilapia for us. I did like the spicy lentils with chili. Bob commented that the meals on the train are like “warmed up TV dinners” – the ones that were popular back in the 50s.

The landscape is marred by abandoned properties and old trailers converted into quasi permanent homes. Night is falling and we’re going to miss seeing the mountains in daylight. Shelby is the next stop, and we won’t be in Whitefish till well after 11, several hours late.