"You're taking the TRAIN to Los Angeles? That is so cool!"
If course Larry and I are nothing, if not cool, but here, judge for yourself:
We arrived at the PDX station the requisite hour ahead of time, to learn that there had been a freight train derailment near Tacoma, and thus our departure was delayed for 3 hours. Great. Perfect. News of a derailment just the way to begin a train journey. We debated turning in our tickets and taking the family car instead, but Larry got the deciding vote in this instance, so we checked our suitcases and settled in to wait. We sleeping-car passengers have our own "lounge" (not exactly equivalent to the first class lounge at your local airport, but with, at least, upholstered chairs and a coffee machine.) We take what we're offered. This was an adventure, after all.
Finally underway. Here's what a "sleeping-car" compartment looks like. There is a 7-foot-long bench-like "sofa" and a single chair facing, with a cute collapsable table between. And, most important, the cabin's own "bathroom." (Sorry about the quotation marks, but seriously . . .) Do not underestimate the value of that little room! There is a shower that could be operated, one of those on-the-wall hand-held things which of course get the whole room wet, but in the event, Larry and I opted to wait to shower at our destination. Which was to be Peter and Allison's home the following night.
An hour down the road, nearing Woodburn, we came to an unscheduled stop that lasted an hour. Seems there was a automobile on the tracks, on fire. Huh? How does such a thing happen?
Anyway, we were 4 hours late and only 20 miles outside Portland, and it was time for dinner.
Now, they do their best, let's agree on that. But dinner on the train means you will be seated with another two people, whom you do not know. Neither Larry nor I are very sociable, and this idea sounded awful. We had already heard a great deal about the monarch butterfly from one scientist back in the lounge, which was interesting, yes, but we were relieved to see upon arrival in the dining car that he and his long-suffering spouse (we suppose) were already seated with another couple and the lecture was in full stride. Money discretely changed hands, and for the rest of the journey we were taken care of by way of a table to ourselves. Sorry, but that's how the world works, I guess.
Bedtime, and an attendant comes to convert the sofa in the cabin to a bed, and to lower the upper bunk, reachable by a ladder. Why it is that Larry gets the top bunk need not be discussed here, but that's our arrangement.
The very best part of going by train is the opportunity to see life's back yard. The scenery is wonderful, though you can, of course, see the same scenery from your automobile. What you can't see is this sort of thing: It's 4:22 in the morning and we are stopped in some small town to await the passing of a freight train going north. The moon is full and there is a brick building with EDDIE curved above the doorway, next to another building, a cafe, closed at this hour. A white pick-up is parked on the street before the buildings, luminous in the moonlight. The telephone wires sagging between poles catch the light as well, and a single dark figure walks along the road. Magic!
It takes 30 hours to travel by train from Portland to Los Angeles. By car, the journey is shorter in miles (it's almost exactly 1000 door to door), but longer in hours as it has to include a night in a motel. We have driven this in one long, long day, and it takes about 17 hours, but I do not recommend this plan, even switching drivers as we do. By airplane, it's 2 hours, not including the time spent in the airport.
But guess what. The train, if you choose a sleeping car, is the most expensive option of the three. And 30 hours in a tiny room, even with a book that's hard to read with the swaying of the car, a game on your iPad, a nice companion, lots of snacks and your on-board gin supply, gets really boring! You are interrupted constantly by updates from the cafe that William is now closing to take his dinner break, from the dining car that it's time for the 6:05 reservation to take their (communal) seats, that we are approaching Chico, and if that is your final destination you should look about your seats for your belongings, and that this is a family train so we must please use G-rated language. And so on. You can stroll about the train, lurching from one car to the next, but that's it for exercise.
And by plane, you are, of course, on an airplane, so there's that.
Next time, we go by car. Is that cool? Mmm, probably not. Sorry!
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