I hadn’t taken a vacation — an absence from daily life of more than a weekend in length — in 20 years. I also hadn’t seen my older son, Nathaniel, stationed at Joint Base Lewis-McChord near Tacoma, Washington, for five years, for many reasons.
When those reasons were resolved in June, I began preparing for the trip. I decided to travel by the mode Steve Goodman sang of in “City of New Orleans,” the “magic carpet made of steel” – the railroad. Neither my nine-year old Subaru nor my 69-year-old body wanted to spend weeks crossing the country, despite finally having the time. And, with a USA pass, traveling 6,778 miles cost about $690.
My lingering concern was the time spent in the dark. The steel magic carpets of Amtrak are borrowed. Moving freight is primary, which means even major cities are serviced once a day. Westbound passengers have no choice but to leave Albany at 6 p.m. and to arrive at Chicago the next morning on the “Lakeshore Limited.” The advertised views of “beautiful” Lake Erie are unseen as the train travels through the night.
Waking in Ohio — where barns are triple the size of barns in my native Michigan and are generally painted white and where farms raise only corn — I learned the train was behind schedule, a not uncommon happening. I had looked forward to spending four hours with my Chicago friend, but our time was reduced by half, or, just enough time for a leisurely lunch and the confirmation of what a lovely person she is. It was also good to see that the city I had visited as college student and young working woman was still elegant.
It was only after boarding the “Empire Builder,” that the trip became real. The train’s name commemorates James Hill, whose empire-building consisted of merging several rail lines into the Great Northern and developing what would become Glacier National Park to draw passengers to his line.
I had my first dinner en route shortly after we crossed the Minnesota line. Meals are served almost communally, with parties of fewer than four seated with strangers. My dining companions were another solo woman and an elegantly dressed couple. We were all Midwesterners over 60 looking at America firsthand after years of flying. At Harding, Minnesota, we crossed the Mississippi, a first for each of us.
The train began following the river north as we rode into a yellow, blue and gray sunset. Later, back at my seat, I took a picture of the final rays of the sun setting over the Mississippi.
Retired baby boomers weren’t the only passengers. Families with young children seemed to find travel by rail a boon. Parents simply walked toddlers to the restrooms without waiting for stops miles down the road.
Children attended the “Rails and Trails” sessions conducted by national park volunteers, who offered maps, stickers and coloring sheets; lectured on history and the landscape, and helped them spot pronghorn antelopes, deer and raptors. Many children carried their small blankets and stuffed animals in their own backpacks. At night, the children slept, holding their fleecy companions tucked in with them.
Extended families traveled in groups. Some were bound for family reunions. Nineteen members of one family, representing three generations, were headed for Portland, where they would board a cruise ship for Alaska. During the rail trip, the youngest member, just 3, sat on his grandfather’s lap discussing every sight “papa” pointed out to him.
Despite the gray skies over North Dakota, people were smiling. Confusion reigned. Was the observation car before the dining car or after? New friends remarked, “You wouldn’t think a straight line of cars would be disorienting.” It was disorienting but it also started conversations.
Outside, the skies cleared as Montana offered its many faces. There were strange formations that looked like stacked ice cream cones, expanses of flat land, green rivers, and miles of sedimentary rock. There were also prairie potholes, leftover ice-age pits serving as the breeding grounds for North American water birds, that were afloat with ducklings.
As the day wound down, the train pulled up to East Glacier Park. Staying at the Lodge was my splurge, but, as this was the centenary of the National Park Service, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity could not be passed up. I ate a dinner of smoked salmon, followed by Idaho trout served with wild and white rice mixed with shredded carrots, as well as perfectly cooked summer squash. Dessert was huckleberry ice cream. No Montana meal is complete without huckleberries.
The morning was clear and slightly warmer than Glacier’s usual August temperature of 40 degrees. After a breakfast of a huckleberry pancake, I boarded the circa-1936 red bus for a tour of the park, including 52 miles on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, which is frightening for flatlanders but breathtakingly beautiful with rapids, rivers tinted by dissolved minerals and strange rocks. I made friends with the woman next to me. She, too, was the alumna of a woman’s college and a former teacher. A widow, she traveled with her brother, a Vietnam veteran who wore a cap that defined his status. Younger men, Gulf War veterans, approached him, shook his hand and thanked him for his service.
That night, I slept on the train which arrived at the station too late for dinner in the dining car. In the morning, I woke as we descended the Cascades. I spent four hours in Seattle that included eating a breakfast of a latte and scrambled eggs at a bakery cafe, poking around in art galleries, and buying chocolates and sugar flavored with cardamom and lavender. Clean, beautiful and artsy, Seattle is a welcoming city.
Then, it was back on the train for the 33-mile trip to Tacoma where a family dinner, board games and hugs from six grandchildren awaited.
Susan Wozniak, of Easthampton, is a retired journalist and writing professor who writes a monthly column. The remainder of the journey will be described in her March column.