Just a train ride away

Part 2 Traveling by train

As I mentioned last week, I plan to divide this story up, mindful of your reading time, and also because there are quite a few things to write about. If you missed Part 1, you can find it here.

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Sacramento Valley Station

Our train departs Sacramento at 11:45 p.m. We enter the station about 9:30, and nostalgia greets us at every turn. The 40-foot rounded ceilings bespeak a distant time. There is an elegance, even with its understated utilitarian style furnishings. Unlike an airport, the entire station seems manned by only a dozen people. We proceed to the baggage area to check our bags. There are no scanners or fees for a heavy bag, or perhaps I didn't overpack on this trip? Very few passengers are checking bags. 

We have reserved a roomette for the ride up. As sleeper car passengers, we are escorted to a small private waiting area cordoned off by portable walls. Unlike the wooden benches in the main waiting area, we are afforded couches and chairs, a few tables, and a water station. 

We settle into the only small couch still available. To my right is a larger sofa which houses two older women. A white sheet is spread over the couch. Their belongings are haphazardly strewn about, luggage is open, and items cover the small coffee table in front of them. In the few hours we wait, they sleep off and on in positions that look incredibly uncomfortable.

In total, there are ten of us waiting. As boarding time approaches, the women begin to pack up. The white sheet is folded and returned to their suitcase. A flurry of activity ensues as they put their shoes and jackets on, repack, and close their suitcases. One of them spills a bottle of water. It appears inconsequential to her. They are the first to leave the waiting area, the puddle of water left for someone else to deal with. Having worked for the airlines, I know about spilled water in public places, a breeding ground for slips and falls. I mention it to one of the station workers as we depart.

We board the train quickly and, within minutes, settle into our roomette. The beds are already set up, bunk bed style, each with a pillow and a small blanket wrapped in plastic. There is enough room to stand sideways facing the beds and sidestep to the small closet. We laugh as we puzzle about working together in this tiny space. We somehow change into pajamas and store our few carry-on bags in the closet.

Rick takes the cocoon-like top bunk. Climbing up is no small feat. It should be me headed up there. He is taking one for the team because he knows how excited I am for this train trip. I look longingly at the large windows over the bottom bunk and envision myself waking up to the view. While my mind is saying, "Honey, let me go up there," I remain moot.  At that moment, I am the woman walking away from the puddle of water.

I love my husband more than words can say. I appreciate his gift and settle into the bottom bunk. 

Those first few moments when the train begins to move are magical. Unlike an airplane, where the noise level informs the passengers about the departure, on a train, especially at the rear of the train, only the motion and the view out the window alerts one to the beginning of the journey, and perhaps if you are listening for it, the faint sound of the train’s horn. 

It doesn't take either of us long to fall asleep. But before we do, Rick says from the top bunk, "No more train trips if we have to sleep in bunk beds." I agree. Somewhere in the night, I remove the plastic from the blanket and cover myself. The blanket feels like it’s made of nylon. Note to self: No bunk beds, and bring your own blankets and pillows.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay. I didn’t have snow or the cat, but I felt just about this dreamy.

Morning brings a new experience, and I remember why I love trains. I wake up just as the sun rises, and the beauty out my window demands I sit up and begin watching the show. Like a child on Christmas morning, I swipe the sleep from my eyes repeatedly until I'm fully awake. 

I get comfortable, find my sweater, discard the ineffective blanket, and settle into the view. Rick surprisingly sleeps for another hour as I watch the tail end of California and the beginning of Oregon pass me by in the early morning light. The landscape is beyond beautiful; the mountains are majestic, and the trees seem to multiply on themselves. I wouldn't trade this moment.

I finally hear sounds from the bunk above, and within minutes Rick has joined me below. Once again, I admire his deft ability to maneuver from above in the space provided. We move slowly through the morning, enjoying the views, and head to the dining car around 9:00 for breakfast. 

Unlike flying, traveling by train ensures you will converse with and get to know fellow travelers. Due to the limited number of tables, any couple of two can expect to dine with others. We eat breakfast with an interesting young couple from LA. The conversation is easy and informative and points out the differences between generations. 

They talk of their new apartment high-rise in a downtown location, where everything they need is within walking distance. They are spirited and opinionated. The young woman doesn't believe they will purchase a home. It doesn't make sense for their generation, given prices and the state of affairs in California. They don't want to worry about insurance and maintenance.

I listen with interest, already missing our blessed home, the kitties and the garden, the maintenance and even the insurance concerns. 

Isn't life amazing with all the perspectives we humans offer if we are fortunate enough to live in a culture that celebrates diversity?

Next week, our arrival in Portland!