My last night in San Francisco--Wednesday--was happily spent with three of my favorite people--Scott, Phil and my cousin Stacey. We went to dinner at a Spanish tapas (appetizers) restaurant in my neighborhood and enjoyed not only delicious food and lively conversation, but music by a strolling mariachi band. I felt like a 10 year-old who had robbed her piggy bank when I handed the musician a plastic bag full of coins that I was tired of lugging around in my wallet. He took it with a smile. After I returned home two more of my special friends--Katy and Baggs--came over to say goodbye.

This morning, Scott and Phil arrived at 7:30 AM to pack the car with my baggage and Ona my scooter. Phil and Havah (their dog) walked home while Scott drove me over the Bay Bridge to the Emeryville Amtrak train station. The California Zephyr pulled in a little after 9 AM and we were on our way a half hour later.

I intended to relax on this trip and not take digital pictures or write any journal entries; I figured most readers had already seen the sights with me a couple of times before. So I brought along two books--Barbara Kingsolver's latest book of essays called Small Wonders and a prize-winning first novel by Shana Mootoo called Cereus Blooms At Night--and my CD Walkman player with a good assortment of CDs. I nestled happily into the handicap-accessible sleeping compartment with its couch chairs that fold down into a bed, toilet and sink (one of the few such private accommodations on the train), and windows on both sides. Since it's not too smart for me to climb the steep stairs and try to walk through lurching cars to the dining car, I asked Dave, the sleeping car attendant, to bring my meals to my cabin. I saw these three days and two nights as a retreat from people and the active life.

Well, my decision not to take photos lasted about an hour. When we hit the California Delta with its lemon green hills and lush wetlands, I just had to take a picture, and that started me off. But I tried to hold myself to only one or two pictures of each new sight. Seeing as how we travelled through the Delta, into the snow-covered Sierra Nevadas with its breathcatching vistas and lakes, along the Truckee River as it snaked through foggy California and arid Nevada, into the Nevada desert with its unlikely farmlands, highways studded with cross-country semis, industrial plants belching probably-polluting smoke, sunlit ridges and eery salt flats on this first day, I stayed pretty busy! The sky alone was a wonder as late afternoon turned into a dusk tinged with pink.

I spent the evening hours downloading and making my photos web-ready so I wouldn't be faced with 100s of raw photos when I returned home. And now, three days later, I am most grateful for those hours of jouncing around in my train compartment trying to keep my fingers steady enough to work the computer. I'm happy to say I also got in a lot of good reading and listened to some wonderful music. Jazz great Mimi Fox on solo guitar proved to be the perfect companion for today's varied landscape.
 

FRIDAY, APRIL 19, 2002

I slept well in my little nest. Right before dawn I got up to use the toilet and saw this frosty landscape out the window. We were in Utah. After sleeping a couple more hours I got up, dressed and rang for Dave to put up my bed and get my breakfast. Talk about service!

We were still in Utah, but the landscape had changed. By now, we were cutting through rocky ridges with mountains in the distance. On the outskirts of these eastern Utah towns would be green fields and farmhouses, but as soon as we were back out in the open, the desert returned to its natural state. Some of the images made me think I was looking between an elephant's toes. I took this photo of the inside of my compartment; you can see my view out the window.

By mid-morning we met up with the Colorado River, although we were still in Utah. As the terrain began to change, signs of spring were nonetheless present. Our last views of Utah were starkly beautiful.

Once in Colorado the vistas expanded, farmlands appeared and the Rocky Mountains could be seen up ahead. However we soon returned to carving a path through layers of earth's history. I couldn't help but think it was like peeking up the skirt of the earth's surface, so intimate a view did we have of all that had gone before. We never stopped following the twists and turns of the river. We began to climb and as we did, the train slowed down and almost made chugging sounds. This portion of the trip never fails to remind me of my favorite book as a child, The Little Engine That Could. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

The music I chose to accompany this leg of the journey was from "The Vine" CD by Kitka, the women's vocal ensemble that specializes in Balkan and Slavic songs. Their haunting voices cut to my heart as did portions of this terrain. The rusty red ridges, especially, reminded me of the carnage presently being unleashed against peoples the world over, but then I'd see the fragile green of a spring tree and hope would return.

One of my favorite stops is Glenwood Springs nestled high in the Rockies. I always want to get off the train for a few days and take the opportunity to swim in the resort's huge outdoor hot spring-fed pools. Maybe someday I will.

Not far out of Glenwood Springs I was able to photograph the engine and front cars of our train as we took yet another in an endless series of serpentine turns. Although I saw this image many times, it was surprisingly hard to capture with my camera, partly because the minute I'd see the engine, it would disappear into a tunnel cut through the mountain.

Much as I hated to miss anything, my eyelids would not stay open and I napped. When I awakened, we were on the top of the mountains with the world spread out below us. The vistas continued for miles as we travelled across the rolling crests. Finally we started our descent through rocks and trees. Here red oxide had stained the hills in dramatic ways. The last picture I took was of green pine trees standing beside the rushing Colorado River. Soon the sun dropped below the mountains and dusk set in. By the time it was completely dark, the lights of Denver were sparkling brightly in the valley below.

I stayed up late downloading the day's photos, late that is by Dave's standards. When he knocked on my door and said, "It's 11:40 PM wake-up (Central) time.", I let him put down my bed and was soon fast asleep.
 

SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 2002

I slept late on purpose. Since I didn't know what this day would bring, I thought I'd better be well rested. Throughout the night I had fretted about the unlikelihood of my making tonight's close connection in Chicago. As I only had two hours between trains and we were already running between 2-3 hours late, my mind was scurrying around trying to imagine the best possible scenario. I was booked on the last commuter train from Chicago to Dearborn, so it looked like I might be spending the night in Chicago. Even if we made up some time, I still had to get my three checked bags and transfer them myself (with the help of a Redcap) from the Chicago baggage room to my Dearborn train. I was feeling pretty anxious.

When Dave came to make up my bed, I told him of my concerns. Do you know what that man did? At the next two stops, he and the conductor found my suitcases on the baggage car and hand-carried them to my car. What a terrific guy! He then assured me that if we didn't have any more delays, we'd make it into Chicago in time for me to make my connection. Apparently they pad the schedule by an hour or so. That helped me enjoy the day.

I only took two pictures out the window: the first was as we approached the old trestle bridge that would carry us over the Mississippi river, and the second was of the river itself. The rest of the day was spent reading, listening to music--Virginia Mayhew's jazz CD "No Walls"--and looking out the window as we passed freshly-turned and newly-sprouting Iowa and Illinois fields and the old sections of towns.

Dave was right; I made my Dearborn train with no problem. The car was handicap accessible so I had a restful trip home. I called Eddie on my cell phone outside Jackson, Michigan and that sweet man was there to greet me after midnight at the Dearborn train station. Was he a sight for sore eyes! Three months is a long time to be away from the person you love.

We stayed up and talked awhile before I happily crawled into bed. Home again, home again, a happy red hen.
 

© 2002 Patricia Lay-Dorsey. Please use with attribution.