# 19,000kms zig-zagging across the USA and Canada, April/May 2018



## mcropod

First thing, for the non-metric: 19,000kms is about 12,000 miles.

PHL to WAS - Wednesday 25 April (ANZAC Day in Oz and NZ).

The most complex and involved travel usually starts in a more prosiac fashion. That task was performed by Pennsylvanias SEPTA, which I boarded at Croydons modest suburban station for Phillys grand and spacious 30th Street icon.

Id convinced my kind cousin, who had hosted me for a few days after arriving from Oz, that getting to my 30th Street 0935h NE Regional to Washington would be more easily and less stressfully done by train than car. Like many who were not users of rail, it hadnt figured in her calculations, but she and her spouse agreed to give it a go.

As we awaited the trundler to take us in, a couple of NERs went by, one north and one south. So too did an Acela, but a wee bit faster.

I think they saw the benefits of taking the train over battling the I95 morning city-bound traffic. I know I did, having had a couple of experiences of that road over the few days I was there.

Suburban trains are suburban trains around the world - unglamourous but sturdy and faithful workhorses. This one did everything it should, accommodated scads of passengers as it made its way to town, and had on-board ticket-sellers. The one we dealt with was bright, helpful, and cheery. Good on her, and a good start to the day.

We arrived in good time to allow us to look around at the stations main hall. I reckon it was the first time theyd seen it despite being long-time residents of the area, and remarked how special it looked. They were right, and the renovations will make it look even spiffier.

We parted in sufficient time for me to have a quick check-in at the Acela Lounge, and then get the lift down to the platform from there, rather than stand around in a queue by the escalators in the main hall.

The lounge attendant was good value as well, so a double good start to the train day.

My attempt at arranging connectivity for the trip proved to be unsuccessful, and the AT&T SIM card Id had recommended to me by a helpful CSO in Philly was not driving my mobile wifi, and so I couldnt use my tablet as a locator. Id already calculated Id be unable to use any of the devices Id organised: a GPS and a radio receiver. I was in a two and two seater rather than a roomette for the first Amtrak ride, and it was long odds Id be on a window, so I prepared myself to go old school and just look through the glass and amuse myself in other ways.

I saw I was right upon boarding, with all the window seats occupied. As I neared a rather less densely-settled part of the carriage, my way was blocked by a big bloke who told me the rear part of the car was all booked. I had a quick glance about and saw they were all Masters of the Universe types, with a couple in uniform, so I made an appropriate tactical retreat. No point in having my visa revoked just three days in, eh?

I sat on the aisle seat next to a woman was was in full business mode - making an importamt telephone call to arrange an appointment, then pulling out a laptop and working away at what looked like - I wasnt spying, honestly, its just I have very active peripherals - a policy document about engaging migrant workers on fair employment provisions.

Good on her, I thought: my mate Karl and his mate Friedrich would be well pleased.

Across the aisle was another woman, similarly engaged in business - making many calls, and keyboard-bashing, sometimes simultaneously. Above her head was a stuck-on sign advising that she was in an Amtrak Crew reserved seat. I never feel I shouldnt listen in to a loudly-conducted telephone conversation in a public space right next to me, so I got the view that she was doing middle-management budget stuff, and negotiating with colleagues about responsibility demarcations.

My goodness, Im glad Im out of that sort of caper.

But I also thought: where can I get such a sign? It could be a handy addition to the travel kit.

Meanwhile, the MOTU crew behind me, all crisply dressed and short hair-cutted, continued rebuffing hopeful new boards, at the same time as having conversations about whether Breeze was better than Brady, and whether the best of the Manning brothers was Cooper.

Amtrak woman must earlier have been advised that it was the Secreet Service which was the particular cadre the MOTU bunch was from as she turned to one of them to ask him questions on behalf of her son who was hoping for a summer internship. She said her son had been advised he was a possibility of getting a gig in the Los Angeles office, but hadnt had any official word, and hed much prefer New York anyway.

Some response was offered by one of the MOTU, but in the manner of someone who wants to neither be held accountable for the advice, nor for the conversation to continue much longer.

To take my mind off in-carriage matters, I sought to direct myself to matters outside. For example, I got a good look at the real life sets from The Wire as we passed through Baltimore, and remembered what a fab show that was.

All too soon we were in Washington around 1130h and then It was time to see if I could have a bit of a look around the nations capital before catching Train 29 at 1605h.

(NER Train 185 on 25 April was pulled by loco #629)


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## mcropod

WAS to CHI Train 29 - Wednesday 25 April.

Ahh, the real deal - an overnighter! And with a diner, although who knows for how much longer. As AU had forewarned me of this perfidy, I was unsurprised when later that day, LSA Nathan approached our table at the end of our meal to tell us of the possibility of the diner being removed, and exhorting us to join the campaign to save it.

But that’s a bit later in the story.

I had a bit under four hours to have a look around Washington, so I decided I’d jump on the Big Red Bus. It was a good tour, and because I jumped off at one point to look at a museum I was interested in, then back on another, I had two guides. Both were good, but the first, a young woman, was great. Well done her. I gave her my kangaroo pin as I left in appreciation.

Not long into our trip, we were stopped for a motorcade. As the two lead limos were flying USA and French flags, it was a fair chance one of the cars’ inhabitants was M. Macron. Either that, or someone in the protocol office had made a bit of a blue and it was some other nation’s representaive. But my money was on it being Emmanuel.

We had a bit of a tour of Washington’s many important institutions and attractions, and I figured I could jump out at the Spy Musem as that sort of thing is a bit of an interest of mine. I was going to tell the MOTU crew on Train 185 of this, but I believe correctly assessed that anyone who approaches someone who he suspects of being a spook and says he himself wants to be a spook, automatically disqualifies himself as unsuitable to the spook industry by doing so.

I was a bit rushed and didn’t see all of what was on display. But I do still remember my cover: I am Sandra Miller, I am 62, I am in the clothing business, I live in Australia, but I work in Innsbruck Austria. Oddly enough, I was raised in Chatsworth Illinois, and I am here for work for a period of ten days.

I think I can pull off that cover without a single vulnerability under questioning, don’t you?

Anyway, the Spy Museum is great fun, but I had to dash. Even then, I had to bail from the bus close to the station and make like a pedestrian as it was clear the bus was not going to get there on time.

I made it with a few minutes to spare only. I’d stashed my bags in the Acela Lounge and made myself known to the front counter woman when doing so, including providing my departure details, so my re-entry was smooth.

With the kind assistance of AU participants, I was well briefed about boarding procedures and had my key documents out to show SCA Larry. “You’ve done this before,” said Larry. “Not quite,” said I.

Again, briefed beforehand on this very forum, I easily found my roomette, sorted myself out in the room, stashed my unneeded bag downstairs, and then got my geek stuff out. I still didn’t have internet connectivity, so I fired up the GPS and the radio receiver to see if I could keep track of where I was.

The ride out of Washington goes through some lovely rolling country - there’s scarcely a bit of flat track. The track surveyors and engineers had to put some hours in, I’d reckon. And we still benefit. It’s marvellous country to ride through.

I’d had the Washington Acela Lounge CSO ask me to select a dining time, and SCA Larry as well as LSA Nathan also checked. Triple-check! So at the appointed time, I made my way to the dining car and awaited seating assignment.

I’m travelling solo, which is always fun for those managing seating assignments based on pairs, but I was the third to sit down at a table already occupied by Joe and Joanne, of Minnesota, returning home after a trip to Florida and Cuba. And just as we were being acquainted, Nathan wanted to reassign, pulling me out and bringing in a pair in my place. But when he picked up the demurrings of Joe and Joanne who were not easily going to let go of their exotic catch, Nathan relented.

Nathan then found another solo: Valerie from Chicago, who was returning home from a conference in Washington.

So there we were, a complete four, all having a good time conversing over a meal a fair bit better than I’d feared after reading some of the AU offerrings. I had a salad, a steak, and had my first go of a pecan pie.

Nathan then approached us with his request to enjoin the campaign. All four on the table are of a progressive bent, so I reckon Nathan will have a few more active sympathisers.

Larry put down the bed at the agreed time, so I had a go at going horizontal. I sleep easily and in all sorts of circumstances, and I don’t mind a shaky bed, so I did fine. I awoke before dawn, and had a bit of a look to see where we were, to discover we were quite a bit behind schedule. It was no odds to me, but I discovered it was to my later breakfast companions.

I hadn’t quite got the GPS to identify exactly where we were, so I can’t say for sure where we were when I took some shots of what is an abandoned set of grand brick railway buildings, including a quite magnificent roundhouse. Someone’ll know, I thought.

I worked on my GPS a bit and got it to have a display I was comfortable with and changed it back to kms from the miles, or perches, or roods, or whatever it was that iI’d changed it to the day before in order to make it a bit easier to understand. And I got it to show north as a constant rather than spin me around the compass like crazy whenever it changes direction. I’m much happier with it now.

At breakfast, my table companion was another solo, a woman called Indra, from Indiannapolis who was getting out before Chicago for the drive home. She was in an NGO relating to environmental health and was returning from a meeting with the EPA in Washington where she’d made an oral presentation. She was going home to write to formal report and lodge it.

Then two other women joined: Celeste and Maria, both now resident in Baltimore, but originally of Rhode Island. They were nuns going to Chicago for one reason, only to discover they were now going there for a funeral of a colleague nun. The train’s delay meant they were sadly a chance to miss it, and they were disappointed in anticipation of that transpiring.

We all had a good old interchange of views, and again, thankfully, we were all at the progressive end of the spectrum.

In between all of this, I thought I’d have a go at grits. I’d heard of it. I’d heard some people even waxed lyrical about grits.

I have to tell the truth. Grits is porridge. I was born in Scotland and I know what porridge is. Grits is a different grain, rather than oats, but it’s porridge. Nothin’ wrong with porridge: five million Scots will happily attest to that, and there’s nothin’ wrong with grits either.

But it’s porridge.

By now we were more than an hour late, but we made up a bit of that time as we neared Chicago, but still not enough for Celeste and Maria. I hope they got to participate in some of their colleague’s funeral.

Off the train, and into Chicago for an overnight in a static bed.

(Train #29 was pulled by lead engine #7 and supported by #51.)


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## mcropod

If some kind forumite can point me in the direction of how to attach pix, I’d be grateful....


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## caravanman

Hi Sandra,

A nice start to your tour. I was first imagining that Masters of the Universe folk might be some comic book convention thing, quite fun to be sat next to Spiderman, or better still, Wonderwoman!

Grits are strange, I found them a bit like I imagine wallpaper paste might taste. Strange to think of porridge on the same plate as the eggs and bacon. Had rice porridge in Singapore, that was not a great meal either...

If the Chicago Union Station is destroyed by a thunderbolt in the next few days, you can bet the nuns did miss that funeral...






I post my pics to facebook, then just put a link to them on AU, they show up ok. I know it is possible to host them on AU, but maybe they need to be a small size?

Looking forward to the next instalment.

Ed.


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## mcropod

CHI to LAX (Part 1) Train #421 Friday 27 April.

I did a bit of connectivity sorting-out at AA&T upon arriving in Chicago on the morning of 26 April - thank you Eddie at the Corporate office - and so now it looks like Im sorted.

Id left my bags at the Metro Lounge prior to doing this, then thought because Id packed all I needed for overnight in the wee backpack I was carrying, Id leave them in the Metro Lounge baggage area overnight, and pick them up in the morning. Little did I know.....

I checked in to my Chicago digs for the night, then went for a bit of an explore. Id previously bought one of the Go (Insert name of city here) passes and already knew I wanted to take an Achitecture Cruise, so Iooked up where it boarded and had a walk there. Chicago had already resonated with me in its similarity to my home city of Melbourne. It too has a proud post 1880s architectural tradition. It is of similar population size, as multi-cultural, high-cultural, sporting, and as well-served for eating places. I think you could drop me into Chicago and Id feel right at home.

Except for remembering to look the right way before crossing the road. That bit still gets me.

So architecture tour completed, I took another route back to the hotel to let some folk back home know I was still alive and well.

Nice wash, nice sleep, then back into it for departure day, today, Friday 27 April.

But as that wasnt until 1345h, I figured I could get back to the Metro Lounge, find a hole-in-the-wall bank to get some more local cash, re-sort my baggage, then take a bus tour around town.

Nicely timed arrival back to the station after a short walk only to find I was bag-less. I usually only move to Oh no! Ive been robbed!, as a last resort, because I believe Murphys Law is the cause of more issues than malfeasance.

Then I saw the sign that theres no overnight storage, and checked in with the CSO at the desk. She told me its likely at Lost Luggage, so I went there, and with the good gaces of Chicago Station staff, and my Oz passport, had the bags in my possession without much delay.

I left the woman who brought them out to me from the storage my small gold kangaroo pin which she deemed sufficient recompense for her troubles. I didnt reckon there were many kangaroos in Chicago, so itd have some curiosity value to her.

Bags re-arranged, and re-stored in their previous Metro Lounge home, it was time to find some money, and a bus pick-up point.

The place I choose for the hole-in-the-wall actually had a series of internally-located machines which is always better. I tried one card but it was rejected as too foreign. I tried the other, and got to the stage where it asked me how much I wanted, and even allowed me to specify the denominations. Im on here, I thought, only to be asked for my PIN again, which after entry, was rejected.

And a second time.

I know enough not to try a third because I didnt want to risk it being swallowed, then having to try to deal with the bureaucracy in a foreign country to have it restored and returned to me given I was on the road. So I had a bit of a play with my on-line accounts and eventually worked out it was a lesser number PIN than the number of digits I use for my Oz domestic cards.

Try number three was successful, and armed with more dosh, I sought out the bus tour stop. It was right next door, and I boarded shortly after.

It was a good look at the CBD from another angle, and its timing fitted in neatly with station return-time to get ready to board #421 for the trip south, then west.

Im now pulling out of Joliet, six minutes behind schedule, and looking forward to the next phase of the trip.

(Train 21 is being pulled by loco #18 with #151 in the lead.)


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## oregon pioneer

Thanks for your entertaining and informative travelogue! Wonderful to be "armchair traveling" along with you.

To post pix, go to "more reply options." Below the box, you'll find a "browse" button. Use it to find and upload your photos, then use the "attach this file" button in the dialog box where you wish the photo to be placed. Works best if your photos fit a normal screen (I like to make mine 800-1000 pixels wide, depending on how tall they are).

I like to preview my posts to see that the photos work well in the layout, and that I have not make any horrible typos.


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## mcropod

Pic one of three of the abandoned railway building seen out of the north side of Train #29. Im sorry I cant state where I took it as I had no access to my maps.


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## mcropod

Ill get the hang of this picture-posting lark now Ive been tipped the wink by oregon pioneer!


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## mcropod

And on behalf of all Aussies, Id like to thank the good citizenry of Chicago for putting up a statue in honour of Australias highest mountain!


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## mcropod

oregon pioneer said:


> (snip)
> 
> I like to preview my posts to see that the photos work well in the layout, and that I have not make any horrible typos.


Many thanks, I followed your instuctions and the proof of their effectiveness is above!

I also check for typos, sometimes less successfully than others. But the forum’s occasional blanket omission of correctly-applied possessive apostrophes is doing my pedant head in


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## JRR

Enjoyed your report! I’d say that grits isn’t porridge anymore than haggis is scrapple (some may disagree!)

[emoji39]


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## AG1

Thank you for a very interesting travelogue. The old brick buildings were from the Martinsburg, WV shops of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.


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## mcropod

MMA said:


> Thank you for a very interesting travelogue. The old brick buildings were from the Martinsburg, WV shops of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.


Many thanks MMA, I knew someone on here would be the full bottle!

Now I can put a place to them. It’s a terrible shame to see such fabulous well constructed pieces of infrastructure worked on and in by many people for such a long time, and still in apparently PDG condition from the outside, left abandoned and forlorn.


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## mcropod

JRR said:


> Enjoyed your report! I’d say that grits isn’t porridge anymore than haggis is scrapple (some may disagree!)
> 
> [emoji39]


Them’s fighting words!

But I take your point


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## willem

mcropod said:


> So I had a bit of a play with my on-line accounts and eventually worked out it was a lesser number PIN than the number of digits I use for my Oz domestic cards.


I don't understand. Do you mean that the card had a PIN with n digits, but the ATM only accepted m digits, where m is less than n? If so, did you enter the first or last m digits? Or something else? Thanks.


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## mcropod

CHI to LAX (Part Two) Train #421 Saturday 28 April

The ride south of Joliet took me past a section of the Old Route 66, which - for old codgers like me - was the inspiration for a seminal song. So when I realised it was the old Route 66 alongside the tracks for a few kilometres, I got my kicks.

A nearby fellow sleeper passenger was difficult to ignore. She sounded exactly like Tiffany Doggett from Orange is the New Black. She was engaging with everyone she could clap eyes on, but in a way which alerted me that I should keep mine down.

Later on she got a bit difficult with the SCA and the LSA when she’d misunderstood the evening meal protocol and assumed that her assigned dining time was when someone would deliver her meal to her room.

With a level of patience well beyond me, both those members of staff attended to her particular menu desires with remarkable style. she wanted the crab cake, but not the steak, and explained her complex dietry preferences. I reckon the full carriage was up to speed with things in very short order.

My dining experience was much less complex. At the assigned time I went to the diner and was seated alongside Louie and Gary from Ann Arbor in Michigan who were on their way initially to Dallas. Louie was going to attend a reunion of folks who had worked on F-111 aircraft. She had also been posted to a USA airbase in the UK, and so was familiar with my Brit-influenced Oz-idiom and vocabulary.

So she did some translation, most notably when I was asked for my drinks order and I asked for a Ginger Beer, to the confusion of the dining attendant, until she and I worked out that it translates as Ginger Ale in the USA. Then I remembered that that’s what that version of the drink is also called in some parts of the UK.

So that sorted, we had a chat. They were making their first train trip, at least Louie was, on a bit of travel which would take them eventually by road to San Antonio before flying back home.

We were in the last sitting, and the car was sparsely occupied, and we ended up just as a trio.

Louie had also been a long distance truck driver, mostly in the western half of the USA, so had seen a fair bit of the place.

We had a very pleasant exchange as we passed along the way into St Louis a bit behind schedule. We were disappointed we did not see the arch, but I assume it was out there somewhere.

Crossing the (Missouri?) river was a bit special, before Louie had to jump outside for a cigarette break. As someone who knew what it’s called in the UK, Louie was happily knew she could call it a **** break in front of me without causing offence.

It sure was news to Gary, though.

We agreed to try to find each other at breakfast, and settled on 0800h as the arrival time.

I was able to return to my roomette, and then thought - with the train stationary at St Louis - it’d be a good time to have a shower.

As forewarned by this forum, it wasn’t a surprise to find the shower room chokka with towel storage. SCA Toya came by and cleared things up enough. But I couldn’t get the shower to work, even when all the power was working and I could hear the engine operating.

I let Toya know and she then escorted me to the shower in another car, but as we were passing Room A she directed me there as the room had not yet been sold, and told me to use that one. It worked.

The central part of the push-button in the first shower was missing, so I thought that might have been what was wrong. But I guess I’ll find out tonight.

Sleep was slup, and I woke up just before dawn in Arkansas, to find we were still about two hours down. That’s no worry, I thought, it’ll give me a chance to see that state which otherwise would be well gone in the dark of night.

I also got some comms from my partner Niki at home. My football team, Melbourne Victory, was playing in a semi-final against A-League runaway winners Sydney FC, in Sydney. The winner would play Newcastle Jets in the Grand Final for the Championship, and the winner would hold the trophy affectionately known as the toilet seat because of its design.

The first advice was that Victory was 2-1 up at the end of the ninety minutes, but five minutes of added time were to be played.

The second message was that Victory had scored an own goal in the 90+5th minute to send the game into extra time.

So I was now able to find a minute-by-minute online comms courtesy of The Guardian newspaper’s Oz edition, and that, combined with comms from Niki, took me through the last half-hour.

Three minutes from the end of ET, and just before the dreaded PKs would be needed to split the sides, the bloke who scored the og to make the score 2-2, scored in the right net this time to put Victory ahead 3-2.

In the nailbiting, hope history can’t repeat, remaining minutes of the game, we both held our breath.

Then the FT whistle sounded and Victory advances to the GF!

So I’ll need to do it again next week. The toilet seat could again be ours.

Fittingly, as the game was almost won, the train went through Hope. For the next several minutes I took the train’s horn to be a celebration of the win.

It was now 0800h and time to check out the diner. Louie and Gary were there, but the other two spaces were occupied, so I sat at an adjacent table and passed on the good news of the Victory win.

Shortly, Kathy joined my table, then Leo, then James.

I’d spotted Kathy in the roomette over the aisle, and she me, so we weren’t complete strangers. Kathy is returning home to a small town in Texas after a visit to Chicago. It was her first train trip. She had a bad first leg with a derailment and time on a bus instead, so wasn’t thinking good things about the mode of travel.

I hope the return journey, which seems to me to be going just fine, helps her recalibrate the value of riding the rails.

Leo came in next. He is a retired aircraft designer, and has been all over the USA as a consequence. He too is returning home to his Texas hometown, leaving the train at Forth Worth.

Leo and Kathy were very interactive conversationalists and the time passed quickly over bacon and eggs breakfast.

James was more circumspect, but we did elicit that he was on his way to LA after returning home to western Kentucky for a wedding. As he didn’t have a new bride with him, we assumed it wasn’t his. Unless of course, things had gone very badly and it was over before it began.

James was a salesman in LA, and his quietness (which never needs a reason, nor for which he owes anyone an explanation) may have been due to taking time away from the sort of interaction a salesperson must do daily, or because he was giving us a forty year start and was of a different demographic. Whatever it was, he was up and away very quickly.

We three remaining continued our chat for a while, then Louie and Gary’s dining companions departed and later so too did mine, so I slid across for another catchup with them before the diner staff cleared us out for the midday set-up.

We’re now approaching Dallas at least ninety minutes behind. Listening in to the radio traffic, I heard one track controller say something along the lines “I wished I had a good idea to tell you, but I don’t yet have an idea about how to manage this train.”

I’m confident someone eventually will, so I’ll just look out the window until it’s done.


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## mcropod

Route 66 (nearest camera). The first carriageway only is in use as a two-way road. The second carriageway is defunct. The new replacement is on the other side of the water.


Morning in Arkansas


Railway junction south of Texarcana in north west Texas. I cant now locate it on the map, but it has Sandy as the first of a two word location name. 


The A-League Championship Trophy, affectionately called The Toilet Seat by fans: https://goo.gl/images/AmSFWf


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## Bob Dylan

Your East Texas town is Big Sandy!It isnt!


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## caravanman

"Crossing the (Missouri?) river was a bit special, before Louie had to jump outside for a cigarette break. As someone who knew what it’s called in the UK, Louie was happily knew she could call it a **** break in front of me without causing offence."

That reminded me of a UK friend who was rescued injured from a road accident in the states. He was asked by the medics how he felt, and attempting to put on a brave face, he replied that he would be fine after a bottle of beer and a f-a-g... Oops!

Ed.


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## Bob Dylan

It's the Mighty Mississippi River that's crossed in St. Louis.

The Missouri is a Big River also, and you run along side it when riding the Missouri River Runner Trains between St Louis and Kansas City.It runs into the Mississippi and helps it become even bigger on its way to New Orleans!


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## mcropod

Bob Dylan said:


> Your East Texas town is Big Sandy!It isnt!


Too true! Many thanks for identifying it for me - I was looking in the stretch on the other side of Longview, and I also had the Sandy part as the first rather than second word. No wonder it was an unproductive search!

It wasn’t big, but it was a bit sandy, I thought


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## mcropod

caravanman said:


> "Crossing the (Missouri?) river was a bit special, before Louie had to jump outside for a cigarette break. As someone who knew what it’s called in the UK, Louie was happily knew she could call it a **** break in front of me without causing offence."
> 
> That reminded me of a UK friend who was rescued injured from a road accident in the states. He was asked by the medics how he felt, and attempting to put on a brave face, he replied that he would be fine after a bottle of beer and a f-a-g... Oops!
> 
> Ed.


Two nations separated by a common language, an observation attributed to both George Bernard Shaw and Winston Churchill.

I did tell a story at last night’s dinner table about how much better flavoured second day soup is compared to first day, which involved a swaggie (Oz abbreviation of swagman - a bloke who wanders the country on foot) carrying his pack, called a bluey. In Oz idiom, it’s the perfectly innocuous and safe for children expression: the swaggie humping his bluey.

I saw Louie stifling a giggle, and then she explained.


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## mcropod

Loco #18 was taken off at Fort Worth.

I didnt have my ears in to suss out why, and SCA Toya seemed to be caught unawares, so it seemed like it wasnt a usual move.

Were now being pulled by replacement #131, and still led by #151.

From this pic of #151 at Chicago, it looks like its seen a bit of action.


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## mcropod

CHI to LAX Train #421 (Part Three) 28 and 29 April

Dallas yesterday was a very short stop, we being so far behind schedule. We were just minutes at the platform before off again.

After the news of earlier that morning, I had a little smile when we passed through the Dallas suburban railway station of Victory almost immediately after getting underway again.

Fort Worth was scheduled to be a longer stop, and it was confirmed was still going to be long enough to be a smoke stop. I thought I’d get some air and check out the temperature.

It was a nice warm sunny day and I had a conversation with Toya who told me she was a little too warm in her uniform, and as a Chicago native, not so used to such heat. In response to another passenger’s query about how much longer we’d be at the station, Toya replied likely minutes only.

I’d spotted we were without our two locos, so I mentioned that to Toya, who expressed surprise as she’d not noticed them being removed. She had been dealing with another passenger matter and it had completely escaped her attention.

If we were going to catch up time, it wasn’t going to be at the Fort Worth stop.

Eventually two locos appeared farther up our track. Loco #151 was still our lead, but it seemed loco #18 had been withdrawn and replaced by loco #131.

While all this was happening, Toya assured me the shower had been checked and was operational, so I should be fine this evening.

When we got underway again, we were still ninety-five minutes behind schedule.

I farewelled Kathy as she disembarked at Cleburne, from where she said she’d drive to her small town a short drive west of there.

Some parts of the world have very regionally-specific domestic farm animals. If you see them, you couldn’t really be somewhere else. Scotland’s Highland Cattle, locally known as ‘hairy coos’, are an example. So it was with happy surprise when I saw what I recognised as my first observed Texas Longhorn near Morgan. I spotted only a couple more farther on, but I was glad to have caught them in 3D.

At evening meal time I was seated the first of four, joined shortly afterwards by Bobby from Maryland, and mother and daughter Dianne and Abby from San Diego.

Once my foreignness had been established, Bobby said she’d been to Australia. By her description, that was a bit on an understatement - she’d travelled extensively through all the states and territories except for Western Australia. She’d been to Tassie, the Barossa wine region near Adelaide, up the centre to Alice Springs and Uluru (the preferred name for what once was known as Ayers Rock).

She’d been across to the Daintree Forest in far north Queensland, seen Sydney, Melbourne, and travelled on Victoria’s Great Ocean Road.

Bobby was familiar with much of our native wildlife, which reminded me that I still had some Oz coins in my wallet, each of which has a native animal on the reverse side, so I brought them out to the table for a pass-around.

The smallest denomination coin, the five cent piece, has an echidna on the reverse. That’s the animal which introduces me on this forum. Echidnas are regular visitors to my home, and the one in my pic climbed its way to my front door, up the steps in pursuit of ants, then had difficulty getting down.

All attempts to handle it resulted in the echidna going into defensive posture, rolling itself into a tight ball in the corner, and leaving only lifted spikes as its surface.

The only way we managed to return it to its bush gully opposite the house was to lay a blanket on the landing, await it unrolling itself and confident enough to walk across the blanket, before raising the blanket off the ground by each corner. The now entrapped echidna, supported from below, was quickly taken to the gully, and allowed to walk off the blanket at its own pace, calmly back to its bush home.

It is a regular visitor, but never before to the front door.

Dianne and ten year old daughter were keen to see the coins and hear of the animals, and I promised to show them a little video on my ipad of the echidna on an earlier successful ant-eating exploit.

Dianne is a vet in San Diego, returning home after a reunion of her Penn State classmates. She’d been in the ROTC and had subsequently served in units across the USA during her four year’s service.

Dianne was a seasoned rail traveller and took an annual LD trip.

I’d mentioned the fine folk at AU had provided advice about the upcoming San Antonio stop and the ability to experience the Riverwalk, and Dianne said she too would like to do it, so we agreed we’d do so as a trio.

After passing by the huge airport right next to the train track, and crawling into San Antonio at not much more than walking pace for several kilometres, we finally reached the station still behind schedule, but not so much as to make a visit unfeasible.

We’d been advised by new SCA Armando that we’d need to be back by midnight, or be shut out of the train until formal re-boarding at about 0200h. We later discovered this wasn’t quote right, but operated on that basis and kept our visit short.

There was clearly a sizeable fiesta going on, but winding down. There were cop cars and officers all over the road in as we walked, halting cars and giving pedestrians preference. This was marvellous - we were being directed to jaywalk by smiling, welcoming, officers of the law!

We easily reached the Riverwalk, by now likely much less crowded than only an hour before by the looks of things, and had a good meander around. I was the appointed photographer for mother and daughter pix, and they subsequently picked up some souveniers from one of the outlets.

That same outlet also sold boomerangs, much to my surprise. I suppose the patent Australia’s Indigenous population had taken out 40,000 years ago had expired and it was now in the public domain.

We made it back, with the kind assistance of the police-initiated compulsory jaywalk, by midnight, to find our sleeper nowhere in view. Another Amtrak officer told us the earlier advice was not correct, but that we could board the lounge car an await the return of our sleeper.

So we did, and after an hour, I went to see if it was on, walking through three coach cars each containing passengers in various forms of horizonticalty, to find our sleeper now attached.

I made the three-car return journey through the jumble of legs and passed on the good news, whereupon we three went in procession through the snores of the comatose and the bleary stares of the half-awake back to our rooms.

Toya was right - the shower was fully operational, so I did the deed then went horizontal myself. I don’t remember the train moving off.

I awoke at 0815h, looked out the window, and saw the scenery had dramatically changed. We were unquestionably in desert country. I was now on the south side of the train because the locos were pulling us in the opposite direction to our arrival. The bad aspect was I’d have the sun in my face much of the way, so not so good for photography.

The good aspect was I’d have Mexico in view.


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## mcropod

Near Marathon


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## Bob Dylan

More good stuff as you roll through Texas!

Did you get off in my hometown of Austin, or was the stop too brief?

Looking forward to the next Chapter as you roll across the Desert along the Mexican Border!


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## mcropod

Bob Dylan said:


> More good stuff as you roll through Texas!
> 
> Did you get off in my hometown of Austin, or was the stop too brief?
> 
> Looking forward to the next Chapter as you roll across the Desert along the Mexican Border!


We were so far behind schedule that the Austin stop was super short. I would have liked to stand on your soil, but it wasn’t to be :-(

I don’t even know if they slowed to a stop - they might have exchanged the passengers on the go like the old-style mail trains


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## oregon pioneer

Oooh, Mexico! Best shot is several minutes AFTER you leave El Paso, so don't relax thinking it's over. You will go out of El Paso looking over a freeway and the Rio Grande River, with the Mexican side seemingly a long way off (good views if you have a long lens and a clear window). Then you will cross the Rio Grande (which is at that point the boundary between Texas and New Mexico), and a big hill will be on your left. Sometimes there are border agents in official vehicles parked or driving alongside. After the hill, you'll get a real close-up of a small neighborhood across the fence. It will only last a minute, but it is the best close-up view.







These photos are five years old, but I am sure it hasn't changed.


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## mcropod

oregon pioneer said:


> Oooh, Mexico! Best shot is several minutes AFTER you leave El Paso, so don't relax thinking it's over. You will go out of El Paso looking over a freeway and the Rio Grande River, with the Mexican side seemingly a long way off (good views if you have a long lens and a clear window). Then you will cross the Rio Grande (which is at that point the boundary between Texas and New Mexico), and a big hill will be on your left. Sometimes there are border agents in official vehicles parked or driving alongside. After the hill, you'll get a real close-up of a small neighborhood across the fence. It will only last a minute, but it is the best close-up view.
> 
> (fab pix snipped - thankyou for them!)
> 
> These photos are five years old, but I am sure it hasn't changed.


Stand by!

It was a fascinating area. My photo gear is not even basic as I really prefer to look through the wide angle of my eyes, but I caught something in my camera, no worries!


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## mcropod

CHI to LAX Train 421 (Part Four) 29 April

I discovered mid-morning that Dianne was really Dianna. We’d met up again with daughter Abby and in the course of our conversation I’d mentioned that I had connectivity.

She was surprised because she hadn’t and was trying to re-arrange an Amtrak booking. I asked he what her carrier was and she replied Verizon. Hah!, I thought, I was forewarned through this forum that Verizon wouldn’t have the coverage that I had with the forum-recommended carrier I was with, so I offered to lend her my tablet enabling her to sort things out.

Then she couldn’t work how to log out from the app, and nor could I, so rather than have her details remain on my machine, I said I’d delete the app there and then in front of her, and reinstall it when I’m in the LA station courtesy of Amtrak’s bandwidth.

As we were doing this, we passed through Marfa, the setting of one of controversial director Ken Park’s films about disaffected and disengaged youth. It’s a great movie and I was super pleased when I saw where we were. I can imagine a young person’s life there and why it might have been the basis of the fictional story in the film Marfa Girl.

SCA Armando had arranged bookings for midday and evening mealtimes and I asked him if they were for the same clock-times as we were currently observing. He told me they would be.

Not long after, a catering announcement was made that the dining car was observing the next time-zone already, even though we were not formally to enter it for some many kilometres yet.

So it meant that I had a wee bit longer to contemplate how good the mussels might be.

We passed through country which was quite familiar to me. A fair bit of central Australia looks similar. If you exclude geo-specific infrastructure like power poles and the like, you could be transported from one place to the other and not note much difference, save for the shade of the soil. We are a bit more red, you are a bit more light-brown.

You have a twin in parts of South Australia, north of Port Augusta.

When it was mussels time, I went to the diner to see the familiar figure of James sitting solo, and LSA Debbie motioned for me to sit with him. Shortly afterwards we were joined by Nancy and then Ray. We four were all travelling solo.

James was more conversational this time. It would have been hard for him not to be because Nancy, Ray, and I could all talk the back leg off a horse. James had slept through the San Antonio car-switching and so not left the train. He was a bit miffed when he heard about the chance to experience the fiesta and Riverwalk.

Nancy was returning home to Tuscon after spending time with rellos in Corpus Christie. She is retired but still active as a volunteer with Weight Watchers although she herself was well within recommended BMI levels. I only mention this because she rold me that WW has a policy of only accepting as colunteers those who have themselves gone through the program, and she had at one point been well over recommended weight.

She was travelling coach, unlike her three table companions who were obviously made of weaker stuff than she.

She also provided some context to the big event the previous evening in San Antonio. She said she thinks it was something to do with the Alamo.

I’d bumped into Ray just a short time before as he passed by me heading to the shower. We’d introduced each other and it was clear he’d be an entertaining fellow to dine with, so I was pleased when he appeared at the doorway and Debbie directed him to complete our table.

Ray was an ex-military flyer and had boarded the train at Del Rio at stupid o’clock. He’d been a navigator, and had served in a couple of air bases in Oz: one near Perth in WA, the other in Queensland.

Ray was heading to LA to fly to Singapore, and then to Japan, so he had the better part of his journey in front of him.

We had a pretty decent cross-table discussion over our meals, and Debbie was commendably on the ball, cheerful and efficient, despite this being the fifth day of her six-day roster.

As the only member of the paid workforce represented at the table, we each thanked James for earning the income to pay the taxes which would keep us in the style to which we had become accustomed. He took it in good spirits, but was out of there as soon as he’d knocked off his dessert.

Nancy, Ray, and I continued our gas-bagging a wee while longer before we arrived in El Paso. It was then time to have a good look around this fascinating border region, cameras cocked and ready.

The El Paso stop was relatively brief, and I decided to go to the observation sight-seer car for the next section of the trip. I’d not sampled that before, thinking that it might be a bit hard to get a seat, and my roomette provided a decent enough view for me. But the re-configured train from its San Antonio stop had our sleeper at the rear, and required us to travel through the SSC to the diner.

It was on that journey I’d seen that the SSC was only sparsely occupied, so I decided to give it a burl.

It was very good.

I think I’ll do it again.

We crossed the Rio Grande (I’m confident I correctly identified this river) into New Mexico and followed the snaking border fence for a few kilometres as we climbed to the plateau.

Then an astonishing bit of railway infrastructure - no sooner had we reached the flat, the tracks opened out to be about ten across, with well-marked pathways between, and massive fuel and water feeding stations at their start and finish. It went for what seemed like three kms or so, beautifully neat and clean, and laid out as if I were running a fiddle yard for a model railway - dead straight parallel tracks, closely aligned - just a beautiful piece of functional design.

We crept through it, so there was plenty of time to rubber-neck.

I think this was at Strauss in eastern New Mexico.

There’s an Australian artist whose work is based around such industrial and infrastructre architecture - Jeffrey Smart - and I really enjoy his pictures. In fact, I have a print of one which depicts some wagons in a mixed-goods cargo train. It hangs above my computer in my study at home. I flashed to that without thinking, and it brought me up with a start.

If you have a chance, check out his work. You’ll either really like it, or it will leave you unmoved and scratching your head as to why he or anyone else finds art in that.

It’s mid-afternoon, and I’m going to wrap it up here with an evening and a night to go, and catch up the remainder of this trip once I’m in Sacramento after a ride on part of the Coastal Starlight’s run tomorrow.


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## mcropod

Marfa Girl https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2168854/?ref_=nv_sr_1

Jeffrey Smart https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_Smart

If you search for Jeffrey Smart then select Images, youll get a good sample

A Sunday football game across the border at El Paso 


Crossing the Rio Grande 


The snaking border fence (with a bit of a gap) 


The Strauss refuelling area (west end)


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## oregon pioneer

Nice photos. Well, they have changed the border fence a bit -- it looks like they built the ground up so the fence sits higher, and you don't get as good a view of Mexico as before. I am sure they have motion sensors trained on that gap...


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## cpotisch

Glad you seem to be having a great trip!



mcropod said:


> Ahh, the real deal - an overnighter! And with a diner, although who knows for how much longer. As AU had forewarned me of this perfidy, I was unsurprised when later that day, LSA Nathan approached our table at the end of our meal to tell us of the possibility of the diner being removed, and exhorting us to join the campaign to save it.


The removal of the diner on the Capitol Limited has (sadly) been confirmed, with some extensive discussion about it here.

Some important bullet points are that the diner will be removed on June 1, replaced by cold, prepackaged and ready to eat meals, served in what was once a dining car, but is now a "sleeper lounge". Enjoy the diners while you can.


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## mcropod

It is now breakfast, wake-up, and head to work time in Sacamento on Tuesday morning 1 May.

I’ll have my May Day march as a solo venture around Sacramento today, but first I have to bring us from where I left us somewhere in New Mexico.

CHI to LAX Train 421(Part Four) 30 April

Monday 30 April was going to a bit of a long one, as I had booked myself for the 14 hour run LAX to SAC on the Coastal Starlight, so factored in to how I thought I should best manage things for the rest of Sunday 29 April.

I also considered the possibility I could rearrange some of my packing, leave a bag at the SAC station baggage-area and so not have the 500 metre walk after midnight through the unfamiliar streets of Sacramento from the station to my digs as an obvious solo traveller. I did that to keep options open, aiming that if I did so, I’d reclaim the stored bags in daylight business hours when there were likely more bods around, and I could walk like I knew I was going.

In the afternoon of that penultimate day we were in Arizona and passed through some lovely meandering track as the train made its way through some deep eroded gullies east of Benson. Some old track alignments came into view periodically, and I reckon the surveyors and engineers would have enjoyed the mental tussle of how to get the track properly set.

Diana (I finally got the spelling right) had told me that she’d seen her first saguaro cactus of the trip, something she was happy about as she’d spent some time in Arizona. I’d mentioned I’d noticed a tall plant with small red flowers at the tips and asked if she could identify it. She said they were ocotillo. I’d spotted them at the tops of the gullies, rather than in the more sheltered and wetter gullies, so they must be quite hardy.

They caught my eye because they are similar at first glance to the (mostly) WA Kangaroo Paw dry country plant.

We were also on the lookout for the aeroplane graveyard around here which Diana mentioned she’d often see from her car, but it proved to be in a slightly different part of the state. There was one small one which we could see out the north side of the train which was good enough as a proxy.

We arrived at Tuscon and I went for a bit of a wander up the front to check whether we were still attached to locos #151 leading #131, or whether things had changed at San Antonio.

There was a refuelling operation going on, and I was able to identify that the engines had been changed as I suspected, and that our power was now coming from locos #165 led by #192.

Ray and I had synchronised watches to catch up at a table again for an evening meal and then he ducked downstairs to wash up just as we were about to set off on the forwards journey to the diner, and then not reappear.

After a brief moment, I decided I’d slowly walk to the dining car. Our sleeper was now the last carriage, so the journey took a time, but Ray still did not reappear behind me and I thought there’s a chance we’d therefore be separately seated, given the seat-lotto regime in place in the diner. The walk was easy, as we were still stationary at Tuscon.

I opened the diner door, and there he was, already seated solo. It then dawned on me that he’d left the sleeper and walked along the platform for a fresh-air pre-prandial amble.

I wish I’d thought of it myself.

Anyway, we were soon joined by Shirley, who was making her way back home to Bakersfield, to join he 80+ yo mum after spending the previous seven years in Plano in Texas as a care-giver. She said it was time, as her husband had died recently, and she thought it was good to be around for her mum.

I asked if she thought it appropriate that we toast her spouse’s memory when our drinks arrived. She was taken with the idea and quickly agreed, a little touched I think.

So we did. I reckon it’s always a good thing for mates to celebrate the memory of a good friend gone, not in a maudlin way, but with gratefulness that we were able to share good and/or tough times together, celebrate the miracle of that, and be the better for it, despite missing their presence.

Shirley presumed Ray and I were old friends of many years’ acquaintance, such was the relationship and conversation between us. Ray replied that we’d only met about twelve hours before, but I told Shirley that Ray was pulling her leg and that we’d been mates for at least ten years.

I then asked Shirley to decide who was telling her fibs, Ray or me, and suggested we should each make our case and let Shirley work out the truth.

Ray rold the truth: that we had just met on the train, that he had boarded at Del Rio and had never before clapped eyes on me.

I spun a yarn about how we had met a decade before, had worked together since then, and as evidence of the legitimacy of my claims, told Shirley a little of Ray’s back story, all based on what Ray had told me at previous meal-times.

We then asked Shirley’s decision.

She said my story was real and that it was clear we had been long-time acquaintances.

Which only goes to show that lies are usually much more convincing than the truth - a view I’ve held about politics and the commercial world for about fifty years. When it’s done for fun, it’s a hoot. When it’s done for real, it’s a very bad thing.

Our table trio got on so well, and I ate at the pace of an Aussie, negating their more north American plate-clearing skills, and our cross-table conversation was so expansive, that eventually Debbie turfed us out and we called it a night.

Ray kindly invited me to share some smuggled wine in his cabin, but I politely declined, as tomorrow was a horribly early start, and then I had another fourteen hours on wheels ahead of that. I also mentioned I wanted to rearrange my worldy travel possessions to give me the widest options for the post-Sacramento section. Were it any other night, I’d have been in like Flynn.

Packing sorted, shower had, zen wind-down protocol in place, I got horizontal for the last time on the Texas Eagle, in preparation for de-boarding at silly-o’clock.

I awoke just before the knock at the door from Armando, around 0315h, just before Pomona, and saw that we were now well ahead of schedule. I commandeered the vacant roomette opposite as my dressing room and luggage-staging area, then awaited arrival and disgorgement, rather in the manner of an 18th century French nobleman with the guillotine in prospect.

We pulled up at the platform about 0430h, then I along with Ray and Diana (with Abby as a new recruit), reclaimed our radical youth and staged a sit-in on the train until the lounge opened at 0500h.

That accomplished, our bags stashed, a farewell made to Ray on his way to Japan by way of Singapore, Diana, Abby, and I braved the cool morning air in search of Philippe’s.

Philippe’s found, breakast ordered and consumed, I said my goodbyes to Diana and Abby, then went off for an explore in the work-day awakening LA downtown, hoping to be able successfully to navigate myself back to the station in a couple of hours for my next ride.


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## mcropod

Refuelling at Tuscon




High walking between the cars 


At LAX Union Station, loco #456 awaits its next assignment 


Early morning in LA


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## Bob Dylan

Another nice chapter and pics of your journey, thanks for sharing!

And FYI, it's OK to consume your own Adult Beverages in your Room in the Sleepers, but only Alcohol bought on the Train can be consumed in Coaches, Lounges and the Diner.


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## mcropod

Bob Dylan said:


> Another nice chapter and pics of your journey, thanks for sharing!
> 
> And FYI, it's OK to consume your own Adult Beverages in your Room in the Sleepers, but only Alcohol bought on the Train can be consumed in Coaches, Lounges and the Diner.


I have now made a note of that


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## mcropod

Train #14 Monday 30 April

After a great walk around parts of LA city at workday wake-up time, during which time I picked up some items for the backpack, I made it back to the station in time to board the Coastal Starlight for the 14hr run to Sacramento.

I have a sorta decent sense of direction, and when exploring a new area on foot I always operate on the basis that one can never be lost if one is not trying to go somewhere in particular. I was just on the wander, with a sorta idea about which direction I needed to go to get back to the station.

It was the start of a working day, so I did felt neither conspicuous nor vulnerable, while on my exploration.

But one thing always catches me out when I leave my half of the world. For me, living south of the Tropic of Capricorn, the sun is always in the northern sky. For all residents of the USA (except for those in Hawaii) the sun is always in the southern sky.

I’ve found myself heading in exactly the opposite direction because of this, so have to think and rethink which direction I’m walking in when I do definitely want to head somewhere particular.

But I successfully made it back with enough time to attend to some ablutions in the Lounge, collect my bags, and roll to the relevant platform in time to board and find a suitable seat.

I had a different strategy today than on the previous trains. To counteract the overeating I’d subjected myself to on the previous rides, despite dropping one of the three meals each day, I decided Philippe’s breakfast was going to do me for the day.

Additionally, because of the unpleasant time of de-boarding at SAC, I was not going to be looking for fellow passengers to have a natter with, and intended mostly to zen out in my seat. I was also not going to deploy my gadgets, using only a tablet and a little camera.

I had a west-facing seat, and in the first row, so in exchange for not having an unneeded table, I had no chair in front to obscure the two windows available to me. I thought I that was a good deal.

Luggage stowed, USA to Oz power-plug deployed, I hunkered down and took the mindset of taking an international flight, but without the flight attendants bringing me things to eat and drink.

I enjoyed the climb out of LA through the twists and turns and tunnels of the climb to Simi Valley station.

The USA side of the Pacific Ocean appeared after a little while, so I Iooked across in the direction of home and my non-traveller partner Niki. The view was a bit hazy, and the islands off the coast were barely visible. There were a number of oil rigs in the distance, at one point, a line of seven of them.

Shortly afterwards, I had cause to thank the citizens of California for being excellent hosts and making me feel at home by populating the landscape with Eucalypts. There were two species I recognised: the Blue Gum, and the Stringybark. If possible, I would have liked to have a sniff, and perhaps crush a couple of leaves for a smell of home.

[An aside: a long time ago, I was on a mixture of private time and work time on an eight-month break from Oz, during which time I went around the world. One of the organised work times was when I spent a couple of days in Spain’s Donana National Park (there’s a tilde above the first n in Donana of course, but I can’t work out how to find it on this keypad). I was being driven around by one of the Rangers when suddenly we came upon a stand of Eucalypts and she was kind enough to let me to bring a bunch of leaves into the vehicle to stave of homesickness.]

The appearance of the gums animated me a touch, so I went in search of the rearmost carriage in an attempt to see the front of the train on some of the sharp curves we were undertaking, and to find out if the rear window was clean enough for some pix.

It was then I discovered that we had a private car attached. There was an Amtrak official in the last seat of the last car, and she spotted I was taking pix in the space behind the back row and engaged with me. I asked about the private car and she confirmed it was, and she said it was the Zephyr private car. It was a domed vehicle, and there were pax taking in the view from there.

I decided to risk the sight-seeing car and got prepared to get out of my bubble a bit. I saw a party of three in a central six-seats section and asked if the single was free. It ceartainly looked as if it were. The bloke of the party waved his hands, and in one of the Slavic languages I couldn’t further identify, indicated that his party was not complete and that the seat was actually occupied by someone temporarily absent.

I said “No worries, when your fourth, fifth, and sixth members turn up, I will happily vacate it”, and sat down. He shrugged his shoulders, likely in recognition that his bluff had been called.

I spotted we had now climbed to the top of the rise, and to the train’s west there appeared to be an abandoned isolated air force or other military base. I suspect it was of WWII vintage. It had various rail lines running in and out of it, now in obvious disrepair. There were the type of bunkers here and there which looked like the type of structure in which armaments or explosives are held. I can imagine it would have been a hive of isolated activity when operational, but seems now to sit idle.

Shortly afterwards, there was a large sulphur-producing plant on view, still functioning.

Two of my Slavic-speaking neighbours gave it away, leaving just the bloke who sought to wave me away holding fort in valiant defence of his six-seat balliwick. Not long afterwards, even he gave up holding the territory as a lost cause.

My recollection is that we hit our first serious agricultural area not long after that as we lost altitude to the San Luis Obispo station where there was a shirt break. I decided to head up along the platform to the power end to check our loco numbers. On the way, I saw some train staff unloading what appeared to be a wrecked crossing barrier from the baggage car to a small platform vehicle. I thought there had to be a story behind that.

I successfully got my loco shots and returned to my seat in the SSL, ready for the climb from there to Paso Robles and the ensuing twists and turns as it gained altitude over a short distance.

Two women, who told me they were headed to San Jose on a trip they would otherwise take by car, then occupied a couple of the seats. They pointed out the Highway 101 well below us which they’d have been on, and described how its earlier and narrower version was locally known as Dead Man’s Pass, such was its traffic risk.

The pair left and then a bloke I’d heard in conversation with some others behind me took one of the seats in that group of six. I’d already come to the conclusion that he was a good conversationalist and so introduced myself. His name was Scott and he was on a long holiday by train to a rainforest in Oregon after travelling from his home south of Chicago to LA on the SWC, and thence to Oregon on the CS.

He was a worker in the John Deere plant and he had the ability to take a long period of absence annually around this time of year which he filled in by travelling and engaging in other more active pursuits. These two train trips were his first, and he was enjoying things on rails.

As we were then in serious, industrial-strength, agricultural farmlands, we took the opportunity to go John Deere spotting. Their green and yellow colour-scheme makes them easily visible, and he saluted each one for keeping him in employment.

As I was reviewing the shots I took at SLO, I saw that I had captured a woman, clearly and identifiably, who I saw was also now our companion in the group of six seats. Scott agreed it was she. I approached her to show her what I had captured, indicated I would delete it if she sought it, but that now I had the opportunity to ask her, wanted to request her permission to keep it. She asked me if I intended to publish it, and after hearing I would do so, but likely only on my social media, she gave me approval.

I took my leave from the party, and made my way back to my seat which I intended to remain in for the balance of the trip.

By now, the sky was darkening, and we were approaching San Jose. I took a short moment out of the train to capture the station name. I saw, as we slowed into the station, that many platforms had the station name and track number displayed and hoped I could then run a visual joke based on Dionne Warwick’s famous song and the track number on the LP on which it appeared.

Alas! The station name and track number displays were for the suburban service, and we had pulled in on a numberless and nameless track right by the station building. I now formally hand over responsibility to capture and publish that visual joke to another AU member with access to the station, and the LP.

As darkness fell, we crossed into the Oakland and Emeryville stations with the huge docklands between, before leaving the city lights and the last stretch.

The car attendant tapped me on the shoulder as we neared Sacramento, not too far behind time, and I gathered my possessions and departed the train.

I decided I would walk all my belongings to my new digs - it wasn’t a great distance and I figured I could easily navigate myself.

I arrived unscathed, and soon went horizontal again.

Train #14 was pulled by loco #79 and led by loco #171.


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## mcropod

Niki is across this water 


The private car attached to the CS identified as the Zephyr by the Amtrak official on the train 


Awaiting the train at SLO. OK, she wasnt awaiting the train, she was ON the train, its just the name of my composition  


The locos take a break at SLO 


Whats the story? 


Looking down on Hwy 101 


Ag lands abuts forest, including a stand of Eucalypts 


Loco #171 has had a tough life


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## mcropod

Many thanks to the fab suggestioneers on SU who proposed that Sacramento visitors head to the Califonian Railway Museum.

I did precisely that today, International Day of the Worker, and spent a few hours having a good look at things. I had a go on the driver simulation, but pulled up a foot short. The bloke managing things said I’d get hired on that showing.

I then made a quick trip to the Capitol Building in time to take a one-hour tour as it gave me the opportunity to see close up your system of government and compare it to the one I have as a Victorian. Thankyou Clem.

After that, I dropped in to the Amtrak station to sort out the best way I can get to and from Stockton, as part of the way to see another rello for a couple of days. The station agent was right on the ball, and issued me with something right on the money to get me back to SAC in time to catch Train #6 on Friday.

In response to my query, he also advised me I could leave a bag in his tender care to save me schlepping it to and from Stockton as long as it contained no electrical items or other dangerous gear, for a mere ten dollars. That seemed like a fair deal.

The Rail Museum ticket-seller had earlier advised me I could re-enter same day with my original purchase, so I had time to return there for a look at some bits I’d not seen on visit one.

I caught the very interesting film, but have a little comment about two sections of it which occur so close together I could not escape them.

In a scene showing how the railway brought news quickly across the world and into peoples’ homes, a bunch of newspapers was seen being thrown off a train and into the hands of the recipient. Then we close in on the headline. It reads “Britons Thwarted at Gallipoli”.

There are thousands of Australians and Kiwi dead buried there as a result of this failed WWI misadventure, and thousands more who brought their injuries back with them. I also have sympathy for my Irish friends’ likely chagrin at this, although, to be fair, the Irish had not yet won their legal independence.

It’s not the museum’s fault. It’s not the Railway’s fault. It’s not the newspaper’s fault. It’s the film producers’ as that shot was surely not taken from footage of the era.

But it’s grating never the less.

Only a few seconds later, again to illustrate how well the railways manage the distribution of goods, a single sulphur-crested cockatoo, a magnificent member of the parrot family which lives for more than eighty years, and in flocks of hundreds, gregarious beasts that they are, is passed over in a tiny cage that likely will be its home for the next several decades, to a smiling woman.

I cheered myself up by going to the model railway exhibits, and having a look at the narow-gauge train displayed on the top floor.

But caging cockies? And so far from home? Grrrrrrrrr!

I’ll next post in relation to my trip on the Californian Zephyr, which starts on Friday morning. So likely sometime Saturday 5 May.


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## mcropod




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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> A751CFCB-FAA8-4670-984E-CDA41EA95C51.jpeg


What's that of? Sorry if I missed something.


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## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> (pic snipped)
> 
> 
> 
> What's that of? Sorry if I missed something.
Click to expand...

It was more a composition - a detail of the driving mechanism of a huge loco. Me being arty 
The full pic of the loco is below.

It was a magnificent monster - an oil driven steam engine, with two sets of driving wheels operating out of the same cylinders, but so long as to be articulated.

And the design was clever as well. It was a forward cab, so the loco driver and fireman didnt suffer from obscured vision, nor get suffocated in the long tunnels on the line the loco was designed to work.


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> cpotisch said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> (pic snipped)
> 
> 
> 
> What's that of? Sorry if I missed something.
> 
> Click to expand...
> 
> It was more a composition - a detail of the driving mechanism of a huge loco. Me being arty
> The full pic of the loco is below.
> 
> It was a magnificent monster - an oil driven steam engine, with two sets of driving wheels operating out of the same cylinders, but so long as to be articulated.
> 
> And the design was clever as well. It was a forward cab, so the loco driver and fireman didnt suffer from obscured vision, nor get suffocated in the long tunnels on the line the loco was designed to work.
> 
> 
> 
> 4358ACE1-96D0-42D4-987E-CFF4422297EA.jpeg
Click to expand...

Wow! That is one crazy looking (and beautiful) thing. Ah, the days when designers could run wild with the coolest design, and weren't bogged down with what was practical or aerodynamic...


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## railiner

I am very much enjoying your wit and superb commentary on your journey...please keep up the good work!


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## mcropod

SAC to CHI Train 6 (Part One) 4 May

After a little break in Sacramento having a sqizz at the city, with special attention to the magnificent Californian State Railway Museum and the Capitol, then a few days with my cousin in a small township near Stockton, it was time to recommence the travels.

My cousin had taken me to the small foothills settlement of Murphys where we visited a place which did tastings of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and wine. By chance, we had selected a winery begun by a Kiwi/Oz doctor. When Kaitlin, behind the bar, discovered I was an Aussie, what was a great welcome got even bigger. The samples came out, the tasting fees were waived, and we had a very conversational hour there.

The wines were exactly to my taste, as Kaitlin expected, being mostly Shiraz and Cab Sav, big-bodied, dark wines.

They were very good, already smooth despite being only a couple of years old. They would be fab in a few more years if you could discipline yourself not to crack them open.

The olive oils and balsamics were also marvellous and we had a good sampling of them.

My cousin had been taken by the Voignier, a while variety they grow, so I bought a couple of wines, and a bottle each of her preferred oil and balsamic to thank her for taking me there.

So it was with mixed feelings I headed towards the tracks again. Those wines were wonderful, and I could have stayed in Murphys for a while, no trouble.

Stockton’s STK station is in an unprepossessing part of town and had a scary reputation as far as my cuz was concerned, so I encouraged her just to drop me off and not hang about to wave me goodbye. She didn’t take much convincing.

That turned out to be doubly-good advice. The Thruway bus’s departure was delayed an hour because the 711 train from Bakersfield to the Bay area was delayed.

It gave me a chance to have a look around at this old Santa Fe station, which has clearly seen better days.

I got into a conversation with Ryan, a bloke in a wheelchair, who - like me - was enjoying the early morning sunshine. He told me he was originally from New Orleans, but had left as a child for LA and then to the Bay Area. He was returning there after spending a few days with his daughter in Stockton.

After I’d mentioned my Scottish origins, he told me he really liked the film Braveheart about William Wallace and the battles between the Scots and the English of that era. He asked me if the story was true, and I replied that William Wallace definitely was real, as were the many battles between the valiant Scots and the perfidious English.

I mentioned there’s a famous statue of and memorial to William Wallace you can see from every passing ScotRail train near Stirling, the site of one of the many battles of those times.

That cheered up Ryan, no end. And whenever I think of the Battle of Bannockburn, I am likewise cheered - no offence to my Sassenach friends 

During the extended delay, I was also able to observe the comings and goings of station business. One station official, a young woman, especially caught my attention because of the calm and values-free way she dealt with the range of passengers she dealt with. One was a young woman who was very unsteady on her feet as she deboarded a bus, and who initially made a plaintive request for help with her bags.

A short time later, I saw the woman lying on the ground complaining of being unwell. The station attendant was already with her, obviously on the phone to the emergency services, and calmly sitting by her, on the ground.

Once the first-aiders had arrived, she dealt with loads other people’s issues. Many of those she interacted with seemed to have health and/or comprehension issues. She responded with patience and solicitude, even when the same question was asked of her repeatedly.

I could imagine someone working at a station like this one and with the demographic it served, could well have developed a less caring attitude, but she managed each issue which arose with a high degree of compassion. I never once saw the slightest evidence of exasperation.

Good on her, I thought. When I was finally able to board the bus at 0940h, she was close by it, and I mentioned to her that I had seen the way she went about her work and wanted to let her know that I was very impressed. I reckon when you see good public service work being done, you mention it.

The bus arrived, four or five passengers boarded, and we were off to Sacramento.

I’d seen via transitdocs that Train #6 was also delayed a bit, so there was no rush upon arriving at the station. I reclaimed my stashed bag, ambled to the platform, and guessed where my sleeper car would be.

I was one car off, and soon was welcomed aboard by Dariel who introduced himself, said I was his guest, and that he was to be known as ‘D’.

I settled in, plugged in everything I wanted plugged in, then got ready for the ride.

Train #6 is being pulled by loco # (I have to find out) led by loco #11.


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## mcropod

Stockdale Station (STK) platform entrance 


Stockdale Starion (STK) street entrance 


Sacramento Station from the distant platforms 


I know its an honour to have something named after you, but if you want to name something after me, please dont make it a passageway 


Lead Loco #11 leads Train #6 (4) into Sacramento Station


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## mcropod

railiner said:


> I am very much enjoying your wit and superb commentary on your journey...please keep up the good work!


Thankyou very much railiner. I have today’s almost ready to go, but it’s late, and connectivity has been poor.

This post and the last two are courtesy of the fine folk of Elco


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## mcropod

SAC to CHI Train #6 (Part 2) 4 May

Settled aboard, and a table issue sorted with the assistance of SCA D, I decided Id have another go of the mussels.

The dining car was right next door, so it was a very short run compared to my last days on the Texas Eagle.

I found myself seated with two other solos: Justin from the Bay Area, and Andrei, originally from Russia, but on his way to a new job in Reno after working for a few years at You Tube in the Bay Area.

We entered Colfax during our meal, then reversed out of Colfax, before returning again. Colfax - the town so good you enter it twice.

I didnt have my ears in, so I couldnt benefit from the comms which would explain things, but I let them get on with it anyway.

Justin was on his way to meet up with family members in New York.

Both he and Andrei were new to Amtrak dining procedures, so - old hand that I am - I guided them through the process. And I recommended the mussels and the raspberry tart.

Andrei went for the mussles, Justin for the tart, so I thought my job was complete.

We clinked our drinks in Russian (nastrovy) from memory, and Gaelic (slainte), in honour of our tables multicultural background.

Justin and I shared an interest in politics, and properly funding public services like trains, so we did well. We pulled Andreis leg about his electoral interference, and he went along with things, taking out his mobile and pretending to call Mr Putin.

Andrei had a PhD in mathematics. He was on his way to start an academic job in a Uni in Reno. So he was a bright fellow, and it would have been good to broaden my maths skills were he to have been on board for longer.

After a short restorative period back in roomette 6, I headed to the SSC for the view of the climb up the Donner Pass.

I asked a woman sitting in one of the notorious bank of six seats in 1-2-2-1 layout whether one of those in the nearby double was free, and she said yes, but her travelling partner would be back shortly.

So for the first section of the ascent I gazed out at the wonderful scenery before me. Im not that keen on viewing life through a small screen, so I didnt look at much it other than through my wide-angle eyes.

After a while, the womans companion arrived, and as the adjacent double-seater was vacant, I moved across.

There was a passenger in the single so I asked if those seats were taken and he replied they were free.

From that short exchange it was clear he was an Aussie, so I asked about what brought him here.

I generally dont seek out the company of other Aussies on my travels, and my accent is mixed-up enough not to be easily pinged as one myself, so its not that hard to go incognito if I feel like it. After all, Im surrounded by 25 million of them at home, so I feel little need to seek them out abroad 

I was well rewarded by blowing my cover. His name was Andrew. He now lives in Truckee, and he was returning home after a few days away at a conference in New Orleans. He is in the new media IT industry and can do his work remotely from Truckee, where he and his partner are bringing up their two young kids - one Aussie-born, the other in the USA.

He said its an ideal place to bring up his kids and it was obvious why.

He was originally from sheep country in western Victoria, not far from where I currently live. So its easy to see why his natural preference is for the country, rather than the city.

Although much of western Victorias flock is merino, for its fine wool, his familys farm was for the coarser and harder-wearing wool used in carpets, and for fat lambs: meat production.

He was returning from the airport on the train rather than driving as he usually did, and was very taken by it, even although he was tired. He was an excellent guide to what we were seeing, and so I pulled out my speed and altitude app, and the transitdocs site to help him orient himself. The transitdocs site also let him know how timekeeping was going, so he was able to call his partner and update her as to his likely arrival time.

We rode through tunnels, around tight curves, and well above the Highway 80 alignment for much of the ride.

He asked about the sleepers, so I described them and their various categories, and explained their layouts. He thought it would be a good family experience to go on an overnight train, and I think I bigged it up enough for him to convince him that itd be an excellent thing to do.

As we dropped into Truckee, we made our farewells, and he gave me his business card to keep in touch.

I then got into converstation with the occupants of the other side of the six. It was a couple, Ken and Carol. They were from Harrisburg, not far from where Id started my journey in Philadelphia.

They were making a long-desired trip now Ken had retired from his job. They started it by train from Harrisburg eventually to the Empire Builder west, then the south-bound Coastal Starlight, and now east on the California Zephyr.

He and Carol were entranced by what they were seeing, and proud they lived in a country with such landscape. So they should be, and long should it remain so.

We were soon in Reno, and then - in the blink of an eye - we were in the desert.

What had been mountains covered in tall conifers, with deep valleys, and patches of remaining snow, was now sand, dotted with short bunches of grass and bubbles of scrub. Not much looked higher than waist level, mostly it was knee height or lower. The farther east I went, the shorter it got.

A few kilometres back, it was country which - back in the day - would have taken days on foot to make progress of a few kilometres. You would have little idea which would be the best path because of the denseness of the forest, and steepness of the terrain. Now you could have travelled at trotting pace astride a horse with the whole landscape laid out before you, and navigation easy as a result.

And if I had to be a railway labourer in the 1860s, I think Id rather be assigned here than farther west.

Highway 80 was out my left-side window, and Fed Ex now did its best to make me feel at home, with several three-trailer trucks heading in the other direction, bringing to mind the road-trains which ply the desert runs across to Perth and up to Darwin in Oz.

Fellow road-users here have the benefit of a four-lane, dual-carriageway highway for ease of passing or overtaking. Overtaking one (or even having one pass by in the opposite direction) is a fraught matter on the single-carriageway undivided two-lane Stuart Highway or over the Nullabor in Oz.

I had a spot of R&R in my cabin, enjoying the passing scenery, and wondering when Id next get a nibble from my connectivity supplier. I gave it away after a while and conventrated on making some sense of my photos.

Around 1930h, I thought Id catch the last hour of the evening meal service. The car was full, and I was directed to the Lounge to await a call. I sat at a table at which another bloke was already sitting at and introduced myself. He said he was Mike.

Mile too was awaiting a table. We got to talking, and once he discovered I was a foreigner, asked me what an outsider made of the current USA political environment.

As a guest in anyones country, I never initiate such a discussion, or give a gratuitous assessment about how that country is run, or should be run. But I am always interested in having an open and invited discussion on just about anything. So Mike and I got to talking.

I havent yet had someone offer themselves as an out-and-out supporter of the current administration. Mike was from California and had an engineering background. The engineers Ive met are calm analysts, driven by facts over emotion, and I prefer to operate that way as well. So our conversation was quite wide-ranging, and of mutual interest, so we agreed that when called, wed go in as a pair to be sure wed be seated together to continue solving the worlds problems.

Mike was on his way to Salt Lake City. He wanted a break, and he wanted to hear a choir singing, but couldnt remember which choir it was. I asked if he was referring to The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and he said he thought that was the one he was hoping to hear.

When we were called, things had quietened down. There were plenty of tables and we were seated together without asking. After a while, we were joined by Nora.

I have a friend in Melbourne who was Chilean-born, so a native Spanish speaker, but who is also deaf. The manner of Noras speaking reminded me of my Melbourne friend. Nora didnt make any specific reference to it, nor asked us to make any special considerations, but she had the facial animation and hand gestures of my friend, which I know is a feature of those who are hearing-impaired and who sign.

She moved her head to get as much a front-on view of our faces when we were speaking which I know can be unsettling if you dont know why. I figured she was supplementing her hearing by trying to lipread.

I know lip reading someone speaking with a different accent can be difficult. I met a profoundly deaf woman at an event I was at in Melbourne and just by lipreading she was able to work out I was not speaking with a traditional Aussie accent.

Nora was also going to Salt Lake City. She joined in the conversation when she worked out we were discussing international and political history. It was wideranging and direct, as we Aussies like it. There was no skirting around the issues, as Mike mentioned hed like to hear my view of how I think the USA is thought of in internationally. Mike was also interested to provide his take as a USA citizen about what he thinks the USAs attitude to the ROTW is and why.

It was a rancour-free and open discussion, one which we both enjoyed. As neither of us felt personally affronted by unvarnished accounts, we kept at it until the Dining Car crew eventually threw us out. Mike was a coach traveller, so I ordered a raspberry tart and two forks, and we repaired to the Lounge Car to knock it off.

Before we knew it, it was 2130h and time to call it a day. It was also early afternoon in Oz, and I wanted to find out if I had connectivity and check in with Niki.

Not until we neared Elco was this possible, so in the meantime I asked SCA D to assist me make the bed, and ventured into the shower.

This shower was in the best condition of all the Amtrak showers Id been in. There were only a few towels in the space, just enough for the next couple of users rather than a store-room of them, the seat was clear, the powerpoint was visible (until then, I didnt know there was a powerpoint in the shower), and the place was very tidy.

When I emerged, I saw D in the lower level and I mentioned that he kept the cleanest most useable shower of all Id seen. He thanked me for commenting, and appreciated that Id noticed he kept it well.

It was time to call it a day.


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## mcropod

Overlooking Hwy 80 approaching Truckee 


Still skiing near Truckee 


Small wetlands in an otherwise dry plateau east of Reno


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## mcropod

I had connectivity difficulties last night, so couldn’t attach the pix until this morning.

I’ve just awoken to find me somewhere south-east of Provo in Utah.

And then when I got on line, I had an email from home to tell me Melbourne Victory was 1 - 0 up in the Grand Final game after an eighth minute goal. I checked and saw the game was now in its final minutes, and then got the news that the match was over with the score unchanged. Melbourne Victory is the proud owner of the Toilet Seat!

Woo-Hoo goes the horn in celebration.

A great start to my Saturday.


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## mcropod

SAC to CHI Train #6 (Part Three) 5 May

A Good Start

At Saturday awake time I discovered I was stationary near Provo. The sun was yet to appear, but there was some light in the sky.

I remembered that it was A-League Grand Final day in Oz, and checked to see if I could obtain a connection. I saw I had an email and guessed it might be from Niki.

My previous post detailed what it was all about, and why it gave me a great start to the day.

I checked my GPS and saw we were at 2257m and climbing. We came around a tight horseshoe bend snaking left, and I was able to look down and see the part of the track we had previously been on, well below us.

Shortly after, we came to a small flat section into which they had packed a number of sidings and cross-overs, presumably to help marshall traffic awaiting the descent or finishing the climb.

Just after Colton a small stream appeared to the left of the train, heading in our direction, as clear a sign as you’d ever have that we were now on the descent.

Breakfast, and Morning in the SSC

I met Jim and Gina at the breakfast table. They were from Sacramento and on their way to Colorado. I mentioned how much I enjoyed their city during my short stay there and we chatted for a while, although, because they were finishing as I joined them, our table-time was brief.

I caught up with Carol in the SSC and she told me she’d had a long career in the social work field, both as a practitioner and as a policy-maker. Our conversation covered a wide range of issues relating to social disadvantage, and what policy-settings might work to alleviate it.

We celebrated the pioneering work of Andrew Young, the progressive religious bodies, and their peers in Australia such as Charlie Perkins. We celebrated Gandhi for showing the way, and I mentioned those behind the Eureka Rebellion in my new home town of Ballarat whose protests led to universal (male) sufferage in Victoria in the 1860s.

Participating in a democracy is the best way to ensure that the democracy is strong. But any challenge to unearnt privilege has to have a political arm as well as a militant one. Neither succeeds without the other, we agreed. Privilege is never ceded without a fight.

Carol was concerned that Ken had not yet surfaced, so she went out in search. I can save your worries by skipping ahead an hour or so to let you know I saw them both in the dining car around midday, and Ken was in rude good health. Ken later told me he was just having a lie-in.

Once Carol had vacated her seat, Kevin occupied it. He had boarded as I was asleep at Salt Lake City. He worked in the ski industry, including as a Kasborer driver, shunting snow and grooming runs.

He was making his way to Ohio.

When he realised I was from Oz, he mentioned that he’d worked at Perisher, in NSW, and had lived in Jindabyn, a lovely ski town in the Snowy Mountains.

Justin was close by and then had two Kiwis, Robin and Keith, join him. They were from New Plymouth in EnZed’s North Island. They were retired and travelling.

The Colorado River and the First Offload

Glenwood Springs came into view and we started alongside the Colorado River rapids and recreation area. There were kayakers, rafters, cyclists, and walkers all in view, making the most of their beautiful surroundings and pleasant sunny weather. We started another climb at about 1800m, well above the altitude of the Oz ski-fields.

We were holding, in a siding, awaiting the arrival of the west-bound Zephyr, Train #5, but when it arrived, it pulled up alongside us. Again, I did not have my spy ears in, so was not aware until later that we had transferred a sick passenger for conveyance to medical attention back in Glenwood Springs.

Once we recommenced, we snaked along the river, with Highway 70 on the other bank for several kilometres, climbing steadily at 45kph, and soon beyond 1900m.

An Identification Mystery Solved

We had good commentry over the speaker system from one of the conductors. When he ceased his commentry and climbed up to the top level of the SSC, I button-holed him to ask about the loco numbers. I knew we were being pulled by loco #11 as lead, but I wasn’t sure about the second loco. I thought it was #187, but didn’t feel I could report this as fact until I had obtained corroboration from a reliable source.

I got confirmation from a highly reliable source in the form of the conductor, who checked his device, and so I can now safely report accordingly. I am now ready for a slot on Anderson Cooper 360.

Midday with a Long-Distance Trucker and a Pair of Eagles

I decided I should sample the mussels again, and headed for the diner. I was solo until joined by John of South Carolina. John was returning home to Raleigh after meeting up with a friend at Davis. His plan was to fly home from Chicago.

He had been a long-distance truck driver, so was happy to experience the train ride as a spectator. We swapped stories about trucking in our respective countries, and he told me of the travails of working in adult learning and moving between being a practitioner to a trainer.

I returned to my roomette to catch up with a few things and recharge my personal batteries. After a short while, the conductor alerted us that an eagles’ nest was approaching on the left, on the other side of the river, near Burns. As we neared, it became apparent it was occupied by an adult. Then, as if on cue, as we passed by, another adult glided in to land.

How lucky were we to have caught that!

Climbing past a Shooting Range

The Colorado gorge narrowed until the sides seemed to close in on us, the river, turbulent, below us. As the track curved left and right, through short tunnels here and there, we steadily gained altitude again, topping out on a plateau about 2250m.

It was spectacular country. Oh, to have a cab view! People would pay money to sit up front through this section, without doubt.

And then, a bit of an unsettling sight for an Aussie. Out my window to the left was an extensive shooting range, in active use as we passed. The firing positions to the targets were pointing away from the train, but within a cricket-pitch length only, with nothing between the train and the shooters.

There’s a military firing range by the side of the trainline I take between Ballarat and Melbourne, on the Ballarat side of Bacchus Marsh. It was likely designed for WWII purposes, and may now not even be in use. There’s a huge earth berm between the range and the train line, and the train line is sunken a little as it passes. It would not be possible for an errant shot to hit the train as a result.

It’s strange what causes discomfort across cultures. I suspect for most on the train it would scarcely even be noticed. But it was jarring for me.

I later found it unsettled another passenger, Connie, from California, who I met for the evening meal, so it wasn’t just me.

Fresh Air in Fraser Winter National Park?

We were soon in Ganby, then a short time later in Fraser Winter Park for a fresh air stop at the highest station on the line. I don’t often have the chance to breathe 2600m air, given Australia’s highest mountain - Mt Kozsciosko - tops out at a mere 2226m, and our skifields are no higher than 1600m.

It was warmer than I thought it’d be, and so I hung around outside until boarding call. I didn’t get a decent shot at experiencing 2600m air because of all the tobacco junkies puffing away and polluting the atmosphere. Why would you go to such a place you will not often experience, and fill your lungs with soot? It always beats me.

After that stop, we were still on the climb past a fly fisherman chancing his luck thigh-deep in the Fraser River near Tabernash, then it was announced we were approaching the Moffat Tunnel with its nine minute traverse.

To the Other Side and the Second Offload

The conductor requested that we not travel between cars through the tunnel, to minimise fumes intake, and there was a bit of a scramble by some to take their positions. We soon emerged, at 2817m, and immediately commenced the long descent into Denver.

For the first time in a long time, we were travelling in the direction of the rivers, not against them. We were over the divide.

Fore-advised by AU contributors, I remained in my left-side roomette for the run down into Denver. It was a spectacular descent, with wide arcs, and a beautiful and elegant series of left and right sweeps as we neared the level of the plains, the train almost doubling back on itself as it lost altitude over a short distance.

We reversed into Denver. My spy-ears told me that a passenger was going to be offloaded into the capable hands of the local constabulary for unbecoming behaviour - specifically that another passenger had said that the to-be-detrained passenger had threatened to kill her.

I reckon that would result in an interest from the local coppers, so I was given advance warning that there would be platform welcoming party before I jumped off to have a look at the remodelled Denver station.

I passed by the various parties’ discussion as I walked to the station building, and it was still going on as I returned.

Evening with Three Californians

My time for the evening meal began before the Denver departure time, so I was seated in a stationary train, subsequently joined by Russ and Connie, who boarded at Martinez, and were travelling to Omaha.

Simon joined our trio a short time later.

Simon was on a work trip from silicon valley to Ann Arbor via Chicago. He makes the trip regularly as he prefers not to fly. He works in cyber-security. He was unable to secure a roomette from Emeryville, but had nabbed one from Denver. His first night was a sleepless one in coach.

Russ and Connie had been burnt out of their Santa Rosa home in the fires of last year, and were still to rebuild. I mentioned my fire involvement with the Victorian State Government regional and rural public land fire-fighting organisation, and so I had an insight into their circumstances.

As in many catastrophic wildfires, they had lost everything, although had escaped with their lives, one vehicle, and their two dogs.

That’s a story, sadly, more common than we think, especially in fire-prone areas like mine in SE Australia, and those of the NW corner of the USA, and western Canada. Our specialist fire-fighters are often exchanged between us in our respective off-seasons for such catastrophic events, and Connie remembered she’d heard of an Aussie contingent at the Santa Rosa fires.

I’d been engaged during our fire season as an additional resource in the Victorian State Emergency Coordination Centre for a number of those extended fire operations over the years. Many departmental employees whose normal jobs were elsewhere, like mkne, were rostered on to assist when there was a big fire on. You never once forget there are lives at stake, and the consequences of a badly-judged strategy can be deadly, to the public and to fire-fighters.

We toasted our good fortunes that we had survived, even although possessions had been lost.

It was then time to put an end to another day, to fall asleep in one state and wake up in another - something I’ve often done in a figurative sense, but now rejoice in the fact that I am currently doing it in a geographic sense as well.


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## mcropod

Not the Rio Grande - early morning near Provo 


Early morning sun on a cliff face in Utah 


Agricultural land with a stunning backdrop 


Racing along the Green River


----------



## mcropod

Moonless Kayaking on the Colorado River


Waving to the Train after a day on the slopes at Fraser Winter National Park 


On the ascent along Beaver Creek to cross the Continental Divide (for scale, there is a wrecked car pictured here which failed to take the bend on the road at the top of the pic) 


Denver station, repurposed 


New train driver joins to take us east from Denver


----------



## mcropod

One for cpotisch 


(The bogies of a superliner sleeper)


----------



## railiner

More great commentary, and photo's! It is fascinating, listening to your description of everyone's 'life-story' you have met while dining. Where else, but a long-distance train journey, do people open up so freely, to total stranger's? Sadly, that era may be coming to an end, under the current reduction in full dining car service going on...

Looking forward to your next 'installment'....


----------



## mcropod

SAC to CHI Train #6 (Part Four) 6 May

Day Last

I awoke just before sunrise to a still train. I checked my gadgets and saw were were just out of Omaha. I had almost slept through all of Nebraska.

I posted my last report as I saw we had connectivity again, and then the pix. I was about to make contact with gome as it was early evening there, but suddenly found I again had no service.

Before rising, I thought I would sort through some photos, and hope I would be back in a service area soon. But it was not to be, even when we passed by some settlements along the way which surely would have provided a connection.

It then dawned on me - what if there was a signal, but I was not being connected because I had used up all my bandwidth. If that were so, and the last of it had been my pix to the forum, rather than a discussion with Niki, I would likely have some splainin to do once I reached Chicago.

The more we travelled east, and the more towns we went through, the more certain it was that this was the explanation. I started to practice my apologetic face.

(Spoiler alert: connectivity was re-established near Ottumwa, and I had plenty of BW left, so it was just reception issues. I did not need to attempt the apology face, which was good, because it has never been convincing anyway, especially to Niki.)

The trees were in an earlier stage of emergence from winter, bare of bud and only becoming slightly leafier as we got closer to Chicago.

There were patches of mist on the newly-tilled fields waiting to be burnt off by the new day. We were now in grain country.

Our altitude had dropped to 360m and would fall throughout the day.

Poor Natalie

I encountered my first dud table at breakfast. I was the third and last seated at a table already occupied by two people, sitting opposite each other, so going by the Amtrak seating protocols, they were not a pair.

I introduced myself and met Natalie, a young woman of university age and demeanour, and Tony, a bloke likely older than me, and dressed in farmers clothes.

Tony scarcely engaged, and showed no curiosity about Natalies or my stories. Rather, he went into monologue territory, with poor Natalie, sitting opposite, his captive audience. He barely looked at me, or registered my presence.

It transpired that Tony was a decades years-of-service truck driver. Perhaps his discussion style was a relief valve for all that time with just himself for company behind the wheel. No matter the topic, you are always endlessly interesting to yourself in your own cab.

Poor Natalie, who for sure had interesting tales to tell of her own, and views worthy of being exchanged, was relegated to being just a cipher. In her polite north American ways, which I often see exhibited by women here, she was disinclined to tell Tony to put a sock in it.

Her defensive mechanism was to insert a Gosh!, or Wow! at various times in Tonys bar-room philosophic meanderings, perhaps in an attempt to stave off wanting to stab herself in her ears with a fork.

Like many young woman, she had already worked out how to politely go along with a bore, whilst all the time surrupticiously searching for the handiest exit.

Tony was not interested in finding anything out about either of us, preferring instead to give us the wisdom of his cynical views about anyone who does, or thinks, differently to himself.

I decided to remain at the table - linger even - as a social experiment. Would Tony diverge from himself as a discussion topic? Would Tony show any interest in what the full-of-life young woman sitting opposite him thought of anything? What she planned on doing? Where she was travelling to?

You would be astonished to know the answers were all in the negative, and as I had already taken an age to down three pancakes, two cups of tea, and one of apple-juice, I could tarry no longer, and left Natalie to look after her own defence.

We were now past Osceola, eighty minutes behind, and it was time to get my bags ready.

Oh Yeah, I Still am Connected.

As mentioned above, I returned to the digital globe just before Ottumwa and celebrated by having a short walk trainside during the brief stop there. It was already warm.

I bumped into Martha again and had a wee chat. She was being taught by a fellow passenger how to use her phone as a camera, and seemed mighty impressed by the opportunities now available to her. As I reboarded, I thought there is a life-experienced woman who would have told Tony where to get off, and who could have built up Natalies skills in that regard.

Crossing the Mississipi and the Home Run

I repaired to my cabin upon reboarding at Ottumw and checked where we were. Not too far from re-crossing the Mississippi I discovered, this time by daylight at Burlington, so I thought Id be a fair chance to catch it on video.

But first there were the wide flat fields of eastern Iowa to cover, in their quiet Sunday guise. Small towns here and there, many enormous silos by the tracks and on the farms, small roads, and little activity given the day it was. Peaceful, neat, and pretty at least from my perspective on the train, passing by.

And then the mighty river. We waited for despatch approval, the slowly crossed, before another wait on the Illinois side for further radio instruction, which seemingly included advice that a hand signal needed to be used. We were on a high levee and rolling at a mere 27kph for some time after the crossing.

A large coal train was waiting on an adjacent track and it was not until we passed it that we sped up to our earlier cruising speed of 125kph.

By now, we had dropped to 160m altitude. A part-consumed water-bottle, which I had last opened at Denver the previous evening, was now crushed a little. I unscrewed the top to let in some air and allow it to resume its normal shape - science in action.

The Racing The Southwest Chief (Train 4) to Chicago

At the junction just south-west of Galesburg station, we pulled up alongside Train #4, also headed to Chicago, but starting at Los Angeles. Which would be given first priority for the track home?

Sadly for us, it was they, so we waited a bit longer, looking out over the bare fields for our signal to progress into the now free Galesburg platform the Southwest Chief had just departed.

We went past Sunday kids baseball, golfers, and bikers on the way in through the Chicago hinterland and suburbs, before the grimier and industrial areas signalled we were about to do the reverse in to the station.

Not long after 1500h, only a little after its scheduled arrival time, we pulled in to platform 16, and another leg was over.

Ten and a half thousand kilometres done, and eight and a half thou more to go.

Off a Train, On Another Train

I left some bags at the station, in the legit overnight storage area this time rather than the Metro Lounge, and headed for my hotel.

I thought I should have a go at the el, so worked out how to buy a 24 hour ticket, and jumped on one at a nearby station. I did a loop, and then another one, until I found an Orange Line to get me to the Chicago Legs, and called it a day.


----------



## mcropod

Early morning Iowa farmland 


Quiet fields




Crossing the Mississippi from Burlington east


----------



## AmtrakBlue

> But first there were the wide flat fields of eastern Ohio to cover, in their quiet Sunday guise. Small towns here and there, many enormous silos by the tracks and on the farms, small roads, and little activity given the day it was. Peaceful, neat, and pretty at least from my perspective on the train, passing by.


4 letter state is right, but it's Iowa, not Ohio.


----------



## mcropod

AmtrakBlue said:


> But first there were the wide flat fields of eastern Ohio to cover, in their quiet Sunday guise. Small towns here and there, many enormous silos by the tracks and on the farms, small roads, and little activity given the day it was. Peaceful, neat, and pretty at least from my perspective on the train, passing by.
> 
> 
> 
> 4 letter state is right, but it's Iowa, not Ohio.
Click to expand...

It looks like I did that quite a bit - my apologies. I caught myself in the pics’ captions, but obviously not the text.

Many thanks quality-control editor  I am much obliged and I’ll make the changes, even although it’ll cause all the possessive and abbreviation apostophes to drop out.


----------



## mcropod

Chicagos Legs, just lakeside of South Michigan Avenue


----------



## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> Chicagos Legs, just lakeside of South Michigan Avenue
> 
> 
> 
> C44A0DA9-5D61-4250-A7EF-2F9A225F81AD.jpeg


Walked through those in February. Weird but cool. Have you gotten any pics of the Bean, yet?


----------



## mcropod

CHI to PDX Train #27 (Part One) 7 May

Pre-boarding

I bought a 24hr Ventra day ticket on arrival in Chicago yesterday afternoon, so I thought I would do a long-rails warm-up on short rails. I had downloaded the Ventra app and familiarised myself with how things run. I had navigated my way to my previous night’s hotel by feel, but thought I’d have a go at a more strategic approach this time.

I knew I had to be back at the station for the 1415h departure, and my ticket would not die before then, so my only consideration was being back in the Metro Lounge with my stored bags reclaimed by around 1330h.

I figured that gave me a bit of leeway, and didn’t require me to compete with anyone in the Monday morning rush.

I had another chance to look at the Legs, this time lit from the opposite side, to see whether they were more photogenic that way.

After that, it was just a short walk to Roosevelt station and to play train roulette - get on whichever arrived first, going north into the CBD.

The previous evening, as I exited Roosevelt station, I sought assistance at the barrier from a station official. Recognising I was a stranger to the area, he seemed most solicitous that I knew where I was and where I was going. I thought that was a nice touch in a big city, and another point in favour of Chicago in my mind.

A Quick Visit to CHI station

I thought I should reclaim my bags and ditch some of my overnight stuff to lighten the load for my morning exploration of the L.

I went to a quiet corner of the Metro Lounge I had spotted on my previous visit, and saw one of the seats was occupied by a graceful elderly woman who had likewise found this haven. I said G’day but otherwise was inclined to leave her taking the moment positioning yourself in that corner indicates is your preference.

But after a few minues she decided to engage, and in the first few minutes she guessed I was an Aussie. Her name was Connie, and she was taking a break in Chicago between her Mississippi home and a visit to her grandchildren farther east.

She told me she is very keen on Oz animal docos, and so I figured she should have one of my kangaroo pins. She was happy to receive it.

I told her that I intended to ride the L and hoped we might still bump into each other on my return.

The L

I’d heard about the L, or ‘el’ as I remember it being recorded in some of the books I read which were set in places where they had an elevated railway rather than a subway or underground or tube system. The idea seemed fabulous to me - a railway on stilts, that you had to climb stairs to reach, and which looked into the windows of buildings’ upper floors!

Yesterday’s short run was now going to be much less restrained.

I went around the loop a few times, changing trains at the well signposted stations. I reckon it’s possible to do a fair bit on just one ticket, for $2.50, you just have to be careful your route doesn’t require you to exit the system.

When exploring, I usually operate on the basis that if you are not going anywhere in particular, you are never lost, and I employed that tactic here. I know for sure I was on the Brown, Red, Pink, Orange, Blue, and Green lines. Perhaps I visited another colour - I forget.

I had just caught the end of the rush hour, so the first few trains were eight-car beasts. The later trains were mostly four cars. I thought I’d have a go at the red line, and discovered it took me out an exit and into another ticketed entrance, but my ten dollar ticket from the previous day was still valid, so I was unconcerned.

That one turned out to be a subway, so I stayed on only until it emerged in Chinatown before turning around and searching out more supraway lines. They were not hard to come by.

At one transfer station, Ashland, on the northern city fringe and on the Green and the Pink lines, I spotted that the station buildings were quite ornately decorated, with perhaps their finest years well behind them. They were still beautiful, even in their rundown condition.

Back to Chicago Union Station

The ‘you can’t get lost’ bizzo only works one way. Eventually, you have to get to somewhere specific, and for me it was CHI station.

But everything which goes through the loop is going to get to the closest station, Quincy, so it’s not too tough. If you can get back to the loop, you can get back to CHI.

With my bags again reclaimed, an apple stolen from the buffet, I could spend a bit of time sorting out my photos of the morning, and get ready to board my last overnighter Amtrak train.

I bumped into Connie again in the Lounge as she was about to leave to catch her train, and we said our goodbyes again.


----------



## mcropod

The Legs 


A complex intersection on the L 


Under the L 


Drivers view awaiting the signal


----------



## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> The Legs
> 
> 
> 
> 1D9C08CA-AF12-43B2-87A8-51CEB80584A8.jpeg
> 
> A complex intersection on the L
> 
> 
> 
> D3FC7414-69F7-4415-8DD5-7A6B5BD5F041.jpeg
> 
> Under the L
> 
> 
> 
> 1F8BD400-CCEB-478A-9A9D-5830AAC8B4CE.jpeg
> 
> Drivers view awaiting the signal


Why didn’t you do the Bean?! It’s the best!


----------



## mcropod

Ooooh, but on boarding, and sorting out my comms and nav gear, I discovered my Garmin sat nav had been half-inched from one of the bags I stored in the Metro Lounge.

It had been one of the items I stored that morning after reclaiming my gear, relocating it from my overnight pack, figuring I’d not need it for that portion of my day.

Seemingly, someone with access to the Metro Lounge baggage room decided I’d not need it for the full duration of my trip.

It was a handy little device, and told me where I was when I was out of other connectivity range. I reckon it’ll mean I’ll be flying blind on The Canadian.

I am sanguine about these things, spilt milk and all that, so don’t feel bad on my account. And it doesn’t alter my view of Chicago being an ace sort of place.


----------



## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> Why didnt you do the Bean?! Its the best!


I reckon you are right, but when I go to new places, I generally dont look for famous things to visit.
I prefer to gather experiences and see how things are for the people who live there.


----------



## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> cpotisch said:
> 
> 
> 
> Why didnt you do the Bean?! Its the best!
> 
> 
> 
> I reckon you are right, but when I go to new places, I generally dont look for famous things to visit.
> I prefer to gather experiences and see how things are for the people who live there.
Click to expand...

I can understand that, but Cloud Gate (the bean) and Agora (the legs) are both in Grant Park, about a block and half from each other. And I just have to say that Cloud Gate is way cooler than you'd think. It looks completely different from every angle, and as you walk around it, you feel like it's swallowing you up (in a good way). Just saying, the next time you're in Chicago, I highly recommend it.


----------



## oregon pioneer

mcropod said:


> Ooooh, but on boarding, and sorting out my comms and nav gear, I discovered my Garmin sat nav had been half-inched from one of the bags I stored in the Metro Lounge.
> 
> It had been one of the items I stored that morning after reclaiming my gear, relocating it from my overnight pack, figuring I’d not need it for that portion of my day.
> 
> Seemingly, someone with access to the Metro Lounge baggage room decided I’d not need it for the full duration of my trip.
> 
> It was a handy little device, and told me where I was when I was out of other connectivity range. I reckon it’ll mean I’ll be flying blind on The Canadian.
> 
> I am sanguine about these things, spilt milk and all that, so don’t feel bad on my account. And it doesn’t alter my view of Chicago being an ace sort of place.


This is such a sad story! I have never had an issue with anything in my luggage disappearing, anywhere on the Amtrak system. But I wondered about that bag storage room in the Metro Lounge, as there are so many people constantly passing through it. I wonder if someone watched you transfer the GPS, and thus knew where in your bag it was stored. I was considering taking mine (an old one I was given) with me on my next travels, as it sounds extremely useful. After reading this, I guess I'd only do it if I am willing to carry it everywhere, same as my other electronics.


----------



## mcropod

mcropod said:


> cpotisch said:
> 
> 
> 
> I reckon you are right, but when I go to new places, I generally dont look for famous things to visit.
> 
> I prefer to gather experiences and see how things are for the people who live there.
> 
> 
> 
> I can understand that, but Cloud Gate (the bean) and Agora (the legs) are both in Grant Park, about a block and half from each other. And I just have to say that Cloud Gate is way cooler than you'd think. It looks completely different from every angle, and as you walk around it, you feel like it's swallowing you up (in a good way). Just saying, the next time you're in Chicago, I highly recommend it.
Click to expand...

No worries, I will keep that in mind for the next visit.

Maybe the court case


----------



## mcropod

The Ashland station, on Chicagos Green and Pink lines


----------



## mcropod

When dealing with the very helpful Conductor Mac, who got the right person at Amtrak on her phone for me, we got to chatting. When I showed her some of my other devices, including the one which shows our speed, she then showed me her speed cheat-sheet and was happy that I take a pic of it.





All while sorted before going through this fab-named place


----------



## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> All while sorted before going through this fab-named place
> 
> 
> 
> B09ECF91-CE09-4083-8232-33DCE9C95136.jpeg


This place is on my bucket list.


----------



## mcropod

Yup, that’d be good place to get a tea towel from.

You could also use it as a stair runner


----------



## mcropod

Picture 1 - The forlorn empty GPS cradle


.

Picture B - Aussie ingenuity: turn the cradle upside down and use old-school navigation technology


----------



## mcropod

My terrible libel on Chicago.

When making the bed up a few mins ago, I had to move my hat from the shelf.

Under it was my GPS.

How embarassment!

My apologies to our friends in Chicago, Amtrak, the Metropolitan Lounge, and anyone here who thought I was a done-over guest.

I was not. What I was, was a klutz.

My apologies again.

And I am complete again 

.


----------



## railiner

Very happy to hear you found your GPS...

Using the "old school" paper maps is one solution, but since you still had your phone, you could have used it as a pretty good stand-in for a GPS.

I used to carry a bunch of "geek-gear", I believed you described it as, but since I acquired my i-phone plus, I find it more than sufficient to use it and ditch a camera, laptop, GPS, etc.

A lot less to carry and worry about...


----------



## cpotisch

Let me tell you, I am the king (no, emperor) of misplacing crap and accusing other people of theft. I do it like once a week. And out of all the places to assume theft, an unstaffed lounge accessed by dozens of strangers is a pretty reasonable one.

Glad you found your GPS. I would be beside myself if I had lost something like that...


----------



## mcropod

I’ve now posted Amtrak, as well as my Oz insurer, to make a mea culpa.

I am a goose...


----------



## mcropod

CHI to PDX Train #27 (Part One) 7 May

Pre-boarding

I bought a 24hr Ventra day ticket on arrival in Chicago yesterday afternoon, so I thought I would do a long-rails warm-up on short rails. I had downloaded the Ventra app and familiarised myself with how things run. I had navigated my way to my previous night’s hotel by feel, but thought I’d have a go at a more strategic approach this time.

I knew I had to be back at the station for the 1415h departure, and my ticket would not die before then, so my only consideration was being back in the Metro Lounge with my stored bags reclaimed by around 1330h.

I figured that gave me a bit of leeway, and didn’t require me to compete with anyone in the Monday morning rush.

I had another chance to look at the Legs, this time lit from the opposite side, to see whether they were more photogenic that way.

After that, it was just a short walk to Roosevelt station and to play train roulette - get on whichever arrived first, going north into the CBD.

The previous evening, as I exited Roosevelt station, I sought assistance at the barrier from a station official. Recognising I was a stranger to the area, he seemed most solicitous that I knew where I was and where I was going. I thought that was a nice touch in a big city, and another point in favour of Chicago in my mind.

A Quick Visit to CHI station

I thought I should reclaim my bags and ditch some of my overnight stuff to lighten the load for my morning exploration of the L.

I went to a quiet corner of the Metro Lounge I had spotted on my previous visit, and saw one of the seats was occupied by a graceful elderly woman who had likewise found this haven. I said G’day but otherwise was inclined to leave her taking the moment positioning yourself in that corner indicates is your preference.

But after a few minutes she decided to engage, and in the first few sentences she guessed I was an Aussie. Her name was Connie, and she was taking a break in Chicago between her Mississippi home and a visit to her grandchildren farther east.

She told me she is very keen on Oz animal docos, identifying my accent by those means, and so I figured she should have one of my kangaroo pins. She was happy to receive it.

I told her that I intended to ride the L and hoped we might still bump into each other on my return.

The L

I’d heard about the L, or ‘el’ as I remember it being recorded in some of the books I read, set in places where they had an elevated railway rather than a subway or underground or tube system. The idea seemed fabulous to me - a railway on stilts, that you had to climb stairs to reach, and which looked into the windows of buildings’ upper floors!

Yesterday’s short run was now going to be much less restrained.

I went around the loop a few times, changing trains at the well-signposted stations. I reckon it’s possible to do a fair bit on just one ticket, for $2.50 I think it is - you just have to be careful your route doesn’t require you to exit the system.

When exploring, I usually operate on the basis that if you are not going anywhere in particular, you are never lost, and I employed that tactic here. I know for sure I was on the Brown, Red, Pink, Orange, Blue, and Green lines. Perhaps I visited another colour - I forget. Maybe I got a bit of them all.

I had just caught the end of the rush hour, so the first few trains were eight-car beasts. The later trains were mostly four cars. I thought I’d have a go at the red line, and discovered it took me out an exit and into another ticketed entrance, but my ten dollar ticket from the previous day was still valid, so I was unconcerned.

That one turned out to be a subway, so I stayed on only until it emerged in Chinatown before turning around and searching out more supraway lines. They were not hard to come by.

At one transfer station, Ashland, on the northern city fringe and on the Green and the Pink lines, I spotted that the station buildings were quite ornately decorated. Their finest years were well behind them, but they were still beautiful, even in their rundown condition.

Back to Chicago Union Station

The ‘you can’t get lost’ bizzo only works one way. Eventually, you have to get to somewhere specific, and for me it was CHI station.

But everything which goes around the loop is going to get to the closest station, Quincy, and everything which doesn’t connects at a loop station with one which does, so it’s not too tough. If you can get back to a station on the loop, you can get back to CHI.

With my bags again reclaimed, an apple stolen from the buffet, I could spend a bit of time sorting out my photos of the morning, and get ready to board my last overnighter Amtrak train.

I bumped into Connie again in the Lounge as she was about to leave to catch her train, and we said our goodbyes again.

Lost and Found

I covered the story of the lost/stolen GPS, and my eventual discovery of it under my hat, so I won’t go through the embarassing detail again.

But I should make public my appreciation of SCA Michel, and Conductor Alisha (Conductor Mac) who were the right combo of concerned and efficient in how they helped me report the loss.

And to my Oz insurer as well, the time diff working in my favour on thos occasion.

So now I can fire up my wee Garmin, and we’re all set again.

Evening along the Mississippi

Conductor Mac and I had a nice chat during the reporting process, and she told me she solely does the CHI - WIN section. So I asked for her tips about what my roomette’s window might look out to.

Amongst the items was, of course, the beautiful lake at Pewaukee, and forewarning of the Mississippi crossing.

That was timed, according to the schedule, for when I would be in the diner.

The run over the riber, and then on its southern bank, is something to behold. How mighty a flow it must be to be so wide, and at the crossing, so fast-moving, many hundreds of kilometres from where it meets the sea.

At the dinner table, I was the last to join. I think the trio had already introduced themselves, but to humour me, they did so again.

I met Doris, a retired Montana cattle-rancher, who still runs her farm, but now more as an agistment concern. She ran Black Angus, and I mentioned that the breed is named after the part of Scotland I was born in. Their breed name in Scotland is Aberdeen Angus, but as I was born in the county of Angus, I’m never too worried by the contraction of its name in foreign lands like the USA and Oz.

Doris was not aware of this background, so I felt I had performed my good deed for the day.

Doris was returning home from visiting her family.

Also at the table was Ben, returning home to Whitefish, and Brian, a Canadian from Saskatoon, also on his way home.

Once Brian was aware I would sample the delights of The Canadian, he had a little laugh on account of its tardiness. I let him, and the by now astonished Ben and Doris, know I was aware of the horrendous timekeeping of that train.

Brian told us that he was vegan, and Doris solicitously asked him if he would be offended by her order of the steak. Of course Brian replied in the negative. Veganism was his personal choice, and not one he wanted to impose on the table.

We didn’t get much of a go to interrogate Ben, because waiter Peter kept joining in with a well-practiced joke every now and then. It’s a captive audience, and an ever changing one, so I’m sure he could use his material on high rotation.

Doris and Ben quickly knocked off their meals, in the manner I’ve become used to from their compatriots. Brian and I rather took more time, as befits citizens of the Commonwealth, so we had the chance for a further discussion once Ben and Doris had departed.

Brian was going to get off at whatever the handiest station it was for a seven-hour drive to Saskatoon, so I wished him a safe journey. I suspect he’ll have the sun behind him as he makes his way north, so that’ll be one hazard removed.

It was time for a shower, but as I was drying off, we pulled into St Paul Minneapolis and there was an announcement that we could have a break off the train.

I reclothed, then went up to the pointy end to see if I could get the loco numbers. I got one, the trailing loco, before a uniformed official approached me and told me I could not do such a thing, instructing me to cease and desist and return to the cars.

So I can report only that loco #173 is second-in-charge. Identifying the boss will have to await a less restrictive environment.


----------



## AmtrakBlue

mcropod said:


> My terrible libel on Chicago.
> 
> When making the bed up a few mins ago, I had to move my hat from the shelf.
> 
> Under it was my GPS.
> 
> How embarassment!
> 
> My apologies to our friends in Chicago, Amtrak, the Metropolitan Lounge, and anyone here who thought I was a done-over guest.
> 
> I was not. What I was, was a klutz.
> 
> My apologies again.
> 
> And I am complete again
> 
> .
> 
> 
> 
> 
> A6930CE6-6185-4C15-AA58-EB0B4B4A2DCD.jpeg


I was just wondering if your GPS had slipped into a “black hole” in your bag. Glad it showed up.


----------



## caravanman

I am not a fearful traveler, and often do the same as you, buy a day pass for bus or metro, etc and just roam around. One Chicago "EL" line that I rode several years ago took me out into quite a desperate looking area, with lots of places where houses had been knocked down, and I had a growing awareness that this was not the best place to be as a tourist!

I stayed at the Chicago hostel again in 2017, and asked the desk guys there which areas were best avoided, not wanting to stumble into trouble through ignorance. I had my pocket picked in a shop on Michigan Avenue, that was not on the dodgy area list!





Ed.


----------



## Metra Electric Rider

cpotisch said:


> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> cpotisch said:
> 
> 
> 
> Why didnt you do the Bean?! Its the best!
> 
> 
> 
> I reckon you are right, but when I go to new places, I generally dont look for famous things to visit.
> I prefer to gather experiences and see how things are for the people who live there.
> 
> Click to expand...
> 
> I can understand that, but Cloud Gate (the bean) and Agora (the legs) are both in Grant Park, about a block and half from each other. And I just have to say that Cloud Gate is way cooler than you'd think. It looks completely different from every angle, and as you walk around it, you feel like it's swallowing you up (in a good way). Just saying, the next time you're in Chicago, I highly recommend it.
Click to expand...

Not to nitpick too much, but they are just over a mile as the crow flies. Grant Park is big.


----------



## mcropod

caravanman said:


> I am not a fearful traveler, and often do the same as you, buy a day pass for bus or metro, etc and just roam around. One Chicago "EL" line that I rode several years ago took me out into quite a desperate looking area, with lots of places where houses had been knocked down, and I had a growing awareness that this was not the best place to be as a tourist!
> 
> I stayed at the Chicago hostel again in 2017, and asked the desk guys there which areas were best avoided, not wanting to stumble into trouble through ignorance. I had my pocket picked in a shop on Michigan Avenue, that was not on the dodgy area list!
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Ed.


Hi Ed, and you make a good point. We are often scared of the unfamiliar and different, where we overestimate the risk, but we are often more at risk amidst the familiar and same.

I don’t take foolish risks, but I don’t scare myself out of exploring somewhere different or speaking to someone who doesn’t look or dress like me.

You gotta have your smarts about you, but you don’t have to bring your fears along as well.


----------



## mcropod

willem said:


> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> So I had a bit of a play with my on-line accounts and eventually worked out it was a lesser number PIN than the number of digits I use for my Oz domestic cards.
> 
> 
> 
> I don't understand. Do you mean that the card had a PIN with n digits, but the ATM only accepted m digits, where m is less than n? If so, did you enter the first or last m digits? Or something else? Thanks.
Click to expand...

My apologies willem, I did not see your query until now.

I assumed my PIN contained more digits than it did. The fault was not with the ATM, but with the operator, as these things usually are.

I use travel cards which have the capacity to let me spend or extract cash as they can set them up to operate in whatever the local currency is. The cards I use domestically in Oz operate in AUD only.

The Oz ones will happily work outside Oz for purchases, but it’s hard to reconcile, as the sum appears in AUD, together with an exchange fee. And they are credit cards, whereas the others can be used either as credit or debit cards.

My Oz cards run on a PIN with more digits. That’s what I had to sit down and think about.


----------



## cpotisch

Metra Electric Rider said:


> Not to nitpick too much, but they are just over a mile as the crow flies. Grant Park is big.


Fair enough. When I was walking to Cloud Gate in February, I passed by Agora, and would have sworn that it was only a couple blocks, but since I walk a lot anyway, it might have just felt a lot shorter than it was.


----------



## mcropod

CHI to PDX Train #27 (Part Two)

New Friends in North Dakota

The sleeper for Portland is the last carriage on the train. I’d read that the last car was the jerkiest. For the run on the Texas Eagle from San Antonio to LA, I was also in the last car and I didn’t notice much difference in the ride compared to earlier in that journey from Chicago, where it was placed earlier in the consist.

So I wondered what the issue was.

But now I know!

Maybe it was the track, but that couldn’t be the reason for some of the odd movement I was experiencing this time. It seemed to judder front to back, especially at top speed of 130kph, and whip a little more.

I understand the physics of it, as I see that when following the three-trailer trucks, called road-trains, which drive up and down the Stuart Highway, 3,000kms or so from Darwin to Port Augusta, north/south in the middle of Oz. The last trailer in the group swings wildly to the right and left of the lane by more than a car-width at a time, as the truck barrels along at 120kph, even although the prime-mover is following a steady path.

The train is on rails, so its lateral movement is restricted, but I expect the forces are equivalent.

It wasn’t something to worry about, more a point of interest. I got a decent night’s sleep regardless.

I awoke before sunrise, well into North Dakota.

I had already noticed I would miss out on awake time when travelling through Fargo, the setting in one of my favourite Coen Brothers films, and the TV series of the same name. I had seen on the map the other cities and towns mentioned in the TV series, and when I had my evening online discussion with Niki, she was disappointed as was I, that Fargo would be passed through in the dark and while I was asleep.

We were at Rugby when I regained consciousness, and so I dressed to be ready for breakfast before the PA announcement.

I was seated first, and then three young men, two of them teenagers, joined me.

Jacob, Jeremiah, and Mark were their names. The eldest was Jacob, or Jake. He was a concreter in his family’s business in Middlebury in Indiana, and a carpenter too. He had the strong hands of someone who did hard physical work for a living. He also had a very open and easy manner. It was apparent he jumped right into life.

Jeremiah was the youngest, just 14 years old. Mark was between them in age, and was moving to a new home to be with his parents who had moved their earlier. Mark was either to be a carpenter or a welder, so we discussed the merits of both. It was Jake who identified that being a welder was better during the winter, as there was a better chance of staying warm.

All were getting off at Whitefish later that evening, part of a big contingent going to a wedding.

They told me about their Amish community and were happy to field my questions about how life is for them.

There was a sizeable Amish presence on the train and it was a pleasure for me that these three members were as interested in my background as I was of theirs, and were happy to engage. I mentioned I had seen some Amish farms near Philadelphia early on my travels, and that my Scottish early life had been in farm country where Clydesdales were the motive power in the fields.

They confirmed that they had two breeds of field-work horse: Belgians, and Percherons. They claimed both were bigger and had more strength and stamina than Clydesdales. I did not challenge them on this - they were younger and more numerous, and at least Jacob was much stronger than I.

Mark and Jeremiah left, and then Jake’s older brother, Ervin, appeared at the table and joined in the discussion. Ervin was just 20 years old.

After a short time we were evicted from the diner as a large group of others arrived for breakfast and our table was required. Ervin and I moved to the SSL to continue our conversation.

Ervin was a teacher, looking after the kids in their first school years, and then some others in their last school years. He told me school ceased at Grade 8, which is to age 15.

Ervin told me all the classes are taught in the English language, and so a new oral and written language has to be learnt by the children who speak a dialect of German at home. Swiss-German is a bit like this as well - the written version is similar to the German which appears in German newspapers, but the spoken idiom and pronounciation is different.

Ervin was a very interesting fellow to talk with. He told me he was to be married later this year, and that his bride-to-be was also currently a teacher, but would cease teaching upon marriage. He invited me to his wedding, an astonishing and humbling offer, which I had to decline.

I had a few Oz coins I had in my pocket, which I showed him, then offered them to him for his educational use as they had native animals on the reverse. He said he would certainly use them in his classes. He gave me a business card of his father’s concrete business with his address.

I said I would be happy to send him some picture-books about Australia for use in his school, once I had returned home. I’ll see if I conscript a few friends and rellos in the teaching profession to assist.

Ervin mentioned that, in his study of English, he had become aware that there were certain spelling and grammar rules which did not apply in all circumstances, comparing it to his form of German, which did. He said someone had told him that the English language was like life: there were rules and standards which did not universally apply across the whole language. There were exceptions - times the rules consistently applied, and times they did not.

Things which work in one set of circumstances do not apply in others. You shouldn’t assume they will.

That observation resonated with him, and it was something he brought to his kids’ attention when he was teaching them, and starting them on the path of understanding that there was an Amish life, and a life outside in the “English” world.

Ervin had jokester dining-car attendant Peter for his breakfast and remarked that Peter kept returning to the table with a new joke. Ervin then thought to one-up Peter by saying that the Amish only brush one side of their horses, and asked Peter to work out which one.

I said the only side of a horse you brush is the outside, an answer which met with Ervin’s smiling approval. That answer had eluded Peter, and even when explained to him it seemed to confuse him. Ervin had assessed Peter being miffed as a result.

I figured Ervin enjoyed playing with word puzzles, so I asked him “How far can a dog run into a forest?”

He thought for a second, then came up with the correct answer: half-way.

If Ervin were an Aussie, he’d fit right in.

Another Medical Event

We were at a scheduled stop at Minot, and I thought I could take a photo of the station sign and ask my Oz friends how long they thought I was at that station, with the answer being “A minute”.

Now all USA-born forumites will recognise that joke doesn’t work when you know the town’s name is pronounced “My No”, and our French friends would similarly scratch their heads because it would be pronounced “Mee No”. But were are talking about far less sophisticated Aussies here, and they’ll fall about laughing, no worries.

But we were there longer than a minute. It’s a scheduled work stop, but this time there were lights and sirens. The first-aiders had been called to attend to an ill passenger. A fire-engine and an ambulance were quickly alongside and their crews went about their work.

During the extended stoppage, I was also able to complete another vital part of my mission at Minot: confirm the lead loco number.

This time, I was not thwarted. I can advise that we are being pulled along by loco # 173, with loco #73 in the lead. I’d imagine that if we needed a third, it’d be loco #273.

On reboarding, I had a short chat with Nelson and Edna-May, a young married couple also heading to Whitefish for the wedding.

Another Mighty River

As we neared Williston, I saw we were about to encounter the Missouri River. The tracks were on the river’s northen bank, so I would have a good view out of my south-pointing window.

Before Williston I’d spotted a large natural gas flare in a field, and wondered if I’d see more. There were a few oil pumps dipping up and down here and there, but I saw no other flares over the next forty kilometres or so.

The tracks neared the Missouri again as we crossed the border into Montana. And just before the border, at the confluence if the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers, stands a stockaded trading post and fort: Fort Union, which also seems to be a visitor attraction.

We continued past grain-crop fields and pasturelands as the country became more undulating, rolling hills now replacing the North Dakota plains. More oil pumps appeared amongst the fields. The long trains hauling coal we had passed by on the Zephyr were now hauling oil wagons.

We touched, then parted from the Missouri several times over the next hour as the train sped along at near maximum allowable. We were clearly in the river’s flood plain, as the track was elevated, even when the river was far off. There were reminders of previous rail alignments from time to time, built a couple of metres lower, and likely abandoned over time for safer higher ground.

A Few Moments in the SSC

I decided one of the purloined apples would be plenty enough for me until the evening, so I went forward around midday, but only to the SSC for a little while.

On the way, I saw Ervin in his seat and stopped by to say hello again. He proudly showed me a sketch which was made for him by a fellow passenger who was sketching for tips. Ervin paid five dollars and he was pleased with the deal. He asked me if it was a good like ess and I said it was.

He was writing as I approached and I asked what it was He said he was keeping a journal. I said I was, and that he is in it. He replied that it was fair enough, because I was in his.

I stopped in the SSC for about half an hour or so looking north, the opposite side of the train my roomette was on. There was a very slow section not long after Wolf Point, and then there appeared to be an explanation. There in a field, arrayed neatly in bunches of five or six, were the mangled remains of what looked like gravel wagons, perhaps twenty of them, buckled and warped as if they were made of tinfoil.

There was a pile of axles and wheels, tidily lined up together as if they were still on rails.

The soil around the site was freshly graded, but had obviously been severely churned up.

There must have been a major derailment here, with catastrophic results. I hope no-one was hurt, and that the landowning farmer, on whose fields these salvaged materials rest, is making beer money from the relevant railway company as a storage and disruption fee.

Around the same time, either before or after, I now forget which, I saw another amazing sight.

I’d mentioned earlier about my happiness at spotting a Texas Longhorn and comparing that for geo-specific identification purposes with sighting a Hairy Coo, which would place you in the Scottish Highlands and Islands. But there, in a nearby field, were two or three of them!

In Montana, a long way from the bagpipes and the heather. How confused they must feel.

And then I spotted Glasgow was upcoming. With the assistance of SCA Michel-Antoine, who opened a window for me on the lower deck, I was able to get a shot of the station sign as the train accelerated after its brief halt there.

It was Glasgow, but not as I know it.

Late - Would We Catch Up?

We were down by an hour and that seemed likely to mean our climb up the eastern face of The Rockies might be in darkness. I’d hoped we’d see a bit while there was still light enough.

We did, and a magnificent ride it was. I spent the early part of it in the diner where I was seated with two women: Ricky and Vanessa.

Vanessa was a chef in Chicago who was on the train to visit her grandchildren in Portland. Ricky did not say much about herself, leaving the bulk of the conversation to Vanessa.

I asked for the steak and sea dish, but waiter Jay came back to the table with the news that the last one had gone. He suggested the naked steak as an alternative which I chose.

Vanessa, perhaps because of her background at the dining coalface, where some customers like to make a big issue out of such things, was taken by my no fuss response. I said she should make a trip to Oz as most of us are relaxed about such trivialities.

We discussed the operation of the tipping system, and how some places make it work when it’s included as an addition to a credit-card payment. Of course, in some less reputable places, she said, the wait-staff are left short, or late.

We discussed the best ways to cook mussels, freshly pulled off the rocks. My preferred way is to open them in a pan with a little butter, garlic, and lemon. Vanessa’s involved shallots and a good Australian chardonnay or pinot grigio.

Under their influence, I tried a table sauce they asked Jay to bring, called A1 from memory. It was a little like Worcestershire sauce, but a little more citrusy. I quite liked it, and added a little to my rice and dipped my steak in it.

Dinnertime was up and I sat in the SSC with my takeaway cup of tea, watching the mountains, still covered in snow, as we made a descent by what I thought might be one of the forks of the Flathead River into Whitefish.

I bumped into Jacob, Mark, and Jeremiah again and bade them well. They said they’d seen some deer or elk earlier that evening, they knew which it was, it’s just that I’ve now forgotten which it was that they said they saw.

I had a chance to walk the platform at the Whitefish stop and see a large proportion of the passengers disembark for the wedding. What a celebration they’ll have, gathered in such numbers from so far afield.

It became dark, and it was time to end the day which began on the plains, and would end up with me crossing the divide once again.


----------



## mcropod

First aid at Minot.


Havres steam monster


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## mcropod

The Missouri near Trenton


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## mcropod

CHI to PDX Train 27 (Part Three)

Sometime in the dead if night, they broke my train at Spokane, sending the larger part to Seattle, and the smaller part, with me on it, to Portland.

I did want to get to Seattle, but not in quite such a hurry. I was happy to leave that until a day later.

And I was content to let the marshallers at Spokane organise the train split as I slept, confident I was on the right bit of it.

I awoke at 0500h, which seems early until you realise it was really an hour later, because once again, the clocks had been moved back as we moved farther west in the night. So I was happily rested, and had a look to see where we were.

It was a few kilometres north of Connell, and I could see we were soon to close in on the Columbia River. I decided to stay mostly horizontal and follow proceedings on my - ahem - GPS, and the spy radio.

An hour later we encountered Pasco and its enormous railway infrastructure. A short time later the river hove into view.

And what another mighty river it is! As we rode in its direction of flow, it was clear to see it was getting the benefit of the thaw. It was quite fast-moving and turbulent. I saw good-sized barges, aand a bloke in a tinny who was fishing. There were submerged nets in evidence, and water-birds everywhere.

Both banks of the river had rail lines. On the opposite southern bank, on the Oregon side, long goods trains were slowly making their way along. We seemed to have nothing in our way as we often hit maximum speed of 130kph.

The breakfast call was made, so I dressed and ventured down into the below-stairs cafe of the SSC, a place I had not previously explored, to see what was on offer. It was quite palatable, in a TV dinnerish sort of way.

North American dietry customs are as new to me as other countries’ were to me before I experienced them. So too today, with the interpretation of a Japanese Bento, but for breakfast, and containing three of its four items which would not go astray on a dessert buffet.

In the box was a ham and cheese croissant (which the cafe attendant offerred to warm up - gratefully accepted), a yoghurt, fruit cubes, and - as a completely left-field inclusion - a fruit cobbler.

They were all very acceptable, and I left nothing.

There seemed to be a number of workers using the train after their work shift, perhaps they boarded at Pasco. They had their bulky work paraphernalia with them, they were hi-viz dressed, and lunch-box equipped. A number of them occupied the SSC tables, sitting solo at a four, and attending to vital texting duties.

There was room enough for me to find a suitable space, and eat my boxed breakfast as we steadily neared Portland, all the while watching Columbia River valley scenery out my left side.

There were two large weirs, with locks of course so as not to hinder river traffic, stretching across perhaps a kilometre from bank to bank. One looked like it was holding back water at least by 20 metres, such was the drop on the downstream side.

There was much power being generated by the river, as vast transmission towers left the hydro stations, and at one point, a number of high-tension lines spanned the river just west of Bridge of the Gods.

There was heavy industry on both sides, taking advantage of the energy generated there, and the transport links the river and accompanying road and railways provided.

It is an impressive sight.

PDX airport came into view, signalling we were soon to cross to the southern side of the river, which we did in two spans, with yet another to follow a little later.

We pulled up at the grand old station on time, with just loco #73 attached. There were only four cars to be pulled, an all downhill from at least Pasco, so it was not likely an onerous task.

I was off in time to check a bag through to Seattle, and then look to find my hotel, before setting out to explore Portland.


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## mcropod

Columbia River pix

Morning mist 


Mt Hood? 


A landslip (there is a semi trailer in the pic for scale)


A bloke fishing from a tinny on a big river 


Morning on the river


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## mcropod

Well, that is the last of my Amtrak overnighters over with.

I have only another run tomorrow on Amtrak, a shortie of just 301kms (187 miles) from Portland to Seattle, before taking a Thruway to Vancouver, launching point for my only VIA Rail run.

That means Ive covered 14,167 Amtrak kilometres (8,803 miles) to get to Portland, not counting anything on suburban or intra-city lines.

The LD trains were the Capitol Limited, the Texas Eagle, the Californian Zephyr, and the Empire Builder. There were shorter runs with an NER run, and the Coastal Starlight.

Of the overnighters, I reckon I have had a decent enough sample to come to some conclusions.

I like them. I like the people who ride in the sleepers. The staff are good. The stations are easy to navigate. The ticket-buying process is easy, and the documentation supplied is good.

The meals are a bit better than I thought might be the case. Take into account the north-American predisposition to oversize them, take into account their relatively small range across the network, take into account they are made for a mass-market taste, they are fine.

I usually did not attend for one of the three per day because it would have been an intake of far more energy than is required. And I was of the generation which, by habit, always clears their plate. I am not keen on wasting food. In an unequal world, I think it is obscene.

The roomettes were perfectly adequate for a solo traveller. They are well-enough appointed for better than modest comfort. And given that they were likely designed decades ago, they met all of my present-day needs. Asking for more would be greedy.

I did not meet a dud staff-member. Most were engageable, even if it took a wee bit to bring down their reserve 

The on-train showers and toilets were fine and good enough to do their job. They were kept pretty clean in the cars I was in.

The timetable was tolerably kept, at least end-to-end. I know it was not at times, point-to-point, along the route.

I have always enjoyed train travel, and I enjoyed travelling by Amtrak.

I would be happy to extend my travels here on more of the lines, or even have a go at some of the same ones again, but that is not likely to happen. There are other places to explore and other people to get to know.

Im looking forward to The Canadian Train #2 next week, although Im not keen on its timekeeping. It will be nice to be able to make a comparison.


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## mcropod

Amtrak logos and signage


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## railiner

A great read, this is!

I hope you will keep posting here when you go to Vancouver, and then the Canadian....


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## OBS

railiner said:


> A great read, this is!
> 
> I hope you will keep posting here when you go to Vancouver, and then the Canadian....


Totally agree!


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## caravanman

Thanks for your trip report, most enjoyable.

If you need any books to read, I can recommend Powell's City of Books, for new and used books, amazing place!

Ed.


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## mcropod

caravanman said:


> Thanks for your trip report, most enjoyable.
> 
> If you need any books to read, I can recommend Powell's City of Books, for new and used books, amazing place!
> 
> Ed.


Thanks for the tip.

I deliberately travelled bookless, at least as much so I could travel light enough to take my belongings as aircraft cabin baggage, and because I was likely to use Shanks’s pony after arriving at stations.

But I reckon I should bring a book or two for the journey east from Vancouver given the lack of digital coverage I’m expecting, and the possible huge delays in the trip.


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## JRR

You can use kindle and save the space.


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## Metra Electric Rider

Nice pictures of the Columbia Gorge - I gather a lot of hiking goes on there by Portlanders.


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## caravanman

JRR said:


> You can use kindle and save the space.


Kindle is a poor substitute for browsing in a real bookshop, and especially so in Powell's bookshop.

Ed.


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## JRR

caravanman said:


> JRR said:
> 
> 
> 
> You can use kindle and save the space.
> 
> 
> 
> Kindle is a poor substitute for browsing in a real bookshop, and especially so in Powell's bookshop.
> 
> Ed.[/quote
> 
> I totally agree but when traveling by train it is much easier to carry a kindle rather than 3 or more books. That’s what I was addressing.
Click to expand...


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## mcropod

JRR said:


> I totally agree but when traveling by train it is much easier to carry a kindle rather than 3 or more books. That’s what I was addressing.


I am a slow reader, so one book’ll be plenty enough


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## mcropod

PDX to SEA Train #500

A Shorter Run on Rails

After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.

That second part of the northwards journey required an Amway bus. It is possible to take a direct train, and that would have been my preference, but its arrival time in the more northerly Vancouver was late at night, not my ideal time for arriving in a new city.

So I returned to Portland’s iconic station just on 0800h, time to take a few pix, and then get my seat allocation.

The check-in official allocated me a window seat, ocean side, so that was a good start. Boarding was quick and efficient, and the departure was on schedule.

Business Class on The Cascades

The business class car was the one located nearest the platform entrance, and so - but for the rear locomotive - was the last car.

The seats looked old-style aircraft business class of th 1990s, tan coloured leather or leatherette, but were comfortable, and in 2-1 formation. They looked more closely packed than the coach seats I’d spotted on the various LD trains I’d taken, but there was still plenty of room. The 2-1 arrangement meant that the seats were wide, and had a central armrest big enough it would not need fighting over.

I had no-one sitting alongside, so that became moot anyway.

Being on the ground floor, rather than in a more lofty perch upstairs, we were towered over by the many goods trains on adjacent tracks. There was no overlooking them as before.

More MOTU in the Carriage

Sitting in front of me was a young man, who soon outed himself as a Master of the Corporate Universe, making an extended business call as we rolled northwards. The friendly Conductor made an announcement over the PA asking passengers to take their mobile phone conversations to between the cars, but the MOTCU continued unabashed, seated.

I was pleased to see the Conductor then make a direct approach, politely but firmly, asking for the conversation to be taken out of the seating area. Thankfully, the MOTCU complied, and we were all spared the finer details of the vital business issues being transacted.

I try to stave off falling into being a grumpy old bloke, so my comment is more of an obervation than a whinge. It is the case, is it not, that we have blurred the line between what is acceptable conduct in a private place and what is acceptable in a public place.

GOB whinge over, we continued, more peacefully, northwards. The track was not so well-suited to high speed travel. It caused the carriage to rock from side to side at our top speed of 128kph, sending up a rhythmic squeak of the fittings, rather in the manner of an inexpensive honeymoon hotel.

Am I Briefly Back in Oz?

I was delighted to see that we would pass through Centralia. But when researching the matter, I sadly discovered there is no connection to the very centre of my country, covering many thousands of square kilometres around Alice Springs and Uluru: our red heart, and the natural habitat of our largest ‘roo species, the iconic Big Red kangaroo. That area is known throughout the country as Centralia, because we don’t like long words.

(BTW - I reckon the naming of that kangaroo species also shows another defining Oz characteristic: we like to keep things simple. When deciding what to call it, we looked at it, saw that it was big and that it was red, so we called it the Big Red.)

Rather, according to my on-train research, Centralia was the renamed place of a settlement initially named Centerville. It was renamed after Centralia in Illinois. Upon checking why that place was called Centralia, I again came up with no Oz connection. The Illinois version was named after the settlement at the crossing point of the two original lines of the Central Illinois Railway.

My puzzle for the day satisfactorily completed before 0930h, I settled in to the ride.

We left the Columbia River at Kelso, where, on the approach to the station, I saw a happy scene. A man, with a toddler tucked safely into his zippered warm jacket, was watching the trains from the safe side of a level crossing. It is never too young to start an appreciation of trains.

Our track now ran along a tributary of the Columbia, wide and deep enough for navigation and trade in the pre-railway days, likely going back to the earliest days of human occupation.

The Cascades’ wifi was keeping me connected enough to not miss my gadgets. It was not long after midnight and into the early hours in my bit of Oz, so I was happily able to concentrate on the view, without needing to keep an eye on inter-continental communications traffic.

The deciduous trees were much more advanced in their emergence from winter hibernation than those I’d seen in other northerly regions farther east. The climate was warming up and maybe there were milder winters here. I know that the Gulf Stream, which washes around western Scotland, keeps that area much warmer than it ought to be given its latitude. I wondered if there were something similar happening here.

When I checked, I saw we were about 46.5 degrees north, which a little bit closer to the north pole than the equator by about 160 kms, so maybe there was.

The forest either side of the tracks contained mostly Siver Birch along with a species of Fir.

I suspected I would see much more Silver Birch once I was in Canada, at least according to my memory of a song I learnt in primary school in Scotland about our Commonwealth cousins which began “Land of the Silver Birch, home of the beaver....”

We were now in Centralia where there was a brief stop. I decided to take out a stick of Big Red chewing gum in recognition. It’s a flavour not available in Oz, most likely because it contains a food additive banned in Australia. I took a liking to its cinnamon flavour on an earlier visit to the USA, and I always preferred to think it was banned in Oz because we didn’t want anyone to think we were selling kangaroo-flavoured chewy.

I’ll post it here when I get a chance.

Water Views Again

We were running a little behind schedule. However, as my connection was assured, I was unconcerned. I saw we were to reach the water again for the last of the run into Seattle, so I took in the view.

We passed under the twin Tacoma Narrows suspension bridges, obviously built in two different eras, but the more deferrring to its elder in its design and decoration. They could easily have done something drastically different and less pleasing to the eye, so it was good to see the youngster, although certainly wider and sturdier, paying homage in this way.

A bald eagle flew calmly alongside us shoreside for a hundred or so metres before we disappeared into a tunnel at Ruston. When we exited, we were back in a more densely occupied landscape for the last few kilometres alongside the busy docks at Tacoma. We were in amongst other rail traffic again.

I remembered hearing about the calamitous derailment of a Cascades train several months before, which I thought was the cause of us remaining on this old alignment along the Puget Sound, so I paid my respects.

The Run Home

The track conditions improved and we stayed in the high 120s for much the first part of the run into Seattle, with just a schedule in prospect to delay our arrival. But we found ourselved behind what was announced to the carriage as “a slow movng freight train” by the Conductor.

He was right. For the next several kilometres, we travelled at between walking pace and 40kph, until we were finally set free at a passing point near Algona.

But our respite was brief. There was much trackwork being done on the line immediately to our west, with many sleeper-laying machines, tamping equipment, and brushes, all gainfully employed in an impressive manner.

The various delayes put us 45 minutes behind, so we got to see a southbound Cascades, Train #517, just as we cme longside the airport, before fnally pulling in to Seattle station.

My Amtrak rails adventure was complete.

I now only had Canadian Customs in front of me, and a short ride on rubber wheels before I would gain access to the land of our northern cousins, and their iconic cross-country train.

Train #500 was pulled by loco #1405, and pushed by loco #465.


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## mcropod

Portland Station 


At Seattle Station, a chance look out the window, and I saw planes on a train - there were four of them, and I caught the fourth 


The lead loco for Train #500 pictured at Seattle station after the journey ended 


The trailing loco for Train #500 pictured at Portland station before the journey started 


My Centralia visual joke


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## caravanman

The only Canadian song I know starts "I'm a lumberjack and i'm okay..."






Happy travels!

Ed.


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## railiner

Wrong railroad, and wrong direction in your case, but this is a great tribute to a great railroad, sung by a great Canadian....enjoy!


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> At Seattle Station, a chance look out the window, and I saw planes on a train - there were four of them, and I caught the fourth
> 
> 
> 
> 4E1A9E37-AAD4-444B-960D-21F2EAAB7A43.jpeg


Looks like a Boeing 737 MAX fuselage being taken to/from the Boeing factory in Renton, Washington. That's a rare sight to see a fuselage in transport like that.


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.


A few Cascades do go to Vancouver, BC. Why didn't you take one of those?


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## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.
> 
> 
> 
> A few Cascades do go to Vancouver, BC. Why didn't you take one of those?
Click to expand...

You quoted para one.

The answer is in para two


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> cpotisch said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.
> 
> 
> 
> A few Cascades do go to Vancouver, BC. Why didn't you take one of those?
> 
> Click to expand...
> 
> You quoted para one.
> 
> The answer is in para two
Click to expand...

Whoops. Well done, me.


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## mcropod

Sojourn in Vancouver

I had a few days in Vancouver between trains. After arriving by Amtrak Thruway bus from Seattle in the early evening of Thursday, I was not due to depart on The Canadian Train #2 until Sunday evening.

That gave me three clear days to explore the city. I considered, but discounted, making a day-trip to Whistler, despite how inviting that sounded. I preferred to get to know Vancouver.

My only commiment was that I had a ticket to the football on the Friday evening. Vancouver Whitecaps were to host Houston Dynamo in the combined USA/Canada football league, the MLS.

I had compared the MLS fixtures with my travel plans at an early stage in my planning process, and was disappointed to discover that I was likely only to catch one game, despite many of the cities I was to be in having a team in that competition.

I like to catch a game, where I can, on my travels, and I was looking forward to see how the north American experience compared with more traditional footballing countries. An added attraction would be that I would get chance to see Australian player Bernie Ibini playing for the Whitecaps.

So I had a completely open go as far as my movements were concerned.

I decided the first full day would be a public transport explore day.

Vancouver by Ferry, Bus, and Rail.

I was staying a block or two away from the CBD and the massive transport infrastructure centred on it.

Armed with a $10 all day ticket, I decided I would first cross into North Vancouver by passenger ferry and have a look around there, before returning and checking out what I could find on the rails on my side of town.

The ferry ride was about ten minutes. The ferries run every quarter of an hour, and boarding and exiting is fast and efficient. They are also capacious. Whereas they were possibly chokka in the morning and evening peaks, by the time I got there, strategically arranged to fall after the morning rush was over, things were decidedly relaxed.

The crossing was smooth and the ride comfortable. After disgorgement on the northern side, I jumped onto the nearest bus. It happened to be the #228, and I went wherever it was going to take me. It went on a climb, past the commercial centre, hgh-rise dwellings, and then into more genteel family-home neighbourhoods. I jumped off after a time, walked over the road, and boarded its return partner back to the dock.

There’s an interesting food place next to the ferry terminal I checked out. I bought some Belgian chocolate pralines for my Toronto hosts. There were a number of really interesting fresh food outlets there, as well as other gift shops. Beng on the northern side of the inlet, it was bathed in sun.

On my return to the CBD I found my way to the SkyRail at Waterfront, the city terminal of the three-line intra-city rail service: the Expo, the Millenium, and the Canada lines.

Call me unobservant and a bit silly, but it took me a few rides before I worked out that these trains were being remotely driven, rather than in-train driven. They rattled along at a fair clip, easily outpacing those driving cars below. The area the three lines cover is vast: the Expo line especially.

I spotted than one fork of the Expo line goes over a wide-span bridge built purely for the train, so I immediately switched trains to go over it.

Switching lines is easy. The interconnection stations are well signposted and announced. The frequency is about ten to the hour, half that on lines which come together before or after branching.

With that sort of service, a timetable becomes irrelevant. Miss one, wait three minutes, then catch the next.

Once I discovered the trains were remotely driven, I worked out that the person I saw in the middle window of the first car was not a driver, but a passenger. There’s a rail-fan window not just at the rear of the train, but the front. Any passenger can have a cab-view ride. All three lines run end-to-end, so if you were in the rear window seat on approaching the terminal station, you are now the driver on its return journey.

It was now approaching end of work-day, so I made a final run and prepared to give way to the harried end-of-workday commuters.

The game was a good one, the stadium a short walk away, and Bernie Ibini did well. His side managed a 2-2 draw, coming from behind both times, and with the final equaliser coming well into added time. In those circumstances, you are happy with the draw, so the dispersing crowd was in good humour.

Breakfast with Fellow Tea-Drinkers

At the hotel’s breakfast room I heard a diner at the adjacent table say to his companion that there was no more tea. I could tell he was speaking in a Scottish accent, so I introduced myself.

I met Jim and Christine, both from Kirkintilloch near Glasgow, and about to start a cruise from Vancouver to Alaska. They were seasoned travellers, and had visited Oz a few times, each time exploring a separate area. One of those occasions was in my part of the world when they took to the Geat Ocean Road, a wonderful coastal drive along the southwest coastline of Victoria. That road was an initiative of the Great Depression and was used as a way of employing hundreds of out-of-work men in the 1930s on a piece of public infrastructure which now brings millions of dollars annually to the region.

They had especially been tickled to discover that an inner Melbourne suburb is called St Kilda, the same name as the remote outer Hebridean island abandoned in the 1930s because its population had fallen below sustainability levels, and servicing its residents’ needs depended on sea-transport often unavailable for months because of adverse weather conditions in the North Atlantic. Christine’s grandmother had been one of those who had been moved off the island.

Melbourne’s St Kilda is named after a ship. But the origins of that ship’s name?

Jim and Christine had also travelled throughout parts of Africa where they had earlier worked.

They had seen on the telly the previous evening some of the game I had attended, but were rugby followers themselves, so we discussed the recent contests between the Scots and the Wallabies, the affectionate name of the Oz national rugby side.

Saturday’s Search for the Bookshop

Acting on advice from the well-travelled and libraphile, caravanman, I thought a hunt for the recommended Powell’s bookshop.

Alas, I discovered they were Portland-based, and as much as I have an affinity for that wonderful city, I decided against returning there for a book. I would have to source one more locally.

Stanley Park

I thought I should devote my full-day Saturday to a foot exploration of Vancouver. I had made the short walk to the city commercial shops in an unsuccessful search for an inexpensive polo shirt, and then decided to continue walking up Robson Street because it was heading to Stanley Park.

I’d read that there was a circumnavigation walking track of around nine kilometres there, which I thought was a good distance on a fine Saturday morning, and that it would give me another perspective on the city.

I decided I would walk in an anti-clockwise direction, because, properly observing the keep-right protocol, that might shave a metre or two off the distance.

What a wonderful facility the Vancouverites have at their doorstep! How lucky are they? The walking track is broad and level, easy for all grades of walker. There’s a separate but adjoined track for wheeled traffic - bikes, skateboards, skaters and the like, but that runs only anti-clockwise as it can sometimes become quite narrow. There is a gradient separation between the two, so there is no incursion into the walkers’ space by the wheeled demons.

The track opens up some wonderful vistas - even a beach. As I walked past its end, a woman cyclist coming around a corner the other way espied it, and, such was her surprise, delightedly exclaimed to her cycling companion, “Oooh - la plage!”

It was a little too cool for doing much la plaging that day, but I could imagine this place being a favoured site on a high summer’s afternoon.

Along the way I got into conversation with Karen for a few hundred metres, a North Vancouver resident out for a walk, and who was going the same way as I and at a roughly similar pace. She told me she worked in the city and drove across one of the bridges daily. She had visited New Zealand but not Australia. We each congratulated each other in our choice of countries and cities we lived in.

Eventually I came back to my starting point which is always a possibility when you walk a peninsula, as long as you keep the water to one side of you throughout.

A short distance later I was in the waterfront area and spotted a place which might feed and water me, so I took a short break for this, and to see the float-planes take off directly opposite.

In between both of those activities, I wrote this, and then prepared to head back to my digs to catch up on the morning’s news from Oz.


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## mcropod

Wiggly bit of SkyRail track 


Half-time entertainment at the football: Two Vancouver Whitecaps players v 100 Vancouver kids 


Canadian Goose on sentry duty on top of Siwash Rock 


Takeaway meal 


Under Lions Gate bridge 


Lions Gate Bridge more traditionally 


Totems 


A ferry making its way to North Vancouver


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## mcropod

I had to have a giggle at this plaque describing the various dock activities from that vantage-point


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## mcropod

(I sought to delete a double post but could not work out how)


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## Bob Dylan

Wonderful report and pics of my favorite North American City, and briefly my home, before Beautiful Vancouver was "discovered" and became so chic and expensive!

Nothing better than hanging out in Stanley Park on a Sunny Day and eating Fish and Chips from one of the Kiosks in the park.


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> (I sought to delete a double post but could not work out how)


Just change it to say "redacted" and report the post to the moderators for deletion.


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## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> mcropod said:
> 
> 
> 
> (I sought to delete a double post but could not work out how)
> 
> 
> 
> Just change it to say "redacted" and report the post to the moderators for deletion.
Click to expand...

Ahh - but now there’ll still be evidence because of your helpful post in reply


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## mcropod

Boarding Day Dawns - Via Rail Train #2 Vancouver to Toronto

I had another full day in Vancouver before the scheduled 2030h departure of The Canadian, Via Rail’s iconic service between Vancouver and Toronto, a distance of almost 4,500 kilometres.

The day before, I had an email from Via Rail letting me know that the scheduled departure time would now be delayed by three hours because of the late arrival from Toronto of the turn-around Train #1.

By the scheduled day of departure, I’d been sent another, saying the delay woud now be five hours; and boarding unlikely much before midnight.

Staying around in Vancouver would not be onerous, beautiful and accessible city that it is, even if the delayed departure would mean I’d leave Vancouver in the dark, rather than at dusk.

Time for Fine Arts

I had passed by the Vancouver Art Gallery the previous morning on my walk to Stanley Park. Outside it stood a score or more of religious people in a prayer vigil of some sort. I thought if it were aimed in opposition to what the Gallery was showing, I wanted to go there. It would have to be good.

I saw there was a special exhibition on the A-Bomb, and further, there was the possibility of joining a guided tour of the gallery’s expressionist collection.

It’s a fine gallery, and the guide was knowledgeable and enthusiastic. What was scheduled to be 45 minutes, went for slightly over an hour, such was the breadth of what was covered. The gallery has a Monet and an Egon Scheile amongst its collection, as well as works from countless other I had been ignorant of.

On the upper floors was a special exhibition around the theme of the Atomic Bomb. It included propaganda of the time, as well as actual USA War Department footage of some of the tests. It also included pictures and stories from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well as stories of those USA citizens involved in and adversely affected by the production and testing processes.

It was a very cleverly curated exhibition. If you get a chance to see it, I recommend it.

After I’d gone back to the main part of the gallery collection to have a more detailed look, I bumped into the guide and asked if she had any Oz artists’ work in the gallery. She thought for a moment and concluded she did not, and did not know much about the expressionist painters of Australia.

I mentioned a few and we had a productive back-and-forth on our respective country’s various collections, and what caused this new radical art movement around the globe. She took me to see another piece of work she had omitted from her earlier tour. It was a strong highly textured piece arising from the built-up the layers of the paint, and some added molten lead. The artist had then burnt the paint with a blow-torch, making it varous shades of dark grey and black.

I made her a bit jealous when I told her that the Australian National Gallery has Jackson Pollock’s Blue Poles, which had been an anchor of the collection since its purchase in the mid-1970s, earning its cost price many times over since then beause of attendance and licensing revenues.

Gastown

I went for an explore after the high culture of the gallery, and decided to have a look around the Chinatown part of the city. I was in search of an inexpensive pair of slip-on shoes or slippers to wear on the train.

I found a suitable pair in the Army and Navy Stores shop, and flushed with my quick success, decided to continue down the road a bit into Gastown. I’d heard it was a bit grungy, a bit hip, and a bit raffish, so that sounded the type of place I’d find a good place to sample at least a beer and maybe some food.

Right behind the statue of “Gassy Jack”, John Deighton, after whom the neighbourhood is named, I found my place.

Melbourne is full of funky areas like this, and good eating places within them, in neighbourhoods just like this where many of the residents have seen better days. There is no judgement on either side, and an easy tolerance exists between the tribes. If you wanted a place where those who have fallen on tough times are separated from you, you will not find it here. It is an inner-city area with real life all around.

I was right at home. My adult life was mostly spent in an equivalent area of Melbourne. It can be confronting and scarey to some who don’t much encounter this side of life.

I caught up with the news from home as I found a wifi signal from an adjacent restaurant/bar, and ate and drank in the late afternoon warm sunshine.

On my way back to the hotel for a shower and change, I bought the inexpensive bus ticket which would later take me to the station.

All that now awaited was the departure.

I was unlikely to have much connectivity once aboard, so I’e sent this from what passes as the Vancouver Business Lounge. Its good aspect is that the essential overflow area is right by the platforms, so the loading and train crew preparation performance is right on view.


----------



## mcropod

Show me the Monet!




Show me the Money!




Gastown Pic 1 - Vancouver also has a Flat-Iron building




Gastown Pic 2 - the wifi provider restaurant and bar




Gastown Pic 3 - my dive, guarded by Gassy Jack


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## cpotisch

Is the Canadian still due 5 hours late? Looking forward to your take on it!


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## railiner

I find it interesting what your idea of a "scary inner-city" neighborhood likes like....it looks rather gentrified, and touristy to me...at least what your photo's show.

You should see what a real ghetto "hood" looks like, in comparison...





Still enjoying your commentary and photo's!


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## mcropod

Vancouver to Toronto Train #2 (Part One) 13/14 May

Off at Last

After a delay of five hours, Train #2 set off from Vancouver a few minutes before 0130h on Monday 14 May. We were boarded well before then, so most were safely settled in, and perhaps already horizontal.

I slept well, and awoke before 0600h. When I checked my gadgets, I saw we were soon to pass by Yale. I went to the dome car to await the breakfast call and see how the landscape looked from that vantage point.

Two Spies on a Train

A few other passengers were of a similar mind to explore the dome car, but there were enough vacant seats for me to find a suitable spot. The car slowly filled up. After a time, I was joined by Percy, who asked if he could take the empty seat alongside me.

Percy had just visited family in Vancouver. It was the city of his early years, but he had since moved away as a consequence of joining the Canadian Army. He told me he was in Signals. I knew what that meant. The reason we had migrated to Australia from Scotland was because my father had been asked to join Australia’s then Defence Signals Directorate - effectively a spy agency, obtaining its intelligence from listening in to whatever radio transmissions they could find.

I mentioned my connection with the Australian equivalent and so we had an interesting discussion about how things worked across the allied nations. Percy had spent time with NATO forces in Europe, but was mostly posted to home soil.

We agreed that we’d try to meet up at the breakfast table and when the diner opened we did so. We were seated at a table already occupied by an Oz couple from Rockhampton - a coastal Queensland city on the Tropic of Capricorn.

We met Ray and Noeleen, elderly and retired, and travelling, as was I. Ray had worked for Queensland Rail as a stationmaster, and was now active in local community affairs. So too was Noelene. She was a JP, an honourary officer of the law who assists manage some of the state’s legal issues.

I did not out myself as a Aussie, nor did Percy blow my cover, and neither Ray nor Noeleen enquired. I suspect they thought Percy and I were an old gay couple, and that it would be rude and uncomfortable to ask too many questions. Perhaps it was when I fibbed I’d been travelling with Percy for a few years which put them off the scent.

Ray and Noeleen had just finished a cruise of Alaska, and a train ride on The Rocky Mountaineer. I think they went as part of a well-known Oz-owned travel company which specialises in putting together these sorts of high-quality fully-catered and arranged international tours. They were now riding to Toronto, to join another tour which would take them to see Niagara Falls.

They finished their breakfasts and Percy and I continued discussing spying issues for a little longer.

Along the Rivers

Our track took us firstly along the Fraser River, then the Thompson River when that joined, then the North Thompson River in turn.

We were ddefinitely headed north, quickly crossing the fiftieth, then the fifty-first parallel.

The landscape was vast. Huge scree-fields spilt towards the tracks, sometimes directed over them by a protective roof. The river was in full force, turbulent and overflowing into floodplains either side, and carving into the banks on the outside arc of its eroding course.

If you were designing the scenic portion of a model railway, and produced such a tableau, it would be thought overly-dramatic and fanciful: an figment of an overwrought imagination. But here it was, outside my window exactly as nature, with a little interference from the railway surveyors, had intended.

I was surprised to see we were still at an altitude either side of 250 metres. The rugged landscape felt as if we should be much higher. Our pace was a steady, if sedate, 50kph.

I had returned to my cabin and lowered the bed in anticipation of fallng asleep when the zeds hit. That happened a bit earlier than I expected, and I awoke an hour or so later to see a large-eared deer in a well-grassed meadow by the Lac du Bois looking back at me. If Australia had native deer, I could safely bet on its common name being the Large Eared Deer, but this was a different place, and I resolved to find out what it might have been once I could fire up the internet.

Anther research project was to find out the name of the bird I saw perched on a fence. It was shaped like a macaw, and only a little smaller. It had a blue-grey coloured tail, a darker body, and patches of white on its wings. I had never before seen such a bird.

We had climbed another 100 metres alongside the river.

The 2003 Fires

A train announcement was made to draw our attention to the scarring of the countryside due to the 2003 British Columbia wildfires, which had burnt large tracts, unchecked, for many weeks.

What had been thick pine forest stretching across the horizon was now charred sticks. There was regrowth, but it was still a long way from replacing what had been lost.

I remember that my state of Victoria sent fire-fighters experienced in forest wildfires in remote country to assist our Canadian friends in their battle for control. Not long after, in our summer of early 2005, it was our turn to request Canadian and USA assistance as a huge wildfire devastated our alpine forests and the communities which lived in them.

I like living in a cooperative world.

Multi-Lingual Dining

After a brief stop at Kamloops North, we were off again. Shortly after, came the call for my midday meal sitting.

I was third to a table occupied by Steve, from Chicago, and a Francophone couple from near Montreal: Suzanne and Chris. We introduced ourselves.

Steve was a retired Amtrak employee who had worked at Chicago’s Union Station for more than two decades as a telephone operator and station announcer. He was happy to discover I had covered so much ground in the USA on Amtrak, and that I had spent a productive day on Chicago’s many-hued L lines.

Steve was detraining at Jasper, taking his time with a few other stops to cross to Toronto, and thence back to Chicago.

Suzanne and Chris had boarded at Kamloops and were headed back home. Suzanne mentioned she had worked in aged-care, but was now retired. I got the sense that Chris was in academia, but couldn’t be sure as he spoke softly, and seemed content to remain silent.

When the waiter came around, I saw a disapproving look on their faces when he said he could not speak French. Another was beckoned to the table, and their orders were taken. I understand and sympathise with those who live in twin-culture nations who feel theirs is not being properly considered. I know that often there is a political issue at stake, and so insisting in relation to a language issue is also insisting on a political one.

Perhaps it was Chris who was the more militant of the duo, because after he left the table, Suzanne was more forthcoming.

Goods Trains and More Goods Trains

As we continued to ascend to Blue River we encountered mutiple goods trains. We were held in a siding for two to pass by in the opposite direction, but we were waved through on many other occasions as they were sidelined. Then it was us awaiting another two, and so on it went.

We were now at 650 metres, and when moving, steadily rolling along at 70kph.

Jasper, the crossing point from the western to the eastern side of the country was still 210kms distant. We were already 52 degrees north of the equator, and there was a fair chance we would get beyond 53 north along the way before moving south again.

A Lively Table

I lucked in for my evening dining companions. Cousins Ann and Mary, together with Ann’s partner Bob, were making their way to Jasper. Their intention once there was to drive to Calgary, just because they wanted to go there.

I figured they were in their late 20s and early 30s.

Ann was once of Texas, and Mary still is. Ann and Bob now live in Pittsburg. They had flown from Pittsburg to Vancouver to join the train. They had also enjoyed Stanley Park during their brief stay there.

Ann was in IT, and Mary’s work put her in close connection with many secret and important aeroplanes.

They were interesting conversationalists. Both women liked the Oz TV show Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, as they loved the principal character, Miss Phryne Fisher. My only claim to that show is a highly incidental one - for a time in the mid-1980s, I worked with the spouse of the author who brought Miss Fisher to life.

Mary had a relative who she thought lived in Melbourne, but couldn’t recall where. None of the trio had visited Oz, but Ann expressed a desire to live and work in our neighbours New Zealand. She thought this would not come to fruition as she has three small dogs, and knows that both Oz and EnZed have very strict animal quarantine procedures.

The train’s delay meant that their scheduled 1600h deboarding was now not likely to be before midnight, a terrible time to have to get off a train when you’d planned for it being late afternoon.

But I figured they were resilient and flexible and would cope regardless. I wished them well as I left the table.

We had been halted at a siding, awaiting another passing movement, for quite some time. I went to the dome car and saw Percy, so I sat with him for a while. Ray occuplpied the seat in front and he told us Noeleen had been taken ill with the richness of the food.

After a while, as the evening drew in, some passengers on the lower deck were sure they had seen a bear alongside in the trees. We all scanned the area but could not confirm the sighting.

As there was still no sign of us moving off, I decided a stationary train provides an ideal opportunity to have a shower. I did so and called it a day.

Once we got moving again, we were above 800 metres, still headed north-west towards the Yellow Horse Pass, at which point we would turn east, and we had not yet made Valemount. We were more than nine hours behind schedule.

(Posted at Edmonton 15 May)


----------



## mcropod

railiner said:


> I find it interesting what your idea of a "scary inner-city" neighborhood likes like....it looks rather gentrified, and touristy to me...at least what your photo's show.
> 
> You should see what a real ghetto "hood" looks like, in comparison...
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Still enjoying your commentary and photo's!


I am with you. Gastown has an underserved reputation as the scungy end of town. There are many street people around, and this oasis of yuppiedom, was in contrast.

It does not compare with some of the ghetto areas of larger cities, but I have been around people who would be scared to venture n to places like Gastown.

Their loss, IMHO


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## cpotisch

You in a Cabin for one?


----------



## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> You in a Cabin for one?


I is. Although I’m currently outside it, watching some cars being removed from the consist and the locos being re-attached.


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## railiner

I am somewhat surprised that being bilingual, at least English and French, is not a hiring requirement for On Board Services VIA Rail employees. I could understand operating crews, engineers ("train driver's"), and conductor's working in predominantly English (or French) speaking section's of Canada not having that requirement, but passenger facing crew should have that ability...


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## Bob Dylan

The "Bad" area of Vancouver is East Hastings where the runaways,junkies and assorted persons of all types hang out.

Vancouver has a serious Homeless and Addicted population problem since it's Canada's version of San Francisco,LA,Seattle and Pottland rolled into one.

I too am surprised @ the inability to speak French by the OBS since Bi-lingual capability in the two Official Languages is required for Federal Jobs in Canada.


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## MikefromCrete

Since the Canadian changes OBS crews in Winnipeg, I would imagine the western crews are less likely to speak reasonably fluent French since hardly anybody in western Canada speaks French, especially as a first language.


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## mcropod

Vancouver to Toronto Train #2 (Part Two) 15 May

A New Day

I awoke again just before dawn. My GPS told me I was near Hinton.

The published schedule had us there at 1855h the previous evening, but it was just after 0420h, so we were now more than nine hours behind.

The train was stopped at a siding and I put on my ears to hear that we were to wait there until two west-bound goods trains had passed us, and that we would then have a clear run after that.

It took a touch more than an hour for the two trains to pass by and for us to start off again. As we moved off I saw an enormous industrial plant on the north side of the tracks, a refinery of sorts, and its lights were ablaze in the early dawn.

We were soon at what looked to be our top speed, 100kph, as the tracks levelled out and straightened. I decided to get up and check out the view from the dome.

After a while we went by a large lake with two first-light fishermen dangling their lines out of a small tinny. Across the water there were the large chimneys of another industrial plant, so their fishing site was as far away as was possible. I know that if there is any cooling-water discharge from such a plant, the fishing might be better in the warmer water, but that if it were an industrial discharge, even cleaned-up, it would be a good idea to steer clear.

I met Percy in the breakfast diner and we discovered we also had a joint background in model railways.

This topic came about when I made reference to points, which he told me he understood, but few others in this part of the world might. I then said I knew the local term was switches, and he replied he’d become aware of points as a descriptor when reading UK modelling literature.

He had developed his interest in model railways when in Germany as a father of young children. I had been on the other side of that arrangement when my father brought home a whole bunch of gear from a hobby retailer about to close his doors.

In both our cases, we were OO operators. Mine was Hornby, one of the then dominant brands in the UK. Percy’s was Fleischmann, as you would expect from someone who took up modelling in Germany.

Percy was about to pass his equipment on to his grandchildren as he had no space to create a layout for himself any more. I mentioned the Inglenook layout which does not require a great amount of space, and the puzzle a modeller using it can pose and then solve. Percy said he would check it out.

In the light of my experience with Chris and Suzanne the previous midday meal, I asked about the politics of language in Canada. I remembered reading about and seeing news footage of the major political issues of Quebec separatism in the 70s and 80s, and wondered whether the language divide was still as strong. In Percy’s view it was not. He explained that as an Anglophone in the military, he needed to undergo French language lessons in order to proceed above a certain rank, but that in school in Victoria, his French lessons were taught by a native English speaker.

An Edmonton Break

Soon we were on the outskirts of Edmonton. There was a chance to do a platform walk and check to see what connectivity existed.

It was a warm and sunny late-morning. The Edmonton approaches showed the area to be prosperous and neat. There was evidence of much new residential construction. The working day was beginning and there were many school busses amongst the traffic.

Edmonton is a sizeable city. Along either side of the railway line were industries and services for the extractive, transport, and farming sectors. It is clearly a major hub for the region.

The train reversed into the station at Edmonton by way of a Y as the station is quite separate from the huge marshalling infrastructure at its northern edge. We were advised the stop would be at least half-an-hour, and would involve us losing three cars from the consist. The platform would be shut down for that operation.

The station had wifi, so I was able to send a few messages home, despite it being around 0100h the next day there and unlikely to be responded to immediately. I happily discovered I was also still solvent, and I attended to some banking activities.

The three cars which were disconnected were the farthest forward coach car and the following two sleepers. My sleeper was now seventh from the locos.

The operation gave me a chance at last to identify our two locos. It had not been possible before. I found out we were pulled along by loco #6436, led by loco #6420.

When we got underway again at 1040h, we were down by almost eleven hours. That delay was likely extended by a long wait in the yards for permission to proceed beyond the station.

We continued to make slow progress through goods traffic over the next hours, barely getting above 40kph when moving.

An Official of the Supreme Court and the CIA

It was time to dine again and I was joined by Alan and Linda from Ottowa. Both boarded in Vancouver and were bound for home via Toronto. They had arrived in Vancouver from Hawaii after setting off from there on a sea-cruise. It seemed Linda was suffering the effects of travelling. She thought she contracted it on the fly-out to Hawaii, and she had a bad chest cough.

They lived near the city of Ottowa in what they described as a French-speaking suburb very close to the main government precinct.

Alan was retired, Linda was not. Alan had previously worked in the Supreme Court as court security.

I might well have been the only person in Vancouver to have searched the hotel’s TV channels on one of the evenings I was there and decided to stop on a channel which was broadcasting proceedings from the Supreme Court. I am interested in how a country’s legal and governance system works, so I sat with it for a while.

There was a hearing being broadcast, obviously delayed rather than live, given the time of night in Vancouver I was watching. It centred around a challenge to a law which imposed a victim surcharge fine or levy on someone convicted of an offence to help defray victim-issue costs.

I heard from one of the barristers making the case that the law was unjust because of how unfairly it impacted on those with fewer financial resources, and then from the barrister representing the Crown in its defence.

The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court was a woman who asked a question of the first barrister at one point.

The barrister for the Crown had a nervous twitch or tic, but that did not distract him from his eloquent submission. He also responded well to a query from another Justice.

I enjoy hearing deate and discussion between bright minds.

I asked Alan if he remembered the case, and if there had been an outcome. When I described the Chief Justice as a woman, he let me know that she had retired in December the previous year, so the case was at least five months old. He was unaware of whether there had been a decision handed down, so could not tell me what it was if it had been made.

Linda was still working for the CIA, but unlike Percy, had never been a spook.

Instead, Linda was working for the Canadian Institute of Actuaries. One of my nephews is an actuary with a major firm in Melbourne, so I was aware of what they did, and what the function of Linda’s CIA would involve.

A similar abbreviation ambiguity exists in Oz with the Catering Institute of Australia.

Meeting Train #1

After scallops and prawns, I went back to the dome car. Shortly, we passed sister Train #1 at Irma. There had been no announcement on our train’s PA of that beforehand which I think was a missed opportunity.

From looking at its and our schedules, we were both now running about twelve hours late.

For a while, our train had been rocketing along at 120kph+, hitting an Amtrak-esque 130kph at times, rocking and jolting all the while.

At one stage, but at much slower velocity, we were mobile between two goods trains, us taking the centre track when it split into three. The train to our northern side was a mixed goods and oil train. The one to our south was comprised of double-height boxcars.

Percy pointed out one of the Army Bases he had been stationed at for a time at Wainwright, just east of the Battle River trestle bridge which spans a length of almost a kilometre.

A bar attendant visited the dome and spruiked the benefits of a mojito able to be made by one of his drinks colleagues. Three passengers raised their hands in response.

When the drinks attendant came by with the three, only two were claimed, the third requestor having departed. Not wishing to see good work come to nought, I did the honourable thing and stepped in to claim the abandoned third.

We had crossed another border and were now in Sakatchawan. On the Empire Builder I had met Brian who was leaving that train for the seven hour drive north to his home in Saskatoon. He promised to wave to the train as I went by. I would have to keep my eyes open.

Evening Table with a PhD in Horse Anaesthesia

I had a little snooze in my cabin as we travelled through the western part of Saskatchewan and awoke in time for a short session in the dome, awaiting the call for second sitting in the diner.

When it came, I was the third on a table occupied by Sherill and Dick from Spokane. No sooner had we introduced ourselves than our fourth - Danielle - arrived.

Sherill and Dick were enjoying their time on the train and their interaction with the Oz and Kiwi contingent aboard. They liked how we took the mickey out of each other, and didn’t take life too seriously. They were travelling the full length of The Canadian but hadn’t taken into account its terrible timekeeping record, and so their connecting travel arrangements were already shot.

Danielle started life as a horse vet, then moved to become a horse anaesthetist. Later she had completed a PhD in the anti-inflammatory properties in horses of the anaesthetic drug Ketamine. She subsequently left practitioner work for a deeper involvement in the drug research aspect of the medical profession.

She travels frequently, and especially to Canada where she has covered quite some ground. It is always good to travel with someone better travelled than yourself, to pick their brain and gain an understanding of places you have not yet been to.

It is also always a joy to travel with someone who is very smart.

I spoke of my exposure to horses on the neighbouring Scottish farms, and to my most recent encounter in the Amish fields near Philadelphia. She has a great affinity for horses, especially working ones, and show-jumpers and dressage horses which she said were very well balanced and strong, and which recover their feet from being under at their first attempt.

I asked her what she was going to do with herself this northern summer now she no longer had a national team to support in the football World Cup. The Netherlands had failed to qualify in one of the big surprises of that phase of the tournament. It is a sore point for supporters of the Oranje, and I knew it would be (which is ,of course, why I raised it). I helpfully suggested that she turn her allegiance to the Australian team which had qualified. Again.

I don’t think that made her feel any better, somehow.

Dick and Sherill continued simultaneously to apologise for the state of their current government, for which neither Danielle nor I held them personally accountable, as well as to say that they were going to speak of politics at the table no longer.

It must rankle with them, as this went on for several kilometres, several repeats, and two courses.

Eventually, the catering staff threw us out, just in time for our arrival in Saskatoon, and the promise of a wifi connection inside the station.

Saskatoon Disappointment

Our late arrival, by half a day, coming in around 2100h rather than 0800h, meant we entered a desolate station building. There was no wifi available to connect to, and even if there had been a station signal, no sign advising of, or person in sight to ask about, the password.

I decided I would then put some of the station’s services to good use. For the first time on the trip the platform was on my side of the train. This gave me an opportunity to wash the grime from the window at least enough to get one clear spot from which to take some pix.

I went in search of the toilet to see if there were any paper towels available, but both dispensers were empty.

Toilet paper was however still there, so I took a metre or so and wet it under the tap.

The toilet itself was in a very poor state, likely blocked. The decrepit condition of the station was unbefitting the national passenger carrier. It was not being looked after the way it should be.

Saskatoon needed stationmaster Ray on the job. He’d soon have things put right.

I took my damp paper and managed to clear the bottom two-thirds after requisitioning the train’s portable steps for a better reach. There wasn’t a spare basketballer in the vicinity, so the top third was beyond me. What I removed wasn’t the brown dust I had expected, but a black thick oily sooty residue. I hadn’t factored in that most of it was probably from diesel particles.

Job done, I was asked by some fellow passengers to do theirs, and I replied that my fee was five dollars a window.

I thought about all the times I’d been driving, and the number of occasions I’d been approached at traffic lights by a bloke with a windscreen squeegie. What if their Saskatoon, and Edmonton, and Kamloops cousins took up this business opportunity on Via Rail platforms along the route? They’d be rolling in it.

My disappointment at not being able to make contact with Niki at a very convenient time for her - it was her early afternoon the next day - was leavened marginally by the fact that I might now have a clear photo or two to show her.

We departed unloved Saskatoon station at 2150h, more than thirteen hours behind schedule.

It was time to call it another day.

(Sent from Winnipeg 16 May)


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## mcropod

Our locos at Edmonton


40 ans logo


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## mcropod

Vancouver to Toronto Train #2 (Part Three) - 16 May

Two Clock Times

When I awoke, my GPS told me I was just SE of Yarbo and it was 0520h. As we were still in Saskatchewan it was 0520h outside the train, but the train was now applying Manitoba time, one hour ahead. In the diner, it was already 0620h.

I had time to get ready for breakfast.

We sped through Gerald at near 100kph. We were still deep in wheat country. Last years stubble remained in the ground. Preparation of the paddocks for this years crop had yet to begin.

Three New Table Companions

I was the fourth to arrive in the diner and was directed to complete that mornings inaugural foursome.

Already seated opposite were Tony and Ben from Vermont, who I think were father and son. They were returning east after a round-trip on The Canadian and a stop-over in Vancouver.

Seated next to me was Scott, a Kiwi from Picton, who, together with his partner, was making a long surface voyage from Sydney to Toronto. The first leg was 11,000kms on a ship to Vancouver, and now the train. Later, he is flying across the Atlantic eventually to reach Jersey, one of the Channel Islands, where hell stay at a friends house for a while.

I knew Picton, in the northern part of EnZeds South Island, was both the southern port for the ferry which connects to Wellington in the North Island, as well as being at the heart of the world-famous Marlborough wine-growing area. Its savignon blancs are the worlds best IMHO, and Nikis go-to preference.

That looked to have touched-off a sore point for Scott, as he replied that thanks to people like us, lots of country around that part of New Zealand had been taken out of other useful production.

I can imagine how someone with a particular view of how their part of the world should be would be annoyed when things change around them. Especially when it happens in the service of others preferences.

So we discussed aspects of rail travel history including why gauges differed between neighbours. Their strategic and developmental purposes were of interest to us all, as was their co-option in times of conflict, and their lasting benefits today.

Scott told us of his and his partners need to re-arrange their carry-on baggage after they were advised their two suitcases would be too big to be comfortably accommodated in their cabin. As would be the standard approach for a couple travelling for an extended period together across a few different climatic regions, they had gone his-and-hers packing.

A quick alteration inside the Vancouver station had them co-mingle their train necessities into a single bag, with the other one then assigned to the baggage car.

Forewarned by advice I received before leaving home on this adventure from this site, as well as a check of a few video descriptions, meant that my aircraft-sized cabin bag fitted well enough. With a bit of strategic packing, Id also arranged what I needed for just the five or six days aboard separately, and didnt need to get into my bag for the duration.

I think some level of preparation and thought given to these matters can make for a very easy trip in the small space available, and Id strongly recommend it.

I left a tip on the table for the Winnipeg catering crew who were soon to leave us. I thought they did their job with care and courtesy and showed the right level of interaction throughout.

If the next crew is like them, itll be an excellent ride.

Geography Catches up with the Train

I took advantage of the breakfast period and visited the shower. Sometime during my ablutions we crossed into Manitoba. The clocks were now synchronised inside and outside the train.

Rivers was our next calling point, and we departed it at 0900h, sixteen hours behind schedule.

The timetable showed that Winnipeg was but another two and a half hours away, giving a projected arrival time of just before noon. As I was making the calculations, my spy ears picked up a conversation between the train and the despatcher which went along these lines:

Train: We are planning for lunch aboard but were running out of food. Can you tell me how the traffic is please?

Despatcher: Well it is not great, but it is not terrible either. We may be able to weave you through some traffic, but you might have to wait for a double at Moffatt. Well do what we can for you.

Not long afterwards there was a train PA announcement to explain we had lost about two hours overnight because of a broken rail. Our Winnipeg arrival time was forecast as 1230h, and that the two midday meal sittings would be observed with the first before arrival, and the second after departure.

As the holder of a ticket for sitting two, I was happy I would have the benefit of a re-stocked, rather than depleted, kitchen.

We sped, in excess of 115kph, to the next hold-up.

We were almost halfway. I was settling into the routine of things, and untroubled by events.

Travelling with Mother

I thought I would make my way to the dome car, but met Sherill and Dick in its lower level in conversation with two women who Id not yet met about their travel plans. Dick and Sherill had decided to detrain at Winnipeg and then fly from there. Dick had come up with that plan in the morning and they were both pleased at their solution.

The two women - Lori and Patti - were sisters, originally also from Spokane, but now living in Reno. They, and another sister, were travelling with their 89 year old mother who wanted them all to visit Montreal, a city in which their mother had previously lived.

They were anxious about how much later their train could be without it putting their Toronto plans in jepoardy. We did a quick calculation. On the present delay things would still work out. Were the delay to approach 22 hours, they would not. We were sixteen hours down and not yet halfway. Ten of those hours were after starting the journey. Their plans would hold only if the remaining half had an additional delay of less than another six hours.

That bet is one I would not like to wager a large stake on. They were considering their options without wanting to bother their mother, who was still resting in the cabin.

I razzed a bit Lori when she thought she would check up on her mother by sending a text message, rather than walking to her cabin and knocking on the door. She took it in good humour. She later told me she decided to call her by phone instead.

Lori had confused herself about what time it was. After last nights advice about advancing the clocks by one hour she did so on her phone, manually. The phone then advanced that time another hour automatically when it detected we had crossed into Manitoba. Lori now believed it was one hour later that we said it was, and it took us a moment to work out what had occurred and convince her about what time it really was.

We had a wide-ranging conversation about travelling with and without our respective mothers. I had taken an almost 4,000kms road trip from Darwin to Victoria with my mother when she decided to leave the Northern Territory after spending half of her life there. It was great fun, and gave her the chance to farewell the special part of Oz she had come to know and love over the decades.

Lori and Patti were doing something similar for their mother.

Lori left and Patti and I then went into the upper level. Patti and her husband had taken a 1920s A-Model Ford on a number of extended runs, including a three-month trek from coast to coast. She told me of the kind and friendly people she had met along the way.

Patti was a deeply religious person, who drew strength from her convictions, and relied on her belief for guidance.

I am an atheist, and I am convinced of the innate goodness of humanist values, as well as being very happy for anyone to draw whatever comfort and direction from whatever is their god.

We got on fine - the godly and the godless - as I knew two people with generous spirit would. She told me of her A-Model travels and the people she met who defied their initially worrying appearance and who proved decent and helpful. I said about the time on a trip to Turkey, the small group I was in was invited to welcome home our drivers sister and her husband who had just the day before returned from making the pilgrimage to Mecca.

We were greeted warmly, this bunch of strangers from a far-off country, given fresh dates they had brought from Mecca to share with their family and friends. More astonishingly and movingly, even to this atheist, was being given a small glass of water from the supplies they had brought back, which was drawn from the Well of Zamzam. It was Islams holiest water.

This human-to-human contact, across cultures, nationalities, religions, language groups, genders, ages, sexualities, and any other divide we have created, is the very essence of the type of travelling I enjoy.

Take away that outer layer we use to segregate ourselves, mostly human created, and we all have the same basic desires and hopes for our families and friends.

We are all happy for the opportunity to travel with our mothers.

Winnipeg and wifi?

After the blow-out at Saskatoon, the promise of connectivity at Winnepeg was exciting some of us. It was crew-change time as well, so there was a spring in their step as well.

Winnipeg was keenly awaited.

First though we had to pass Portage-la-Prairie, just over the half-way point of the journey as far as the in-train travel guide was concerned. As far as I could tell, Winnipeg is as near enough the half-way point for all practical purposes. According to my paper map, the road distance Winnipeg to Toronto was listed as 2,228kms, and the distance Winnipeg to Vancouver as 2,299kms. Wherever was 35.5kms west of Winnipeg is the spot. I was content to leave that level of precision to the surveyors.

Presently, we arrived in Winnipeg, slowly advancing into the station. As the train came to a halt we passengers lined up in the corridors to seek at least temporary escape from our confinement. But the doors were not opened for us. The train moved on another twenty metres or so and came to another halt. Still the doors were not opened.

Then we moved off again another short distance. The whole procedure took twenty minutes before we were released. It was 1340h, and we were now 17 hours behind.

I later discovered they had changed the lead loco. We were led for the remainder of the journey by loco #6441.

Re-boarding was announced for 1430h, and we were to take our tickets with us. Those departing the train also had to depart the platform and enter the station below. Those remaining on the train would then be locked in as the platform would b closed.

The stations wifi was not easy to connect to. Later, Danielle advised that she was able to gain a viable connection by going deeper into the station.

I decided I could do better elsewhere, so went outside in search of a good prospect.

I saw there was a Manitoba Visitors Centre about 400m away. I thought they might do the decent thing by visitors and have wifi available. They did. A very helpful young woman at the desk quickly advised me how to identify the service and connect to it and I was away.

With messages exchanged, some key data checked, I had done what needed to be done. It was time to return to the station. I had not seen much of Winnipeg. It looked interesting. Exploring even a part of it looked like it would be rewarding. But not on this visit.

Departing Winnipeg

We boarded at 1430h as requested but had still not moved away from the station until the call from the dining car at 1515h for the second sitting.

I was seated again with Alan and Linda, and a new passenger on the train, Ann from Germany, who was taking a train and bus trip across Canada from Vancouver to Halifax.

I could see we were to cross a big river immediately after leaving the station and thought I would miss my chance of taking a pic.

As the meals were set in front of us, we started off at 1535h, still 17 hours behind. The trains data on timeliness out of Winnipeg would be set by this departure from the platform. The Winnipeg authorities could legitimately claim no additional time was lost at their station.

We crossed the river. Or at least the locos did. Then the train came to a stop on this two-track bridge. Some of the train was still on the station side of it. There we remained, all through my soup, salmon, and apple-crumble three-course meal. And I even fully-drained my post-prandial pot of tea without the train making a centimetre more of progress.

It seemed a very odd place to park a train - on a vital river crossing, blocking one of only two tracks across it. But there we sat until we finally moved off again at 1652h. Within view of the Winnipeg station we had gone down a further hour plus. We were now more than 18 hours behind.

But I did get my river pic.

Another Evening

I went back to my room and had a doze, awakening just in time to hear the call for the evening meals second sitting.

As I was a car away from the diner, Danielle fell into step behind me and we agreed to be a pair for seating purposes. We found ourselves making a complete table with Alan and Linda.

Ann was at the table behind us and was now of a more interactive disposition.

Danielle had not previously sat with Alan and Linda, and so explained her wide-ranging travel in Canada to their amazement. Once travel stories in Canda had been raised, and Danielle recognised that every so often Alan and Linda would converse in French, we started to discuss other countries involvement in the settlement of Canada and the antipodes.

Alan mentioned hed been to the geographic area proximate to Canada which was French territory. A passport and visa was required, and the currency was Euros.

Danielle was intrigued an I expect will seek to go there soon.

We then discussed the French and Dutch explorers involvement in mapping and settling Australia and New Zealand. But for a short accident of history, both countries could have been claimed by either country, rather than the British.

Part of New Zealand, Akaroa, near Christchurch, still wears its French connection with pride.

A suburb of Sydney is La Perouse is named atter the French explorer who arrived in what is now Australia just days after the first british settlement under the command of Captain Arthur Phillip.

Australias Tasmania was earlier known as Van Diemens Land because of its first mapping by Abel Tasman, a Dutchman, who was the also the first European ashore in the mid 1650s.

Dirk Hartog was one of the early European explorers who had drawn Europes attention in the early 1600s to what it had been unaware had existed in that part of the globe. For a time, the landmass was known in Europe as New Holland.

The Dutch interest in what is now Indonesia led to the north-west of Australia being mapped by the Dutch. And everyone in Western Australia knows of the horror story arising from the wrecking of the Batavia off the WA shore after a mutiny, and the rampage and killings done by some members of the crew on other crew and passengers as they sat marooned on some bleak rocky islands, hoping for rescue.

It was the practical application of chaos theory which meant Australians and New Zealanders have English, rather than Dutch or French, as their national languages, and British-based legal and government systems rather than Dutch or French.

Upon preparing to leave the diner, were advised to advance our clocks by one hour in anticipation of crossing the border into Ontario overnight.

I sat with Ben and Scott in the dome car for a sort while before calling it a day. There was a slim crescent moon and what I thought was Venus nearby providing the only illumination as midnight approached.

It was the end of another day. As I checked my place in the planet one last time before closing my eyes, we were at Sioux Lookout and it was 2315h.

(Posted from Toronto 18 May)


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## mcropod

Vancouver to Toronto Train #2 (Part Four) 17 May

Last Day

This morning, at 0930h, was scheduled as the time to arrive in Toronto.

The revised forcecast time was announced the day before variously as between midnight and 0200h of Friday 18 May. A small group of fellow passengers and I made our own calculations, and assessed our arrival would be 0200h or later. We believed that would be the case as long as we lost no more time, and there had been no history of that so far.

An earlier arrival time would be possible only if we picked up time, and that was considered fanciful.

I awoke around 0600h approaching Nakina. The sun was peeking its way through the tops of the pine trees. We were still around sixteen hours late.

I breakfasted with Percy as we were directed to a table alredy occupied by Donna and Bill who were on their way eventually to Montreal.

Bill had been a signalman for the railways and had been posted to various parts of the network, including Saskatoon which they were quick to tell me should not be judged by its unkempt station. They said Saskatoon was a lively place with a thriving community, and a well-regarded arts culture.

They had visited Australia and had stayed with friends near Melbourne.

I later dined with them and discovered they were taking to travel in a big way. On their visit to Oz they had taken a number of domestic flights which allowed them to criss-cross the country from Perth to Cairns, including a visit to Uluru in the red centre, and Port Arthur in Tasmania. They had also visited Brisbane and the two coastal resorts to the south and north of that city: Surfers’ Paradise and the Sunshine Coast. They had travelled by road from the nation’s capital, Canberra, to my home city of Melbourne.

How do Two Trains Pass Each Other when Both are Too Long for the Passing Loop?

I requisitioned a number of the single-use spreads from the table to work out a train puzzle I had heard of and which I thought I had worked out in my head, but needed physical proof. I wanted to check to see if traffic management expert Tony was aware of the puzzle, and thus the solution. I was confident his thought processes would work it out if neither was the case.

I had also purloined a discarded newspaper page and drawn up a crude railway grid to use as the base of the puzzle.

It comprised an infinitely long main line to the west and east of a small passing loop. My trains each comprised a loco leading a three car train, so four vehicles long. The passing loop could only contain three vehicles on each arm, otherwise the through line would be blocked.

I saw Ben in the dome car and asked if he knew of the puzzle and answer. He said he did not. But we gave it a go, and after a while saw the principle behind its solution. We had managed to get the two trains to pass each other and continue their journey, each still headed by their original loco.

I then saw Tony in the downstairs section and asked if he could find a more elegant solution. We ran through the problem and our solution. Tony said his traffic-management background was in pedestrian safety, and reducing vehicle-connected road deaths, by applying various engineering and traffic design systems.

He had a go and came up with a similar solution to ours.

I later revised it to its simplest form. I suspect what had taken us a few goes would be the first solution a railway engineer or shunter would see.

And then I photographed the sequence, but substituting milk containers for the jam sachets for space reasons.

Tony and I then discussed some of the road-safety initiatives taken in Australia, and specifically Victoria as road-safety was a state, rather than federal, responsibility in Oz. He recognised that the USA was badly trailling other OECD countries and getting worse, compared to places like Australia which was already more highly-ranked, and still improving.

A Battery Purchase in Hornepayne

I had stupidly assumed my scanner’s batteries were being re-charged when the scanner was drawing mains power. I was puzzed that when I took it outside my cabin, it was showing a low batteries warning, and shutting off as a protective measure.

It finally dawned on me that I had single-use batteries in the beast. At a stop at Hornepayne I spotted a hardware store about 150m away from the track. It was just past 0900h on a working day, so I thought I was a fair chance to be able to source some replacements.

The shop was open, the battery display was the first sight to see upon entering, and I quickly made my selection, hoping the “All Aboard!” call would not be made before I could return.

There was no sign of a shopkeeper until some minutes passed, but I was soon able to conclude the transaction and make a return trainside. My heart leapt a little when every car I saw was without its yellow steps, and had its doors closed. But as I neared, I saw there were many steps still out and doors open, so I knew I would not be left until the next Train #2 came through.

New batteries installed, I could take my headphone-equipped spy ears into the dome car.

I was therefore able to hear a lengthy conversation between an Irish-accented electrician and a colleague who I assume was elsewhere on the train, about a power issue they could not immediately diagnose and so were unable to resolve.

Midday Meal with Donna and Bill

I met up with Donna and Bill again in the diner at which time we had a conversation which detailed their travel history and hopes for future trips.

They wanted to take a river cruise in Europe. I had recently been on one, run by an Oz company, and travelled from Budapest to Amsterdam. I highly recommended the experience, but counselled them on one issue I had become aware of when on my trip.

The southern-hemisphere and northern-hemisphere ‘flu seasons are at different times. On my August trip, populated mostly by Australians, but with a sizeable Canadian contingent, it seemed that a number of Aussies had the ‘flu and quickly passed that on to our unsuspecting northern hemisphere cousins. To be fair, it was an unexpectedly bad ‘flu season in Oz, and led to a number of deaths there of those whose resistance was reduced by age or illness, but that was of no matter to those others on the boat who were affected.

I had taken a ‘flu shot before my departure, and been lucky to get one, as most innoculations are performed months before and the vaccine was then hard to come by.

My suggestion was that they seek to take the shot prior to travel, regardless of where in their domestic ‘flu season it is.

Capreol and a Delay at Sudbury

We were given time off for good behaviour and allowed to leave the train at Capreol for some fresh air. I had plenty of time to do a platform walk. I say platform, but that is giving it too much credit. It comprised what was a mixture of old track-bed and train-supply roadway.

This was a working train location. The Capreol yards were full and busy. There was an accommodation train parked across a few tracks, possibly ready for assignment to summer track crews now the winter had broken and better working weather was upon us.

With new batteries now installed, I could be better warned about refuelling progress and so a likely re-board call. I ventured to the rear of the train to capture a look at the parlour car.

Immediately after recommencing, I heard an exchange between driver and controller that there was a problem that needed to be attended to at Sudbury Junction, our next stop. The exchange indicated that we would have to move off the main line to attend to it. This was done by passing the station, then reversing the train into the siding to let off two passengers as the matter was sorted.

We were off again at 1855h, a little more than seventeen hours behind. My 0300h forecast was still looking better than Via Rail’s continued assertion that we would be in by between 0130h and 0200h.

We travelled through the Ontario lakelands and wetlands, picking a path through the larger bodies of water, through little railway encampments, and lake-side cottages. It was a peaceful and restful on the eye.

Last Meal and a Very Interesting Family

I was third-seated at a table already occupied by a trio. They introduced themselves to me as Oliver, Lucy, and Evito. They had joined the train at Vancouver after taking a sea-cruise through the inside passage to Alaska.

They now lived in London, but had a very interesting backstory.

Oliver was the son to Lucy and Evito. Lucy and Evito had been born in Kenya, but had left for India in the late 1960s. They had not felt in peril as Kenyan Indians, but this was at around the same time as the forced exodus of Ugandan Indians by Idi Amin. But they thought it prudent to leave regardless.

They moved to Goa, part of India then under Portugese rule. The Portugese departed, and Goa was subsumed into India.

All three are now based in London where Oliver works for Coca-Cola.

As a result of their multi-national history, we worked out they are eligible to carry the passports of Kenya, Portugal, India, and the UK. I proposed that they do so, just for fun.

After the UK removes itself from the EU, having a Portugese passport would be an advantage for EU work and travel purposes, but even being able to produce four passports for which they are eligible when asked for their papers at a border crossing would be a hoot.

With the meal over, it was time to quickly arrange my belongings in order to have a quick sleep before our unceremonius eviction at stupid-o’clock.

Arrival the Day After the Final Day

We were awoken just before our arrival at Toronto Station close to 0200h. Some time had been made up in the final stretch. Via Rail’s final prediction of arriving between 0130h and 0200h was correct, and mine was wrong.

We were de-boarded and found ourselves in the otherwise deserted and serviceless station.

We were now left to our own devices.


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## mcropod

View from one of the three the dome cars 


Early morning in Ontarios lake-land 


Railway workers encampment 


Mobile accommodation awaits deployment 


The Parlour Car


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## mcropod

The Train Puzzle - How to get two trains, each longer than can be accommodated in a passing loop, past each other to continue their journeys. Each train has a loco lead and three cars. The passing loop can only hold three units without fouling the other line.

1 - The Blue Train going west, meets the Green Train going east, either side of a passing loop




2 - The Green Train detaches one car, leaving it on the mainline, and fully occupies one side of the loop




3 - The Blue Train passes through the loop and attaches the Green car to the front of the Blue Trains loco




4 - The Green Train exits the loop and moves on sufficiently far enough ahead on the main-line.




5 - The Blue Train reverses through the loop, pulling the Green car with it, leaving it in the loop 


6 - The Blue Train reverses clear of the loop ready to advance through the other (clear) side of the loop




7 - The Blue Train clears the loop and heads off west as the Green Train reverses into the loop to pick up the Green car




8 - The Green train moves off east on the main-line


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## mcropod

Dawn in west Ontario


Two trains passing


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## cpotisch

So are you enjoying the Canadian? How does the food and service compare to that of the Zephyr or Builder?


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## railiner

Brilliant report! You have a great gift of observing and writing. You could probably be a successful travel journalist, if you so had the inclination.

One sentiment that you expressed especially hit me:

"This human-to-human contact, across cultures, nationalities, religions, language groups, genders, ages, sexualities, and any other divide we have created, is the very essence of the type of travelling I enjoy.
Take away that outer layer we use to segregate ourselves, mostly human created, and we all have the same basic desires and hopes for our families and friends."

If we could all recognize that, the world would indeed be a better place....

Right On! and.....write on!


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## mcropod

cpotisch said:


> So are you enjoying the Canadian? How does the food and service compare to that of the Zephyr or Builder?


The basic service a transport organisation should provide is to safely get you from one place to another, and, within reason, on schedule.

In this matter, Via Rail’s The Canadian is a fail.

The catering is in a different class to that of Amtrak: restaurant quality tableware, catering, and service. In that aspect, it is well ahead.

But catering should be a secondary focus for Via Rail, IMHO.

Via Rail also dumped us into an empty station this morning, with no services available, and only poor wage-slaves as uniformed representatives of the organisation.

I was prepared because I’d been following the various trains on the live trains website. I reckon most of the passengers I spoke with on the journey had not, and were caught completely by surprise.

The country The Canadian goes through is spectacular. But its timekeeping is such that you can’t plan on seeing any particular bit in daylight.

The on-train staff are great, doing much more than their duty-statement and interacting in a very positive manner with the passengers.

I’d be happy to ride it again, with the only codicil being that I need to be aware Via Rail does not care about me after it has reached its destination, despite knowing its schedule cannot be depended on, even within a seven or so hour range.


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## mcropod

railiner said:


> Brilliant report! You have a great gift of observing and writing. You could probably be a successful travel journalist, if you so had the inclination.
> 
> One sentiment that you expressed especially hit me:
> 
> "This human-to-human contact, across cultures, nationalities, religions, language groups, genders, ages, sexualities, and any other divide we have created, is the very essence of the type of travelling I enjoy.Take away that outer layer we use to segregate ourselves, mostly human created, and we all have the same basic desires and hopes for our families and friends."
> 
> If we could all recognize that, the world would indeed be a better place....
> 
> Right On! and.....write on!


You are very kind - thankyou indeed for your comments.


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## mcropod

My photo of the river at Winnipeg I thought I would miss, as I was in the diner at the start of a meal-time. However, the train stopped on it for around an hour after leaving the station, 300m earlier. I was delighted to be able to capture the scene from my room after the meal service had concluded.

Dont you agree it was worth the delay?


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## mcropod

The unloved Saskatoon station. Enquiries in relation to Via Rails Adopt a Station program should be sent to PO Box No-one Cares, Toronto GPO.


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> My photo of the river at Winnipeg I thought I would miss, as I was in the diner at the start of a meal-time. However, the train stopped on it for around an hour after leaving the station, 300m earlier. I was delighted to be able to capture the scene from my room after the meal service had concluded.
> 
> Dont you agree it was worth the delay?
> 
> 
> 
> 26AD328F-9CD5-4B0C-98F1-14A83912E99B.jpeg


I most definitely would.


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## mcropod

Via Rail mightn’t run the timeliest of rail services, and their management personnel might be responsibility-dodgers, but their on-train and in-station service workers are ace.

I had a feeling I had not packed my small camera at the time I left the train. I didn’t want to rummage through all my belongings on the platform to check. I had what I thought was a thorough look-through of my cabin (including under my hat), but couldn’t see it.

In the light of The Great Chicago GPS Incident, I was not inclined to make any assumption about its fate. I assumed total culpability. It was possible that I had klutzily placed it somewhere in my belongings. And in any case, I had checked before leaving the station that any property left on the train would be handed in to the Baggage Area personnel, the same place I stored my baggage until I was to return later that afternoon for another Via Rail journey.

So I left for a day with friends to Toronto’s east, knowing I would be back at the station to collect my bags, before I then departed for some time with friends to Toronto’s west. I could check then if anything had been handed in.

On my return, I collected my bags, and asked if an orphan camera had been found on Train #2 earlier that morning.

I described the camera and its cover, and I could see the delight on the face of the two blokes staffing the desk. It had been handed in and they were obviously happy that it was about to be claimed by its rightful owner.

They had checked through the images to see if there was any chance in identifying anything about who it belonged to. They wondered which countries had appeared in the pix. And at least one was a football fan because he identified an image of a ticket for a Europa League match I’d attended in the Turkish city of Konya where they played a famous Ukrainian side, Shaktar Donestk.

We had a little conversation about some of the places, and that game, but their happiness at being part of a good news story was obvious.

Good on them, and the train-cleaning crew who found it.

As part of the process they underwent to try to find the images, they also seemed to take a couple of pix by accident. So I have three to display. One is a blurry accidental selfie, perhaps of the train crew member who found it trying to work out how to call up the images. The second is another accidental shot of part of the cabin, probably indicating that’s where it was found.

The third looks as if is part of the baggage crews’ front desk.

Accidental images can also tell an interesting story, so I will keep them, with fond memories of the diligence of the Via Rail staff involved.


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## mcropod

Accidental Images - Pic 1




Accidental Images - Pic 2




Accidental Images - Pic 3


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## mcropod

Last Trains

I had arranged to see some friends, Karen and John, who I’d met the previous year on another trip in Yurp. We’d based our meet-up on the basis that I’d find my way to a nearby GO station on my day of arrival and stay with them that evening before departing the next day.

Train #2’s very kate arrival meant I would see them once they had awoken on the morning of my 0200h arrival and make it a flying visit during the day only.

After coordinating our best time to meet up, I took a GO train from Toronto to Pickering, east along the Lake Ontario shoreline for about half-an-hour.

The arriving trains were disgorging full loads of Toronto city workers as you would expect on the morning of a working day. These were large trains of ten double-decker carriage. I am sure I counted one which was eleven.

When I boarded in for a trip in the opposite direction, I had next to no fellow passengers. Such is the life of s suburban train.

The ride was fast, on schedule, and the line and its stations seemed to be in very good order.

I met my friends, spent a number of interesting hours catching up, sharing a lovely meal which would have been for the previous evening, and having a squiz at where they lived, and then it was off again.

The GO train back to town was similarly as you’d want from a suburban carrier - capacious, on time, and clean.

Well done those who are part of Toronto’s GO trains.

I collected my stored bags from the folk at the Baggage Area and got the good news that my camera had been handed in (see above).

While finding my way to the Baggage Claim area, I noticed a long snaking line of those waiting to board my next train: Via Rail’s 1635h service to Brampton on Train #83. My ticked showed I had a reserved seat in Car 5, seat 8A, so I was unconcerned about the quese’s length.

Presently, the lin bgan to move forward and I found my way past the ticket-checkers to my car and seat.

It was another short ride of just over an hour. We went through Toronto’s western suburbs not far from the north-western coast of Lake Ontario before hitting the farmlands and smaller communities along the run. The train’s top speed was 130kph - a speed which it maintained for long stretches at a time.

I detrained at the pretty little station at Bramton to meet two of my next hosts, Joyce and Louise, who I’d met on the same trip as Karen and John.

I would get a chance to have a few days in the same location, have a shower in a bathroom which did not shake, and pour a cup of tea without getting half of it in the saucer.

I would not bord a train until my final ones of this trip: a return on Via Rail from Brampton to Toronto, and an UP train from there to the airport. Time constraints meant I had to get back to my starting point in Philadelhia to catch my flight home to Oz, by air, rather than on the ground, a matter of some regret.


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## mcropod

Go Train loco 659 at Toronto station awaiting a run alng the Lakeshore East line


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## cpotisch

An MPI MP40, in the old livery. I've got a bit of a soft spot for the GO-comotives (yes, I'm punny). Did you see any other GO locos?


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## mcropod

I saw scads of them, both those which were going through the GO platforms at Toronto station, as well as what looked like resting ones at a staging point for them off by the side of the mainline tracks a little to the west of the station.

I don’t have your level of awareness to have worked out much about their history or loco classification, sorry.


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## cpotisch

That's totally fine. I'm just a casual GO fan.


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## mcropod

I depart Canada tomorrow to return to my USA entry point of the journey, Philadelphia.

Today I had this view from my diner:


And earlier in the arvo, the view from a little closer:










And in calmer waters downstream


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> I depart Canada tomorrow to return to my USA entry point of the journey, Philadelphia.
> 
> Today I had this view from my diner:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> B7A83353-4342-46A8-BCCA-1D3725F22C3D.jpeg
> 
> And earlier in the arvo, the view from a little closer:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> C52E053F-B837-439E-8143-9B6E7E96D6B2.jpeg
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 0CA065A3-0B8E-4805-B873-E93791E4503D.jpeg
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 3B892E31-CBE0-4767-81CB-A9B9D0B1A546.jpeg
> 
> And in calmer waters downstream
> 
> 
> 
> 
> CBC894E4-F6E2-400D-BF21-5BD156FD605D.jpeg


Gorgeous. I absolutely loved Niagara Falls when I went in 2012.


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## Bob Dylan

Nice pics!

And even though it's a tourist trap of the first order, everyone should visit Niagara Falls at least once in their life!( the Ontario side is the place to be!)


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## mcropod

I took my last domestic trains in the north American continent this morning, and I’m now safely through USA’s customs and border control procedures, even although I am still in Toronto. The call will come shortly to board an Air Canada flight to Philadelphia.

My journey started at Via Rail’s Brantford station where I took Train #70 Torontowards. The train’s cruising speed was around 145kph as it made its way on the eighty-minute trip to the city.

It tracks the northern shore of Lake Ontario for the latter part of its journey, and passed GO Trains headed west as it sped into town. Today is a public holiday here, so I wasn’t in competition with any work-bound commuters, a bonus I discovered only a few weeks beforehand.

So the train was not full, but still well-patronised.

On arriving at Toronto Union Station, it was just a short, well-signposted, walk to the airport UP service. That was running about every quarter-of-an-hour. I gave myself plenty of time, so wasn’t fussed when I was still in the ticket-line when one train departed.

The UP service is an above-ground train, sharing some of the alignment with suburban and inter-city traffic, but branching off onto its own lines after the last of the two intermediate stations it services before the airport.

It is a short train, with plenty of luggage space, and draws up close to Terminal 1 at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport. A short walk leads you right in amongst it. And at just 25 minutes or so doors close to doors open, it is a speedy service. I clocked it at just under 100kph, and that seemed to be its top speed.

It has a very sharp curve just before reaching the airport station, and it sounds like it’s near the limit for the train as the wheels loudly protest and shake throughout the turn.

Both trains had wifi, and power outlets for charging devices.


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## mcropod

CN loco #4713 on shunting operations at Brantfords yards on a public holiday Monday morning


Brantford Railway Station buildings




Toronto Union Station, Via Rails Info Desk in the Great Hall which is currently undergoing restoration work


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## railiner

Ha! I was in Montreal this morning, on the way to Jonquiere...also enjoyed the light Victoria Day traffic.


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## mcropod

I’m away in a few hours for my Qatar flights home.

I wasn’t able to take advantage of some spare hours in Philly this morning. My back was a bit crook and I didn’t want to risk it blowing up on the day of departure.

Thankyou for your readership and comments. I had a blast.

I put together my trip and booked it direct with Amtrak and Via Rail, as well as the necessary hotels, from my Oz home in the sticks, after taking into account your input, gleaned from the pages of this site.

Part of the reason for posting details of my trip were to add to the range of information and advice for subsequent travellers. And as a bit of a payback for the advice and help I received from these pages.

I hope future travellers have as much fun on the rails as I did, and that the on-train services I encountered are continued.

The first joy of travelling by LD train is seeing the country in a way that is not otherwise possible. The second is making contact with, and learning the stories of, your fellow passengers. I was privileged to learn some wonderful life-stories; remarkable, astonishing, life-affirming ones, from colleague passengers, who just like me, were ordinary folk, living ordinary lives.

As my travels commenced, I realised I was making an editorial decision not to refer to anyone’s ethno-religious background or race unless it was a key part of their story. So I sat with this policy deliberately.

The two nuns on the Capitol Limited, the young Amish travellers on the Empire Builder, and the now London-resident Kenyan Portugese Indian family trio on The Canadian I think were the only times I did so, because without doing so, I did not think it was possible to tell their stories. In just about every other case, this was not relevant, so I thought it would be gratuitous to do so.

I loved meeting my fellow passengers and having a chat with them. If you take a LD train trip and seek to isolate yourself from your travel-companions you will miss this important aspect of train travel. If you only make contact with people who look like you, you’ll also miss out.

Reach out - say “G’day”.

Governments and others who insist they speak for us assume they can control how we think of each other based on crude generalisations. Make them irrelevant in this matter - that’s for us to decide when we get a chance to have a conversation with a fellow member of the human race at a meal table or in the sight-seeing car.

Learn something - share something. And the LD train is the perfect place to do so.


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## Bob Dylan

Safe trip home mate, and come see us again!


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## cpotisch

mcropod said:


> I’m away in a few hours for my Qatar flights home.
> 
> I wasn’t able to take advantage of some spare hours in Philly this morning. My back was a bit crook and I didn’t want to risk it blowing up on the day of departure.
> 
> Thankyou for your readership and comments. I had a blast.
> 
> I put together my trip and booked it direct with Amtrak and Via Rail, as well as the necessary hotels, from my Oz home in the sticks, after taking into account your input, gleaned from the pages of this site.
> 
> Part of the reason for posting details of my trip were to add to the range of information and advice for subsequent travellers. And as a bit of a payback for the advice and help I received from these pages.
> 
> I hope future travellers have as much fun on the rails as I did, and that the on-train services I encountered are continued.
> 
> The first joy of travelling by LD train is seeing the country in a way that is not otherwise possible. The second is making contact with, and learning the stories of, your fellow passengers. I was privileged to learn some wonderful life-stories; remarkable, astonishing, life-affirming ones, from colleague passengers, who just like me, were ordinary folk, living ordinary lives.
> 
> As my travels commenced, I realised I was making an editorial decision not to refer to anyone’s ethno-religious background or race unless it was a key part of their story. So I sat with this policy deliberately.
> 
> The two nuns on the Capitol Limited, the young Amish travellers on the Empire Builder, and the now London-resident Kenyan Portugese Indian family trio on The Canadian I think were the only times I did so, because without doing so, I did not think it was possible to tell their stories. In just about every other case, this was not relevant, so I thought it would be gratuitous to do so.
> 
> I loved meeting my fellow passengers and having a chat with them. If you take a LD train trip and seek to isolate yourself from your travel-companions you will miss this important aspect of train travel. If you only make contact with people who look like you, you’ll also miss out.
> 
> Reach out - say “G’day”.
> 
> Governments and others who insist they speak for us assume they can control how we think of each other based on crude generalisations. Make them irrelevant in this matter - that’s for us to decide when we get a chance to have a conversation with a fellow member of the human race at a meal table or in the sight-seeing car.
> 
> Learn something - share something. And the LD train is the perfect place to do so.


Wow. Well said.



Hopefully I’ll be able to enjoy a train trip like that someday. It’s reassuring to know that it was as fun in practice as it seems on paper. So long, and as Bob said, come back soon.


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## SarahZ

What an amazing trip. I loved your pictures and stories. The visual aid with the coffee creamers serving as train cars was one of my favorites.


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## MikefromCrete

Thanks for your continuing reports on your trip. They were excellent and it sounds like you had a good time. Have a safe trip home and come back some day.


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## oregon pioneer

I hope you are safely back in OZ, after your wonderful trip. Thanks for taking us along with you!


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## mcropod

oregon pioneer said:


> I hope you are safely back in OZ, after your wonderful trip. Thanks for taking us along with you!


You are very welcome, oregon pioneer. I arrived home a bit more than 14 hours ago, pretty much in tune with my East Oz clock from the time of my departure from Doha. So after a night’s rest, Niki and I are ready to get back into life from this Oz Friday morning.


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