I agree with the sentiments expressed. I would like to offer a few brief passages from from the late David P. Morgan, former editor of Trains Magazine in one of my favorite books--Diesels West, published by the CB&Q by Kalmbach in 1963, in the chapter "Overnight, Every Night"......
"......The wise ones, those sensitive to the intrigue of a great trains departure on a wintry evening, have found seats in a Vista-Dome when First No. 1 smoothly gets under way, slips from the embrace of the trainsheds into the signal-sparked throat of terminal tracks, and gathers momentum for the West. The line of stainless steel cars, glistening in the rain, rolls past the 14th Street coach yard, glides around the curve at Halsted Street and attains the straightaway. In the dome, a muted roar and the beams from two headlights, one fixed and the other rotating, are evidence of the 4000 diesel horsepower leading First No. 1 down the center track of the three track main line out to suburban Aurora. The diesels bore through the wet night--past the overhead lights and endless freight cars at Cicero, on through the suburbia of Brookfield and La Grange. The Denver Zephyr overtakes a commuter train at Western Springs, then two more a few miles beyond.
And down below the darkened domes there is an end to the tension of office and city...and a beginning of relaxation. Couples, cards, and cocktails prevail in the Colorado Room. Ahead in the dining car the waiters fill water glasses, study the passengers' checks ("Let's see what we have here--shrimp cocktail, top sirloin, mashed potatoes, salad. Now, how would you like that steak, sir?"), and sing out orders to the cooks...."
......"It is good to be able to take for granted a travel institution such as the Denver Zephyr, to know that overnight every night it bridges a thousand miles between Lake Michigan and the Rockies with leg-rest seats and beds and dining rooms and lounges on wheels, to count on it from one generation to the next.
For it is a memorable experience to lie abed in a roomette with the Venetian blind raised and the dark, rainswept farmland outside sliding past at 75 miles per hour. Tonight there is the faint, compelling repetition of wheel clicks, the cushioned surge of speed--tomorrow morning there will be sunshine, Colorado carnations on the breakfast tables, the snow-mantled Rockies behind Denver.
Sleep comes easily within the security of such an institution as Burlington No. 1."