Riding the Rails

From the murder mystery on the Orient Express to the larcenistic exploits of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, trains have engendered romantic images for Americans. We idolize those iron horses that helped tame the West and the golden spike that united the United States. Following the veins of capitalism, the romance of iron rails spread itself to thousands of commercial centers, from tiny farming communities to giant metropolises across our land. These lines have conveyed the lifeblood of American business for the better part of two centuries. Even now, as our supply chain has incorporated other forms of transportation, railroads still hold a significant stake in getting things from one place to another on our continent.

At one time, passengers traveled across America primarily by riding those romantic rails. But darn those nasty Wright Brothers; everyone now flies wherever they want. Can we blame them? Passengers slashed travel times to mere fractions of their former rail-riding selves. Coal, industrial supplies, and heavy equipment have time to sit on sidings, but not people. So a thriving air travel industry has left thousands of railway stations vacant with decades of primarily short, mostly empty trains.

In the past, my own experience of riding the rails has not been so romantic. As a college student in the 1970s in the Midwest, I had a burning desire to go home for Christmas. Despite my youthful machismo, I was “convinced” by wiser angels that winter weather made driving unacceptably unsafe. Air travel was unaffordable. Buses were unconnected between college and home. All of this conspired to make riding the rails as unavoidable as it was uncomfortable.

So we set out from Fargo, North Dakota, in the dead of winter 1973, where we took the Great Northern Amtrak route that connected Chicago to Seattle. The Empire Builder chugged slower and slower across the great plains with increasingly longer stops for railway personnel to thaw frozen water lines. Frozen passengers were not so lucky. The lateness of the train’s progress consumed the better part of a 24-hour clock and threatened to challenge which month we might reach our destination. However, we finally arrived with most of the Christmas vacation left to recover and prepare for an equally taxing return.  

Since then, I have become intimately familiar with air travel. It was such a convenient, speedy, and comfortable mode of travel that the few extra dollars required seemed trivial. However, over time there have been changes. Queue lines get longer and longer. Security procedures have become draconian. And a scoop-shovel-sized shoe horn is required to get me into my seat. Not to mention that the arrival time predictability of flying now reminds me of that 1973 train adventure. So, last spring, while planning a trip to North Idaho,  I was stunned to discover that airfare cost three times the price of a train ticket. And just like that, I was riding the rails again.

I arrived at the Grand Forks, ND train station at 3:45 am, 30 minutes ahead of the scheduled arrival of my train. Based on my 1973 experience, I prepared to wait in my car for hours. However, Amtrak thoughtfully notified me by text that my train was only 20 minutes late, and I barely had time to use the facilities in the quaint little train station blessedly left open for passengers. I noted that I had already gained nearly an hour and a half of my life back that I would typically have sacrificed in the lead-up to flying. Hmmm, time-saving air travel has its limits.

Over the years, I have developed what I call the queue shuffle. Standing carefully balanced, you can shuffle forward and nudge your luggage along through a three-hundred-person queue while thoroughly reading the Wall Street Journal on your phone. I hadn’t even gotten my phone out when the conductor in Grand Forks, reading from a wrinkled piece of notebook paper, called out, “Which of you two is Thomas Walker?” I raised my hand to indicate my identity and boarded the train without a ticket, driver’s license, or passport. The pleasant shock of the experience continued as I conveniently stowed my luggage in racks that were utterly accessible to me throughout the entire journey. I’m sure this was also true during my 1973 train ride, but it’s amazing how 50 years of air travel can adjust your perspective.   

And the seating – oh my goodness! Two seats were on my side of the row, and I soon realized they were both mine. Together they spanned what would have been nearly an entire row on both sides of the aisle in an average commercial airliner. I can best describe the legroom as cavernous. Slouching in my seat and stretching my legs straight out, I could almost touch the seat in front of me. Fortunately, a fantastic array of adjustable footrests, leg rests, and a deeply reclining seat made it possible to support almost any position I could imagine. Not only could I pleasantly sit and read, but I could sleep for hours in comfort.

Comfortable sleep was fortunate because, despite the many advantages of train travel over air travel, speed is not one of them. It will always take longer to bump from one podunk stop to another rather than the point-to-point flyover of middle America. That reality is both train travel’s bane and charm. A slower, calmer trip is a kind of destination in itself, and who doesn’t delight in the track-side view of Rugby, North Dakota, and Wolf Point, Montana. It’s amazing what people think they are hiding from view behind buildings while exposing them to view for the train traveler.  

The train spends most of the time in small towns on deceleration and acceleration. The stops themselves are disturbingly brief. It’s like people are pushed out the door and swept in by the conductors in a momentary frenzy to keep the train schedule on time. I swear I saw them lob an old lady’s cane to her as the train chugged out of the station. Longer stops happen every six to eight hours. Stern announcements threatened that the train would leave passengers behind during its abrupt departure. The dire warnings did nothing for sphincter control.

This lack of access to track-side amenities is less problematic than you would suppose. The train itself is marvelously equipped with everything a traveler needs. Dome cars provide splendid opportunities for lounging and viewing the passing countryside. Restrooms are numerous and spacious, certainly by comparison to their airborne counterparts. The snack bar was well stocked with drinks, candy, and actual food that was a cut above the gas station fare of which it reminds one. And the dining car provides that romance for which train travel is famous. All-in-all, the additional time to travel by train is pleasantly balanced by comfortable sleep and freedom of movement. Everyone, except the least patient, would appreciate its benefits.

I’m not ready to give up our little Equinox yet. The nomadic lifestyle my wife and I have adopted is still best served by the lovely roadways our country has built all across the land. And since train tracks tend to stop on the shores of our sea-to-shining-sea, I will still be making liberal use of international air travel to see our family in foreign lands. But riding the rails is now firmly ensconced as a viable option for traveling where I need to go.