The Great Train Ride

With some trepidation and flashbacks to Hollywood's "Silver Streak," I entered Chicago's cavernous Union Station. My last long train trip was from St. Louis to Air Force basic training in San Antonio. That was many years ago, but I can still remember a coach car packed with sweaty fellow recruits sitting at rigid attention under the watchful eye of our bored NCO escort.

The time I was traveling with my wife, Rose. We were on vacation, and just once we didn't wanted to be sealed inside an aluminum envelope five miles above land. I didn't want to drive, and a bus trip was out of the question. Besides, a long trip by rail seemed romantic, adventuresome and retro. Millions of passengers ride Amtrak's 22,000 rail miles every year, and we wanted to see why.

We boarded the famous California Zephyr. Regarded by many as the most scenic rail trip in America, the Zephyr travels the 2,438 miles from Chicago to San Francisco in about 48 hours with 35 stops. (Actually, the train stops in nearby Emeryville and an Amtrak bus takes passengers into the city.) We barely had time to acquaint ourselves with our sleeping car before the Zephyr eased out of Union Station at about 4 p.m.

Before long, the magnificent Chicago skyline was behind us, and we were greeted by some of the most boring scenery in the country. America's Midwest may be the nation's breadbasket, but viewing endless miles of farms and prairies can get a bid tedious. Amtrak was wise to schedule the Zephyr to zip through the most monotonous country during the evening hours.
We passed through small towns in Illinois and Iowa, feeling like voyeurs as we sneaked quick peeks through the back doors of tiny frame homes nestled dangerously close to the tracks. Many had the Stars and Stripes draped from their porches. I also spotted a small boy standing hip-deep in a recently harvested cornfield waving at the passing train. Was he wondering what exotic destinations awaited its passengers?

A Leisurely Pace. Although the interstate highway system and commercial airliners nearly killed rail travel business, it's just that difference that makes a train trip special. Leave the driving to the engineer, kick back, read a book and relax. Toss your watch in your carry-on luggage because time has no meaning. Unlike air travel, a train trip is eminently relaxing, almost somnolent. The hum of the locomotion is almost mesmerizing, the sway of the car a gentle massage to the psyche. Train travel is downright civilized. Ever hear of rail rage?

Some people fly to their vacations-for railroaders, the trip is their vacation. On board Amtrak, there's no rush to get somewhere because you're already there. There's no need to shout over the thrum of jet engines to talk to a neighbor, and if a wailing infant is bothersome, you can just move to another car. Try that on an airplane.

Twenty-eight year Amtrak veteran Randolph Toney attended or every need. As our car attendant, his job was to keep us happy and conformable, and he's good at what he does. Like most Amtrak professionals we met, Toney was friendly, professional and relaxed. He will work six days before returning to Chicago, so he paces himself. But everything seems to get done, and no passenger's needs go unanswered.

After the Sun Sets. Our deluxe sleeping car was equipped with a combination shower/toilet and a red carnation. Tiny but efficient, the compartment may be a bit cramped for larger folks but does offer a degree of privacy and a large picture window to view the passing scenery.

We paid extra for the first-class sleeper, but it was well worth the cost, which included all meals. A couch and a hidden overhead mattress unfold into a bunk bed at night, giving us a definite advantage of those traveling in coach. Coach seats are large, with acres of legroom, but it takes a determine traveler to get a night's rest sitting up, even in a comfortable recliner. And though it's not much larger than a telephone booth, the sleeper's combo shower/toilet is a definite luxury.

Not long after the sun set on yet another harvested Iowa cornfield, it was time for dinner. Starched linen tablecloths, china and silverware are a real treat. I gorged on a Porterhouse steak smothered with mushroom sauce, and Rose selected crab with mixed vegetables. Both dinners were excellent and professionally presented. Amtrak serves up to 14,000 meals during peak travel season, and they've learned how to do it with class. Not to rub it in to airline prisoners-uh, passengers-but it sure beats a bag of peanuts and a plastic cup of soda pop.

After a more chat with our dining partners-a train travel bonus is the somewhat forced camaraderie among passengers-we stretched our legs during a brief stop in Ottumwa, Iowa. Disappointed at not spotting Radar O'Reilly, we visited the sightseeing car and bought a few beverages from the lounge. When we returned to our sleeper, we learned that Toney had already turned down the beds. The chocolate mints on the pillows were a nice touch.

America the Beautiful During the night we rolled quietly through Iowa and Nebraska, waking near dawn in eastern Colorado. By mid-morning, we were in Denver, and a few hours later, we climbed slowly into the Rocky Mountains. Nestled comfortably in the sightseeing car's swivel seats, we passed through Granby, Glenwood Springs and Grand Junction and witnessed some of the most astonishing scenery America has to offer.

Continuing into the mountains, we passed the winding Colorado River framed by rugged, blood-red cliffs. It was here that I spotted a pair of fly fishermen in waders as a bald eagle soared overhead. That magical moment was spoiled seconds later when another angler laid aside his fishing gear long enough to moon the startled travelers.

At this point, an elderly woman traveling from "back east" sighed and said, "This is why I took the train." I never learned if she was talking the mountain scenery or the irreverent fisherman.

Into the evening hours, the Zephyr sped by villages that America seems to have forgotten because they're not in the path of an interstate. Residents probably planned it that way. Once out of the mountains, we entered Utah and passed through Green River, Helper and Provo before we enjoyed another pleasant dinner. A mint from Toney capped a marvelous day.

End of the Line. The following morning, Nevada's barren desert was a startling contrast from Colorado's majesties. We passed through Elko, Winnemucca (where Butch Cassidy once robbed a bank) and Sparks before the Zephyr took a breather in Reno. The casinos were just yards away, but Toney advised his wards not to stray. Then it was onward to California's Sierra Nevadas and more breathtaking scenery.

We passed Donner Lake, named for the settlers led by George Donner who resorted to cannibalism after being stranded in a blizzard in 1846. I think about the gold rushers of the 1850s and wonder what they would think if they could see the Zephyr gobble miles in minutes that took them weeks. Once out of the mountains, we slipped into the fertile farmland surrounding Sacramento.

Two hours later, after cruising through Napa Valley's famous vineyards, the Zephyr slid to a strop for a well-deserved overnight rest in Emeryville before returning to Chicago. Rose and I reluctantly left our now-familiar surroundings and board Amtrak's bus for the short ride to Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco.

As we joined the daily traffic jam on the Bay Bridge, thousands of cell-phone barking drivers and their exhaust-spewing, honking cars jolted us back to reality. No problem. We were already planning our next trip. It'll probably be by rail. It's the only way to see the real America.