Last (I promise) installment about my June cross-continent trip. Next onto Vegas and InvisiCon (aka Son of Silvercon).
Once I was in Atlanta, the trip home would be straightforward if not exactly straight geographically, and I was soon at the Amtrak station to head for the Big Easy and the Hostel Auberge where I had stayed last year. This year I opted for the relative luxury of a private room with its own bathroom—still quite the bargain at $70 overnight. This time my connection didn’t leave until early afternoon, so the next morning, I walked a few blocks to a bar/restaurant for a hearty breakfast that did not disappoint. I checked out and arrived at the Amtrak station hours early for my connection with the famous City of New Orleans train, and I got into a conversation with an English couple, actually a Yorkshireman from Nottingham (of Robin Hood fame he noted with a grin) and his wife. They were only going as far as Memphis where they planned to leave the train and head for Nashville to complete the country music portion of their trip. I may have mentioned them in an earlier post, or at least the idea they gave me. We parted ways when the conductors boarded us on the north-bound train because they sort travelers by their ultimate destination, and I was going to the end of the line in Chicago.
Chicago was another hours-long layover, and I took advantage of the uncramped and non-moving bathroom to clean myself up with a field shower (wet-wipes, fresh deodorant, and a change of clothes), get some food, and await my connection.
On the trip back, my seatmate Russ turned out to be someone who knew everything there was to know about Amtrak, its trains, and routes. He was an avid model railroader from his childhood and had been married to an Amtrak employee for 32 years, traveling with her on many trips. I loved hearing his lore, and he even showed me his wife’s Amtrak employee ID. When he decided to join me for breakfast in the dining car, he asked for a slight variation in the menu, and the waiter politely explained that they didn’t do substitutions. I nudged him, and said, “Show him your ID.” Even though he explained that it was his wife’s ID, the waiter was happy to give him his substitution.
He decided that the dining car was not worth the expense, so the next night I had dinner with a woman who is a non-fiction writer from Australia. She had been tooling around America for about a month IIRC. She said she was from a place outside Sidney called Green Gulch, and I told her I thought that was the most Australian name ever. Had a nice conversation with her about the writing life.
Russ was headed to LA from Pittsburgh for a family reunion. Somewhere during the second day, he said something about being sure we were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, and we agreed on that, so we discussed politics for about an hour. He sees Trump as a predator, is very pro-union as the necessary protector of the worker. I explained how I saw the places where the unions and government regulations fixed certain problems but then inevitably went on to cause their own. Neither of us changed the other’s mind, but it was a nice respectful dialogue, and then we went back to talking about other things, neither of us with hurt feelings or resentment. If only we could have public dialogue like that.
As my best friend observed after reading a number of my essays, I enjoy my travels mostly for the people I get to meet and talk to. To quote Maude from Harold and Maude, “I love people. They’re my species!” BTW, for those interested with such things, half of the folks I’ve talked about in these essays about my trips are Black. I’m not saying which are and which aren’t because I don’t care, and neither should you. People are people, and most are inherently interesting if you make the effort to get to know them.
Musings of a Restless Mind 