All aboard-Part 1
In teaming rain, from the platform of Whitefish Train Station, the conductor for Amtrak's Empire Builder called "All aboard."
Hubby and I were already aboard for the train's 9:15 p.m. departure to Portland, Ore. To hear the conductor's call and instant chug-chug-chug of wheels on the rails made both of us recall our train journey from New York's Grand Central Station to Missoula, Mont., in 1944, which is a sweet remembrance.
Our destination, Medford, Ore., via Portland and Klamath Falls was uneventful, except for two senior citizens' dumbness as far as train travel. John, our son-in-law and Amtrak ticketing agent in Tacoma, Wash., routed us and wrote explicit instructions as to our sleeper compartment, which included meals and to relax in the Executive Lounge in Portland, during our four-hour layover.
Our attendant pulled two seats together for the lower bunk, pulled down the upper bunk and unhooked a web of nylon straps. Hubby opted for the top bunk, as I am prone to claustrophobia attacks.
The attendants instructions to Hubby were, "Place one foot on this armrest (pointing to one on the bottom bunk), hold the straps and pull yourself up." Hubby and I caught eye contact. Eyebrows raised and mouths wide open. My picture of a Tarzan swing to the top made me giggle. Part of him made it. Feet dangled. Feet disappeared. I took a deep breath (Maybe he did too).
Neither of us slept well. Our accommodations in the lower level reverberated sounds of steel wheels rolling on steel track, some akin to a million booted, marching feet, to click-clack, click-clack, to chug -a-chug-a, chug-a -chug-a, and joined by squeak- squeak- squeak of cable connections between the cars that rubbed together. The irritable noise brought to mind the sound of a 3 year old's first violin lesson.
Our room, complete with washbasin in one corner and white Formica commode in the opposite corner, was well stocked with basic toiletries.
During the night, two legs dangled from above. One foot found the armrest, the other my bunk. "I'm not going back up there," my Tarzan impersonator said. "I'm going to sleep down here."
I moved close to the wall to give 180-pound Hubby room to squeeze in beside me. It wasn't long before I realized that doubling-up wasn't going to work. He was off in la-la land in nothing flat. I gathered the pillow from the top bunk and settled at the foot of the bunk.
I must have joined him in la-la land for a spell. When I opened my eyes my foot rested on his chest and my toes were close to his nose.
The next morning, from a window in our room, we viewed vibrant fall foliage that skirts the massive Columbia River Gorge. When a breakfast call didn't come, I left the room, climbed a narrow, steep staircase where I heard male voices conversing.
"You sleep well?" our attendant asked. "Not very…" I replied, "we wondered about breakfast." "You've missed the nine o'clock deadline. I'll see what I can find," he said. I returned downstairs to get Hubby.
En route to the Dome Car we met our attendant who handed me two warm Styrofoam containers. We navigated the sway of the moving train to the Dome Car to eat what pleased our taste at a table where the panoramic scene of the river, the opposite craggy sand colored shore, and barges, loaded with supplies seeming to drift to their destinations in both directions under a canopy of sunshine, and swirls of cotton candy clouds in the pale blue sky. It was a magnificent picture.
In the Portland waiting room, for our four-hour layover, we sat on a long, highly polished wood bench and alternated, one tending our hand luggage while the other walked outside to stretch. In sunlight I walked through exquisite rose gardens and touched my nose to many. Inside the immaculate station, I viewed pictures of the way it was, yet didn't find a pamphlet of it's history.
At the ticket station I handed our tickets for the next leg of our journey to a clerk. Our name on the tickets illuminated a light in his head, as suddenly a flurry of Amtrak personnel asked where we had been and why hadn't we rested in the lounge. We were urged to go in for a cold drink or coffee while explanations were given as to our absence. Patterned over-stuffed furniture and wood coffee tables filled the pleasant rest area. Outside, alongside the platform our train waited.
The welcome, "All aboard," call sounded. Seated, we admitted to each other that the green "Executive Lounge" sign, within our sight from the hard, wood bench didn't trigger John's instructions. I remarked, "When we travel, brain fog sets in."
Beyond Portland, sheep grazed in green pastures, and yonder, blue-green hills shelter the fertile farmland. Our comfortable seats in Business Class afforded us catnaps through vast areas of steep hills, covered with thick abundant vegetation. Darkness settled upon us and other than flashes of sparse lighting as towns passed, the night was black.
"Thirty minutes to Klamath Falls. Time of arrival, 9:50," passengers were informed. Two passengers, who didn't wear watches, time sort of stood still for them. I moved to a seat across the aisle, before the next stop, which was longer than others had been through the journey. The few lights visible outside on both sides did not indicate our destination, which wasn't announced again.
We sat, looked at darkness, waited for something to happen. In a flash, a porter appeared and hurried us off the train, bag and baggage. On the platform I saw our daughter, Jan, jump up and down with her hands above her head in a "T" signaling time out until she found her parents. From the front of what appeared to be a mile-long train, Sal walked along the platform to meet us while it slowly moved toward its destination, California…Joyous greetings.
In their car, Jan related, "All aboard had been called. I told the porter, 'You can't leave. I know my parents are still on this train.' The porter told me that an elderly couple had left the train. I insisted that you were still on board."
On our way to Medford, I gave an account of the dumb things we had done and hadn't done, according to John's information. "Let a couple of hicks from the sticks loose in the world, beyond their comfort zone, and you don't know what they will do."
Tucked into our beds, in a very nice motel after dinner with Jan and Sal, sleep came easily.
To be continued next week.