Riding the Rails

My previous experiences with U.S. train travel have left much to be desired. Crowded, subway-esque, frequently delayed, aging railcars hauling passengers up and down the Northeast Corridor between DC and Boston. Back east, the café car served warm canned beer & microwaved hamburgers; here they served chilled local Oregon wines & hummus. There washrooms are grimy & cramped; here they are fresh & more than adequately stocked. This was different – a little like stepping onto the U.S.-version of the Oriental Express.The railcar was spacious & clean, with overstuffed seats. It immediately brought to mind a time of romantic train travel, like the movie “White Christmas.” The cushion of my seat quietly moaned as I sank into it. I smiled & nodded at my seatmate, as strangers who are going to share an experience together often do. As we rolled out of the station, the sound of the train whistle barely audible four cars ahead, the conductor reminded us of our journey: the Amtrak Cascades line north from Seattle to Vancouver, British Columbia, & all stops in between.

As we rolled toward the border, we rumbled past mile after mile of pristine coastline, dotted with rocky beached filled with picnickers seated around bon-fires, giggling toddlers, & dogs running off leash. I stared out the window, ignoring the electronic devices sprawled across my try table & lap. We passed combines working the fields in the orange dusky light & college students barring their bottoms to the passing train windows in celebration of the end of another school year.

A 14 hour odyssey of flight delays, hard airport chairs & overprices airline food had brought me to car five, seat 25. The train rocked back & forth, lulling me to sleep as the sun slipped below the horizon & we made our last stop before crossing into Canada.