David Michael Burrow


An Amtrak Adventure ... or Pilgrimage to Plymouth (Part 8--Conclusion)

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MONDAY, August 14
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Cedar Rapids, Iowa

I slept across Ohio. I remember leaving Pittsburgh, and the next thing I knew it was dawn and we were in Indiana. I walked to the restroom and noticed just how much the train had changed since last night. There were lots of empty seats now, and everybody's seat tag--without exception--was for Chicago.

It amazed me looking out the window just how different the Midwest looks from the East. The most noticeable thing is that in Pennsylvania everything was built of brick, while in Indiana everything is made of wood. The land is much flatter and more open in the Midwest; you see farms all over, and you see elevators and storage bins--something we almost never saw in the East.

Margaret and I had coffee as we rode across Indiana. By the time we got to Hammond, on the outskirts of Chicago, the sun was fully up and there was heavy traffic on the freeways. We were forty-five minutes late at Hammond, but they obviously plan a fair degree of lateness into the schedule. The official schedule calls for over an hour of travel time from Hammond to downtown Chicago. Even on the Metra commuter trains, which stop every mile or so, it only takes about 45 minutes to go that distance. Running straight through, we officially arrived at Union Station 6 minutes ahead of schedule, around 8:20am.

Instead of a left luggage room, Chicago's Union Station has electronic luggage lockers. You put your luggage in a locker, and shut the door. Then you feed in $1.25 in quarters, and the machine gives you a code that will unlock the door. The lockers aren't cheap, either. For anything over three hours, you pay the daily maximum of $6 per day.

We went outside and walked up Clinton Street to the green line el. Quite rapidly it was apparent that this was Chicago, rather than Boston or Philadelphia. First of all, there was a very different mixture of people than either of those Eastern cities had. While Boston was almost all white and Philly was almost all black, Chicago has large numbers of whites, blacks, Hispanics, and Asians--with no group in the majority. Secondly, the buildings here are much taller than they are in the cities we had just visited. Chicago was the birthplace of the skyscraper, and it is proud to build things tall. Even the old office buildings we passed by on Clinton Street were 10 - 15 floors high, compared to the 3 - 4 stories that were commonplace out East. Third, Chicago is not a place where pedestrians have the right of way. At many intersections, police officers direct traffic--both the motorized kind and the kind on foot. Where there's not an officer, you'd better make sure you look both ways before crossing. Only an insane person would cross against the light or in the middle of the block in Chicago.

We took the el to southeast corner of the Loop, where we found the new location of Ronny's, a place where we had enjoyed an after-theatre dinner on another trip to the Midwestern metropolis. Ronny's has good, hearty breakfasts at dirt cheap prices. I had ham and eggs, with Texas toast and a huge pile of hash browns (or the chunks of potato that Chicagoans call hash browns)--all for $2.99. They make up some of that money on drinks, but even with a $1.50 juice (and, of course the roughly 10% local tax), it was still not at all out of line.

After breakfast we walked over to the Art Institute. We had most of the day to kill in Chicago, and we planned to spend some of it here. Unfortunately, we found out they didn't open until 10:30, and it still wasn't much after 9:00. We walked around the Loop a bit, and killed qite a bit of time browsing through Marshall Fields. I picked up a shirt and some socks there, and Margaret bought some books. By the time we had done a bit more window shopping, it was time for the art museum to open.

We started out at the Art Institute by checking back on many of the works we had seen a few years ago--Grant Wood's "American Gothic", Alexander Calder's "American Windows", Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks", etc. We also happened upon a few works we didn't know were here--notably Picasso's famous blue guitarist.

The main reason we came to the Art Institute was to see a special exhibit called "Pharohs of the Sun", featuring archaeological excavations from ancient Egypt. I'm sure Margaret liked this more than I did. Having been to Egypt, she was able to appreciate things I really couldn't. I liked it, but I was really extremely overwhelmed. The exhibit covered an entire floor of one of the buildings that make up the Art Institute; it really seemed to go on forever. I think I would have liked it more if there had been about a third as much stuff on display, perhaps with a bit more information about each piece. It was interesting, though, and certainly worth the $3 admission.

We had lunch this afternoon at Hinky Dinky Kenna, the English pub in the basement of Marshall Field's where we had eaten twice before. This time the food didn't strike me as quite as good as before. The service was also less than special. It was not a bad lunch, though, and we were quite full when we went back to the station.

We arrived at Union Station around 1:30, and our train wasn't scheduled to leave until 3:25. The station was hot and crowded--two characteristics I think it has twenty-four hours a day and 365 days a year. We spent most of our waiting time sitting on a ledge by a fountain, mostly doing some people watching. The most entertaining part of the wait came when a young couple who were obviously very much in love asked us to snap their picture by the fountain.

Around 3:00 we made our way to the much more crowded south departure lounge. All of Amtrak's trains from Chicago to the west leave at mid-afternoon, and everybody from five major trains was jammed into the same lounge, waiting to leave. We waited ... and waited ... and waited. They gradually called every other westbound train for boarding. For each boarding call, the same woman--who had a thick black inner city accent--made the announcement, listing most (but not all) the various destinations to which the train was headed. Several times we heard calls for the Southwest Chief (Iowa's other train) ... with service to Naperville, Mendota, Princeton, Galesburg (pronounced "Gals'-burg"), Ft. Madison, La Plata (pronounced "luh PLATE-uh"), Kansas City, Lawrence, Topeka, La Junta (with the first syllable of the second word pronounced roughly like "joint"), Raton (pronounced like the wicker fabric "rattan"), Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Gallup, San Bernardino, Los Angeles (pronounced closer to "Angle-lease" than anything else, definitely with a hard "g" sound) ... and all scheduled intermediate stops". You'd think just saying "Train 3 to Los Angeles" would be sufficient.

While we heard train after train announced, I saw a line forming across the lounge, headed to Gate C. As the line got longer and longer, Margaret and I both suspected it might be the line for our train. I asked a "red cap", the porters they have in Amtrak stations, which train the line was for. She took one quick look at the line, saw that it was far longer than any other line in the place, and said "it's got to be Train 5". That was indeed our train. We got up and joined the line. As we waited, several of people in line asked others if they were in line for the correct train. Departure time was coming soon, and there was--as there always seems to be at Union Station in Chicago--more that a bit of confusion. Everyone there agreed that they were waiting for the California Zephyr, and we were somewhat relieved when one person showed a ticket that had "Gate C" stamped on it. We waited and waited, but still nothing moved.

At 3:35 (10 minutes after the train's scheduled departure), the announcer lady said in a rather snotty voice: "all of you on the carpet--your train will be delayed". She never did say what train that was, although by this time there was only one long-distance train left on the schedule. Nor did she say how long the delay might be or what we were supposed to do in the mean time. A little later we were at least given a reason for the delay: they were "adding a power head". There was still no mention of how long the delay would be, though.

Five minutes later, a man came on and announced that those passengers going to Denver should go from the south concourse to the north concourse to board the train. We found out later why this was. The California Zephyr is a LONG train; it completely filled the track under the station, stretching from well south of the south concourse to the end of the north concourse. They were obviously following the Amtrak policy that travelers going the longest distance (Denver, and presumably San Francisco) were seated in the back coaches, while those going shorter distances were further forward. It was easier for the Denver passengers to board from the north concourse than to walk most of the length of the platform underground.

Finally at 3:50, the man's voice said "your train is ready for general boarding". Again, he never did say that this was "Train 5" or the "California Zephyr", nor did they list off the stops like they had for all those other trains. We made our way to the gate, though, gave the guard our destination, and went back to the car assigned to us. Being short-distance passengers, we were in what I would call the "Iowa car", at the very front of the coaches and just behind the lounge. Still it seemed as if we went for ever before we made it to the car.

The train finally started moving at 4:04pm. We crawled through the station, and it was only at 4:08 that we made it out from under the canopy. Then we paused in the Metra yards just south of the station. Only at 4:15 did we finally make it out of the yards. From there we crawled across the western suburbs, delayed by the rush hour Metra trains. At 4:45 we got to Naperville, where we made a long stop, and numerous other people got on board. The chief of onboard services (the guy who makes announcements) said the train was sold out and urged everyone sitting alone to make sure the seat next to them was available. We left Naperville at 4:55 and finally made it to the Aurora Metra yards at 5:05. Past Metra territory we picked up speed and raced past the farms of north central Illinois. Then at 5:40 we stopped for no reason we could figure out, just right under the overpass for Interstate 39--roughly at the center of the state. No train passed, but we finally started moving again at 5:48pm.

Through much of our trip a group of girls kept running back and forth to the lounge car. The lounge attendant got mad at them and made a rather snotty announcement asking parents to accompany their children to the lounge car. That did absolutely nothing to stop the girls; they just kept racing back and forth. The girls were really annoying. Not only were they too loud and too fast, but they never seemed to stay anywhere for more than 5 minutes. They were constantly in the aisles--shrieking, giggling, and running. Several passengers, myself included, repeatedly scolded them as they raced past, but they were oblivious to almost everything. Finally Margaret followed one of them back to her seat and had words with the girl's mother. That did help--at least with that girl and her sister. It also helped when they started showing movies in the lounge car; that held the girls there for longer than just a few minutes.

While those girls were annoying, everything else about the California Zephyr was very comfortable indeed. On the double-decker trains the ride is so smooth that you barely notice that you are moving. Once again the seats were set far, far apart--vast legroom and space to stretch out. Another nice thing about the double-deckers is that there are far more toilets than on the eastern trains. Instead of the two toilets found on the single-level cars, there was a bank of no less than 6 in our coach on the Zephyr--covering nearly half of the downstairs level. It was fairly well into the trip when I used the restroom, and the toilet I chose had not yet been touched. After some rather unpleasant toilets on other trains, it was nice to see one that was absolutely spotless.

By the time we got to Galesburg we were an hour and six minutes late. The chief apologized for "mechanical difficulties". Galesburg is a major transfer point, were several trains and bus routes come together. A number of passengers got off, and equally many got on. As we left Galesburg, the chief repeated all the welcome announcements--telling us about the emergency exits and the food services on the train.

I had Amtrak salad again for dinner, but this one was not as good as the one on the Three Rivers. I also noticed that the coffee in the lounge car was weaker than it was on the eastern trains. That reminded me of a Charles Kuralt remark that the further west one travels, the weaker the coffee got. He attributed this to the fact that the pioneers must have run out of coffee and re-used the grounds; their descendents, he mused, must have grown up liking it that way. Whatever the reason, the observation is certainly true. I like my coffee strong--generally a bit stronger than most Midwestern restaurants serve it, and far stronger than the "funeral home" coffee they had on the Zephyr.

We crossed the Mississippi around 8pm. It was evening as we pulled into Burlington, but definitely night by the time we got to Mt. Pleasant. We arrived in Mt. P. at 8:40pm, about an hour and ten minutes behind schedule. A couple days later I checked the Amtrak site on the Internet and found out that the Zephyr eventually made it to San Francisco roughly three and a half hours late. For a three-day journey, that's not that bad, and I have a bit more sympathy with that delay than our six-hour fiasco getting to Boston.

Vicki was waiting for us on the platform. We quickly got our checked bags, which had made the switch in Chicago without incident, and got things packed into Vicki's car. At 8:50 we left the station.

I picked up my car at Vicki's, quickly said good-bye to her and Margaret, and headed north to Cedar Rapids. I was amazed when I got to C.R. shortly after 10pm. When I was growing up, it was a full hour to Iowa City, and nearly two to Cedar Rapids. Now, with Avenue of the Saints, the trip from Mt. P. to C.R. is not much over an hour.

I may have made it to Cedar Rapids quickly, but unfortunately I drove to the wrong hotel. Somehow I had gotten it in my mind that I had reservations at the Comfort Inn--North. I was so confident of that, that I didn't check the reservation, and just drove there. When they couldn't find my reservation (and were sold out), the woman checked the print-out I had, and I was a bit embarrassed to discover my reservation was actually at the Comfort Inn--South. So, after driving all the way through Cedar Rapids, I back-tracked and drove half-way back to Iowa City. I ended up checking in at 10:30pm, with a beautiful king-bed room that cost less than any other hotel on this trip.

I got a pretty decent night's sleep, and the next day (Tuesday, August 15) I drove straight through on back to Algona.

OVERALL CONCLUSIONS

DID YOU LIKE BOSTON? PHILADELPHIA? AMTRAK? Definitely, mostly, and a qualified yes. I think Margaret and I have opposite opinions on Boston and Philly. I really liked Boston--and Massachusetts in general. If I could afford it, it's a place I wouldn't mind living. Two things about Boston I especially liked were its cleanliness and its safety. Even with all the sirens outside our motel window, I felt mostly safe in Boston. We went through several neighborhoods and past many others on the train. There was nowhere we went I felt uncomfortable or unsafe. Yes, I locked the door and guarded my wallet in Boston--just as I do anywhere, including Algona--but I never really felt I had to be constantly vigilant. Beyond safety and cleanliness, I just found Boston to be a pleasant little city. It's young and vibrant--as you might expect of the overgrown college town that it is. It's big enough to have all the fun things a city offers, but not at all overpowering.

While I liked Philadelphia, it doesn't rank nearly as high on my list as Boston. I found Philadelphia dirty and crowded, precisely the reaction I had to the place when I was there with my father back in '83. There were many places I would not have dreamed of getting off the el, and you've already heard about the seedy area we happened upon when we did choose to surface from the subway at 22nd Street. Philly's historic attractions are both more numerous and more interesting than Boston's, but the rest of the city is pretty much nothing.

Amtrak is something I will almost certainly take again at some point in the future. In spite of the horrible delays on the Lake Shore Limited and all the unpleasant station people in Chicago, I really enjoyed travelling by train. It's certainly not the elegant means of transport it once was, but it is certainly more pleasant than either bus travel and less tiring than going by car. If you've got the time to do it, train travel is quite a bit nicer than flying. It's also quite competitively priced--especially when you consider that you're not paying for a hotel when you travel overnight. I'm already plotting a trip for some future year where I'll make a triangle on the West Coast, much as we did in the East this year. I'd love to take the train out to San Francisco (the trip over the Rockies is supposed to be absolutely gorgeous) and then go down to Los Angeles and back home again from there. That probably won't be any time too soon, but I'd bet it will happen someday.

WHAT DID YOU LIKE MOST? Plymouth. I'll be headed back there someday--and probably out to Cape Cod, too.

WHAT DID YOU LIKE LEAST? Union Station in Chicago. That's too, bad, too, because this could so easily be Amtrak's showcase station. The building itself is spectacular, but the place is so disorganized and the workers seem to care so little for the passengers, that it really makes a transfer there unpleasant. If I do ever go out west by train, I'll probably arrange to have someone drop me off in Mt. P. or Ottumwa and pick me up again in Ft. Madison on the return trip. That would be cheaper than going via Chicago, not to mention much more pleasant.

WHAT WILL YOU REMEMBER MOST FROM THE TRIP? The day in Plymouth, when I really felt in touch with my ancestors.

It's weird. I can remember watching Roots back in the '70s and not really getting what the big deal was to find out about your ancestors. At that point in my life, I didn't really realize just who my ancestors were or how long ago they'd come to America. I did know, though, that we were Americans--not Italian-Americans or German-Americans or Mexican-Americans or Asian-Americans. Our ancestors had been here far longer than the oldest people in the family could remember; indeed most of them had been in Iowa longer than anyone could remember, and we knew they'd been settled in the East long before they came here. We weren't immigrants, and neither was anyone in the family for as far back as anyone could remember. I can remember not long before Roots came out being given a grade school assignment to write about my family's heritage. I honestly didn't think we had one. Some kids talked about their ancestors coming through Ellis Island, while others interviewed their grandparents about "the old country". A couple of black kids did reports on slavery, while one Jewish girl described the Holocaust (though in retrospect, she couldn't possibly have had direct relatives who lived through it--her local ties went too far back). One of my classmates had been born in Mexico, and two had escaped the war in Vietnam. All I could do was say that we were Americans and then try to brag vaguely about the American Indian blood that crept into the pedigree a few generations back. To my little kid's mind our family was boring compared to everyone else.

I'm grateful to Paul for the research he has done into the family history, clarifying just how far back that history goes. If I were to do that report today, I'd have a lot to tell. We're still mostly Americans (though the roots do go to England and Holland, among other places), but my ancestors were literally the people who founded this land. They're the ones who allowed everyone else's ancestors to come here. If I were to write that paper today, I'd talk about the Pilgrims, not as people in funny hats at the first Thanksgiving; but as strong-willed, deeply faithful pioneers. When I saw Plymouth Rock and the old churches where my ancestors had to have worshipped, I got a sense of what Roots' Alex Haley must have felt when he came in touch with his ancestors in Gambia. For me, I think there's more connection with the past at Plymouth than there would be if I went to Yorkshire or the Netherlands. I was truly moved to see William Bradford's grave, and the whole day in Plymouth was definitely the highlight of this trip.

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