We were here for the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert. Having discovered that TSO was a rock band, I had absolutely no idea what to expect-or even how to dress. I chose to wear black jeans and the new Columbia shirt I had bought, and that turned out to be exactly right. We had worried that we might be "old fogies", but it turned out to be an extremely diverse audience. There were high school kids there, but there were also people quite a bit older than Margaret; no age group really seemed to stand out.
We made our way past a flaming fountain to the entrance, where guards were searching people's bags and purses. Margaret had apparently emptied hers of all but the essentials, and the guard commented that he's never seen one with so little in it. They scanned our tickets, and we made our way inside.
The Rose Garden is a basketball arena, though it's definitely one of the nicest athletic facilities I've seen anywhere. I've been to NBA games in Chicago and Minneapolis. The stadiums in those cities are newer than the Rose Garden (which opened in 1995, but looks older), but they're not nearly as nice. The concourse is enormous, and it's covered in red carpet-giving more of the feeling of a theatre than a stadium. The place described itself as "bladder-friendly", and they don't lie; Margaret noted this was just about the only large facility anywhere where there were no lines for the ladies' room.
We spent some time browsing around the concourse and paused briefly to buy overpriced souvenir programs. Not only were the programs expensive, they had virtually no information in them. We found out after forking over $10 that we had basically bought a big glossy ad for the group's CDs and videos.
Our seats could not have been better. They were on the lower level, in a section that would have cost about $150 each for basketball. They cost less than a third that price tonight, but they were actually better located for a concert than for sports. We were at the side, but just in front of the stage, with an excellent view of everything. The red upholstered seats were also right on an aisle, which meant a bit more space (though we did have to get up every time someone wanted to use the restroom--including some who left in the middle of songs).
It was interesting that we ate at Wendy's before the show. Right at the beginning they announced that $1 of the cost of every ticket was being donated to the Dave Thomas Foundation, the charity established by Wendy's founder. That's also when we found out that 7,840 people were in attendance-far less than they get for basketball, but a good crowd nonetheless. Apparently they can position the stage in various places throughout the arena to create the illusion of a full house regardless of how many are on hand. The leader of the group joked that when they first performed here three years ago the stage was "clear up there" (gesturing beyond the half-court area of the basketball floor). Each year they've moved the stage back to accommodate more people. He said he loved this arena because "it grows like magic".
Neither Margaret nor I had been to anything similar to the TSO concert before, but we both enjoyed it immensely. While the music was amplified way too loud, it was excellent. The group's leader was once a guitarist in the original Broadway production of Jesus Christ, Superstar, and I could hear the Tim Rice/Andrew Lloyd-Webber influence in his music. It also reminded me a lot of Jefferson Airplane/Starship. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra included two lead guitarists (each of whom played several different electric and acoustic guitars) an electric bass player, two keyboard artists (one of whom was literally surrounded by banks of synthesizers), a drummer with the biggest trap set I've ever seen, a combo of brass instruments, about a dozen vocalists (including lead vocalists of both sexes), a lead violinist who was part of the group, and a string ensemble from the Portland Symphony Orchestra (presumably have guest violinists in each city they visit). There was also a middle-aged black man who served as poetic narrator for the story they were attempting to tell through their songs. While they were a rock group, they chose to wear evening dress (black tails and formal dresses) for the show. The performers covered a range of ages, from around 50 down to about 25. The bulk of the group was right around my age. Every kid I knew wanted to be a rock star when I was growing up, though the odds of that happening were probably about the same as becoming a ballplayer. It's interesting to see people who actually made the dream come true.
While music was the heart of it, this was not so much a concert as a show. I'd heard about all the light, laser, and pyrotechnic effects they have at rock concerts, but it was something else again to see them in person. The equipment that makes it all happen is simply mind-boggling. They had enormous banks of overhead lighting, each with 12 different enormous bulbs of various colors. In all there were more than 300 lights right there. There were also at least 9 different spotlights aimed at the stage from the luxury boxes in back. Behind the stage was a curtain on which they displayed a variety of lighting effects, the most interesting of which was a twinkling pattern on a deep blue background that simulating a starry sky. There were two banks of lasers that made designs on the ceiling and back wall of the arena. It surprised me that while they had several colors of lasers, they mostly chose to make the designs in green. A couple of times fireworks went off at the back of the stage, and for their finale fire shooting out behind the band. Our seats were so close we could actually feel the heat from the flames. All the effects were obviously computerized, programmed to occur exactly in time with the music. The sound system was nearly as impressive as the lights (and it was certainly more than loud enough). I can't even begin to imagine the work that goes in to setting up and tearing down all this on a tour of with one-night stands in dozens of cities, but it certainly is impressive.
The show was essentially divided into two acts, though there was no intermission. After the first act the group's leader asked us to join in applause "for those who really deserve it", our troops overseas. It was fascinating that while some in the audience raised the volume of their applause at that point, the majority quieted to little more than polite clapping. He added, "let's bring them home-safe", and the whole place applauded loudly. As the applause died down he noted he's been saying that at concerts for two years now, and "I can't wait until the last time I have to say it." The roar again grew thunderous. It would be interesting to see how crowds react in other parts of the country, but in Oregon at Christmas, we all wanted peace on earth.
It was rainy and foggy this morning, which encouraged us to sleep in a bit later than we might have otherwise. People asked after I got back how the weather was on this trip. Except for today it was bright and sunny in Portland, with highs around 50 and lows around 40. Today was noticeably cooler, and frankly rather dreary.
After enjoying the Econolodge shower one more time, we dawdled around the room watching the news. We learned of a murder at a MAX station downtown (like most murders, in this one the shooter knew the victim and was "settling" a personal dispute) and a stabbing (apparently drug-related) on Broadway near the MLK strip. We watched practically the entire state celebrating the Beavers' victory over Notre Dame, and we also learned that Iowa State had won a bowl championship of its own. Mostly, though, we sat in stunned silence watching film of the tsunami damage.
As I walked into the motel office to check out the manager was on the phone. He finished his conversation and apologized that he was talking with his wife in India. I asked if she had been affected by the tsunami, and he assured me that she was fine. "She's very far north," he noted. Still, when such a desire strikes even remotely close, it must be good to hear from one's loved ones.
We slowly made our way through the mist across the Broadway bridge and back to Union Station. We checked in quickly, and the desk staff assured us that it would be okay again to use the Metropolitan Lounge--even though we would not be on a sleeping car until evening, when we left Seattle. We arranged our luggage in the storage area of the lounge, and Margaret settled in to do some reading while I went out to do a bit more exploring.
I walked back to 11th and Gilsan, the streetcar stop where we had gotten off yesterday. I caught the next car and rode all the way to the south end of the line, Portland State University. The line (which they're apparently extending) now ends at the PSU student union, which oddly is located outdoors. The union is basically a big plaza full of umbrella tables, bicycle racks, and pushcarts hawking gourmet coffee and street food. In spite of the drizzle and the fact this was between semesters, the plaza was full of people.
I left the streetcar to buy a paper and walk around the plaza. The streetcar had not yet left when I finished, and I figured I'd start walking back toward downtown, look back at each stop, and get on the car when it caught up to me. The cars must have a long layover at PSU, because I got downtown before the streetcar did. On the way I passed a lovely area called the South Park Blocks. The name sounds like a euphemism for public housing, but this is actually one of the swankiest addresses in the city. Portland's Park Avenue is a grand boulevard with a block-wide median full of trees. South of downtown the street is lined with new-looking, but still quite elegant, brick rowhouses. The women who walked their sweatered dogs in this neighborhood wore skirts in the morning and sported formal hats atop their freshly coiffed heads.
I was quite cold by the time I made it downtown, and I went inside a department store mostly to warm up. Meier and Frank is Oregon's Marshall Field's; indeed it's owned by the same St. Louis company that recently bought the Chicago institution. Like Marshall Field's, the downtown Meier and Frank has animated displays in their windows for the holidays. This year's displays featured the twelve days of Christmas, with a different set of gifts portrayed in each of twelve different windows.
The windows are about the only nice feature in the physical appearance of Meier and Frank's flagship store. The place reminded me of the downtown Younkers store in Des Moines. It's a dumpy building, but it's loaded with very nice merchandise. I spent quite a while browsing through a variety of departments, and it's quite a nice store indeed.
I was prepared to make a couple of fairly substantial purchases at Meier and Frank, but I couldn't. I literally couldn't-the store was open, but there didn't seem to be a clerk anywhere in the cavernous building. That's probably for the best. I'd already bought more than enough on this trip. I didn't need to spend any more money, and I certainly didn't have the room to lug anything more home.
I walked up 6th Avenue toward Union Station, which is really quite a ways north of downtown. I probably should have stopped at one of the bus stops and had any of dozens of buses that stop on 6th Avenue shuttle me northward. Instead I trudged through the drizzle and got myself thoroughly soaked. That was no different than everyone else, though. Cold and drizzle don't seem to faze anyone in Portland; everyone was out, and most of them didn't even have umbrellas.
I had read before I came here that Portland was the led the nation in coffee consumption per capita, beating even Seattle in liquid caffeine. This certainly seemed plausible as I walked through downtown and up 6th Avenue, where there were coffee bars literally everywhere. I passed one that had a sign wishing "Happy holidays -- from the only independently owned coffee bar on the corner". They were on the southeast corner of an intersection, with Starbucks, Seattle's Finest, and Java Hut on the other three corners. There were two other coffee bars along 6th Avenue in the middle of the block, and nearby was a Border's bookstore that probably had a coffee bar inside.
What they don't have in most of Portland is fast food. Unlike New York or Chicago, you don't see McDonalds, Burger King, and Subway on every corner downtown. Indeed, aside from the MLK strip, the only fast food I saw remotely close to downtown was a McDonalds just north of PGE Park. I could have gone for an Egg McMuffin and some cheap coffee this morning, but there was nowhere to get it.
Eventually I made my way past Portland's vast Greyhound terminal and on to Union Station. The main concession in the Amtrak station is-what else-a coffee bar. (There is also an expensive restaurant with a piano bar.) I bought a danish there, but passed on the coffee, since they had it for free in the Metropolitan Lounge.
When I got back Margaret related to me that most of the morning the station crew had been busy re-booking people. Apparently the Coast Starlight had been delayed by a snowstorm in California. (We found out later it was literally stuck in a snowdrift in the mountains for eight hours.) Just as I got there, the same employees were on the phone dealing with another interesting problem. Someone had apparently booked a ticket on the internet for their teenaged children to travel on their own. Unfortunately, unlike the airlines, Amtrak does not allow unaccompanied minors on its trains. (That makes sense when you realize there's a lot more ways kids could wander and get into trouble on a train, and a lot fewer crew members to keep an eye on them.) The mother apparently tried to argue that the older son was in charge of the younger one. Unfortunately he was also not an adult, and there was no one to be in charge of him. It's an honest mistake on the mother's part, and probably easy to make when booking online. I'm sure she just clicked "OK", without actually reading all the fine print. Amtrak's policy is firm, though. They would be happy to refund her money and assist the boys in making other travel arrangements (which I gather meant Greyhound), but the kids wouldn't be traveling by train.
It was around new when we boarded train #506, the Amtrak Cascades. To go along with our sleeping car tickets, we were traveling in business class today. That's something I probably won't do again. It costs nearly double the coach fare (though that's really not all that much), and the perks aren't really worth the price. Basically you have slightly more space than in coach, you get to board before the "riff-raff", and you get a $3 voucher you can use for a discount on lunch.
The Cascades brags that they use "Talgo technology", state-of-the-art cars made in Spain. The green and brown cars are certainly sleek, but they're really not designed all that well. There is very limited luggage storage, and what's there is very awkward. The overhead storage is so high overhead that I could stand up in my seat under it. It's hard to reach up there, and only the smallest bags will fit in the narrow area between the shelf and the ceiling. (There's auxiliary storage by the door, but it quickly became full.) The lighting (necessary on this gray day) is mounted on the overhead storage, making it impossible to turn on or adjust while a passenger is seated. Then there were the tables. They have trays that fold out from seat backs, similar to what you see on airplanes. Unfortunately the man in front of Margaret reclined his seat after she'd put her table down, and it was almost impossible to get the tray back up.
As soon as the conductor collected our tickets we made our way to a long line in the "bistro" (glorified lounge car) to have lunch. I had "homemade" chili which came out of a plastic bag, and Margaret had a microwaved teriyaki rice bowl. I also got a bag of Tim's potato chips, a rather tasty Washington state brand. We also got soft drinks and a cinnamon roll for dessert. You can guess that the $3 voucher didn't come anywhere close to covering the cost of lunch; it was, in fact, less than the cost of the chili.
The ride from Portland to Seattle is really very attractive. Everything is green and forested, and even on a gloomy day it looked quite pretty. We followed the Columbia River from Vancouver to Longview and then played tag with I-5 as we made our way north to Olympia. There are supposedly nice views of Mt. St. Helen's and Mt. Rainier from the train. I'll have to take someone else's word for that, since today we pretty much just saw forest and fog. I've seen both of those mountains before, so I didn't really feel I was missing out on anything. The scenery changes abruptly just past Olympia, where the megalopolis along Puget Sound begins. We crawled through the south suburbs and into the dumpy city of Tacoma and then stopped again at Tukwila, which is right by the Seattle airport. Surprisingly, past the airport we picked up speed and raced past warehouses, factories, and the new football and baseball stadiums south of downtown Seattle.
Portland's Union Station was beautiful. Unfortunately I can't say so much for King Street Station in Seattle. Supposedly this is also a historic terminal, but it has most definitely not been lovingly restored. I got the feeling of being in the basement of an office building. It was cramped and dirty, with plaster peeling off the walls and large sections ribboned off for construction. There was plenty of fluorescent lighting, yet the place seemed dim. The station was furnished in black plastic and chrome; all it needed was coin-operated TVs to have the charm of a '50s bus terminal.
There were no amenities to speak of in the station. There was a ticket desk with two employees with an interminable line that I eventually figured out we didn't need to wait in. There was also a single restroom for each sex and a couple of newspaper machines. They didn't have anywhere, not even a machine, where you could buy food or drink, nor anything other than black plastic chairs to wait. We'd been spoiled by Portland's Metropolitan Lounge, but this was definitely the opposite.
Our schedule allowed about 45 minutes to make the transfer from the Cascades to our train back east. While Amtrak assured us this was a guaranteed connection, I was a bit worried about making it. I worried more when the train from Portland got in about 15 minutes late, which would be about the time they should be announcing boarding for the Empire Builder. I needn't have worried. Shortly before the scheduled departure at 4:45, they announced there had been a delay in the yard. Apparently a toilet in one of the coaches was malfunctioning, and the train could not go until that was fixed. Once half an hour had passed, they told us our train was not allowed to leave the yard until two "Sounder" commuter trains that were on the tracks left on their rush hour runs.
We waited ... and waited ... and waited. Margaret and I stood the whole time, because there wasn't anywhere convenient to sit without sacrificing our place in the sleeping car line. There was nothing to do except people watching, but there were certainly plenty of people to watch. I found most interesting a couple of anorexic high school kids (I suppose they must have been in college since they were traveling unaccompanied, but they certainly looked young) who were very much in love. They were basically making out right there as they stood in line, oblivious to everyone around them. It was certainly appropriate that they had booked a sleeper; I doubted they'd ever be leaving the room-and they certainly wouldn't be using both bunks.
We were almost at the front of the line. The only group in front of us was a black family that was also kind of entertaining. The mother was an enormous woman who was most noteworthy because of her cell phone. It rang incessantly, but she never answered it. Each time it sounded, she would check the display (which I suppose said it was someone she didn't want to talk with) and let it continue to ring without answering. I wondered why she didn't just turn it off, but she never did. She had two daughters who entertained themselves by hitting each other and a boy that she scolded each time he opened his mouth. Basically the poor kid was just impatient to board the train, and I can't say that I blamed him.
It was finally about 5:30 when the Empire Builder made its way up to the platform. The station attendant searched through an enormous key ring before he found the key that unlocked the platform door. We made our way outside and on to the train. This time we were in room #12 of car #0830 (the third passenger car on train #8). Behind the engine there was a transition sleeper (normally the crew dorm, but apparently they'd sold tickets in it for this trip, then two other sleepers, of which ours was the second. The diner was immediately behind that, followed by two coach cars.
Our car attendant this time was named Thomas. He was a young black man that Margaret liked but I didn't much care for. He seemed to do everything in slow motion, easily taking twice as long as Brian had to make up or tear down the beds. He frequently let the coffee and juice upstairs run dry, and he just didn't strike me as all that friendly. It could be that he was just overworked; the car was packed the whole way.
One thing we found interesting while taking this train is that the crew that goes to and from Portland is based in Chicago, while the crew that goes to and from Seattle is based in Washington state. Everyone travels to their destination, has one night of layover there, and then heads back home the next day. Having half the crew originate eastbound and the other half westbound means part of the crew is always fresh. (The engineers and conductors, by the way, change at regular intervals throughout the trip. They apparently work a maximum 12-hour shift and are scheduled to change more frequently than that.)
This car was quite a bit newer than the sleeper we had come west on. This was most evident in the color scheme. Instead of avocado and burnt orange we had azure and plum, and instead of stainless steel we had beige enamel and plastic. The basic design of the car and room were the same, but there were a few differences. We didn't have a formal closet this time. Instead there was a small bar with one hanger and a strap that could be fastened to keep clothes from flopping around while we traveled. The stairs to the upper bunk were recessed slightly to provide just a bit of an opportunity for storage.
The public facilities were slightly different, too. The toilets flushed by closing the lid instead of just pressing a button. The dressing room area of the shower was more cramped than on the other train, but the shower itself was nicer. We didn't have to press a button to keep the water running this time; just turning a dial let us shower for as long as we wanted.
There was one major problem in our room. There are two main overhead lights, but the one by Margaret didn't work. We figured a bulb was burnt out and immediately pointed out the problem to the car attendant. He said there was nothing he could do now but would check on things when he could. To his credit, he did get back the following morning. Unfortunately he discovered it was not a burnt out bulb, but rather an electrical problem. The rooms are dim enough under normal circumstances, but we'd have to live with even dimmer lights throughout our return trip.
The train was full. In fact, it was apparently sold out and at one point may have been oversold (they were seating short-term coach passengers in the lounge). They made an announcement reminding coach passengers they were only allowed one seat per person and apologizing that some larger parties could not be seated together. Because of the high volume, though, the conductor had ordered that no seats or sleeping compartments be changed.
We left Seattle about an hour late and made our way northward. Supposedly the tracks run right next to Puget Sound. We were on the wrong side of the train to see that, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. By the time we left it was too dark to see much of anything. As we crawled through north Seattle and Edmonds I thought of my Aunt Alaire, who used to live in both places. We picked up a lot of people at Edmonds and even more at Everett, where the train leaves the urban area behind and turns east toward the mountains. We called Steve at Everett and had a nice conversation until we entered a trench and the cell signal cut out abruptly.
I thumbed through the Seattle papers and was amazed to find that one of the main sports stories was a profile of someone I knew-well, maybe not knew, but at least was aware of. The Post-Intelligencer proclaimed "Healthy Collison Give Sonics a Boost" and went on to tell about the stocky Iowa Falls boy who was the Des Moines Register's "Mr. Basketball" a few years back. The last time I heard Collison's name was when I was down in Huntsville last summer and Garrigan alumni Scott McGuire, Ben Lickteig, and Brad Nelson were recalling what it was like playing against him. The Bears had an awesome basketball team when those guys were in high school. They pretty much dominated everyone in the conference-except Iowa Falls. While Brad could slam dunk the ball against most of his opponents, Nick Collison pretty much dunked at will against him.
Nick Collison led the Kansas Jayhawks to the NCAA Final Four after high school, and I knew he was now in the NBA. I'm not in any way a pro basketball fan, though, so it was news to me that Collison was now with the Seattle Sonics. According to the article he's the sort of "role player" that short (by pro standards) white guys are in the NBA, but is apparently making good contributions to the team. He was apparently injured and didn't play last year, but he's progressing better than expected. According to the coach it's even possible Collison could start in the future. I couldn't help but ponder the fact that in the past decade small schools out in the sticks of north central Iowa have produced athletes who have played in the NFL, the NBA, the Olympics, and (hopefully soon) major league baseball and the WNBA. On a per capita basis that's got to be a pretty amazing record.
We were in the 7:30 seating for dinner, and we ate with a very pleasant middle aged couple from Milwaukee. The man was actually originally from Michigan (one of the few people either Margaret or I ever met who had grown up in East Lansing), and the woman had been born in Peru. That combination, of course, gave Margaret a lot to talk about, and I enjoyed our long conversation as well. Having had the most expensive thing on the menu on the way out, I pulled back a bit tonight and had pasta with a tomato cream sauce (the vegetarian entrée). Margaret ordered salmon, the male dinner companion had beef medallions, and the woman had turkey (the leftovers from Christmas were still the daily special). The other three had apple pie for dessert, but I chose an item they called "chocolate pyramid". There was nothing wrong with any of my meal, but I felt the others had made better choices. The pasta was rather flavorless, and the pyramid (basically chocolate mousse hardened by gelatin) even more so. I wouldn't order either of them again.
We finished dinner as we neared Wenatchee, which is located in the apple country of central Washington. This was a scheduled smoking stop, and the platform was swarmed with college kids lighting up. Even those two lovebirds I described earlier managed to be torn from their room for a smoke. The kids were loud, as if there were a party on the platform. I'd gone out to stretch my legs at a lot of the other smoking stops, but I decided it would be more pleasant to just relax in the room. When they sounded the whistle and yelled "all aboard" the smokers made their way back to the train. They didn't quiet down any, though. The kids were definitely creatures of the night, and they'd be a bit louder than I'd care for (and I'd bet much louder than Margaret preferred) until quite late.
At Wenatchee we saw the first edge of a snowstorm that would accompany us all the way to Minneapolis. Here it was snowing lightly, but with big flakes. It looked like that fake snow they have in those TV Christmas specials. A good two or three inches had already accumulated on the ground, quite different from anything we had seen in days.
There are many times on a train when it's hard to grasp which way the train is going. That's especially true when it's dark, and there aren't any landmarks to judge by. Because of that I didn't think much of it when we left the station in Wenatchee and I had the sensation of traveling backwards. When the sensation continued I opened the curtain and looked out. It wasn't just a sensation; indeed we were headed in reverse. It turns out that they frequently pick up boxcars full of apples at Wenatchee to deliver to Midwestern markets. We were backing into the yard to attach a boxcar at the end of the train. Why they didn't do that before we stopped at the station, I don't know, but the train crew told us this was standard procedure.
It was not nearly as easy to sleep tonight as it had been on the way out. Part of that was the noisy college kids, but mostly it was because the car was HOT. I usually like it warm when I sleep, but this was truly sweltering. Margaret turned the heat control down to low, and I opened up the vent. I would have started to drift off, but then some idiots kept pressing the call button for the train attendant. Thomas had told us before Wenatchee that he would be retiring at a certain time (well before the time these people signaled for him), and that he'd be happy to make up any beds or deal with any problems before then. Obviously someone wasn't listening when he made that announcement. They pressed the stupid button time after time. When the attendant is not in the car (he'd be in the transition sleeper to sleep himself) the call goes to the conductor, who could be several cars away. It can take quite a while to respond, and these idiots had to keep pressing their button every few seconds until they got service.
I must have slept some, because I didn't notice when the Portland section of the train joined us at Spokane. This was a noisy night, though, and I only slept in fits and spurts. What really woke me up, though, was that by morning the hot compartment had become positively icy. The sleeper bunks are provided with only a sheet and one light blanket, and they were insufficient to keep me from shivering this morning.
We were intrigued when we got up that we had almost totally different neighbors than we had gone to sleep with. We'd see many other people come and go on the course of our trip. A lot of the sleeper passengers had gone only from greater Seattle to Spokane or perhaps to Sandpoint, Idaho. They were replaced at those stops by new people, most of whom were traveling no further than somewhere in Montana. In Montana we picked up passengers headed to North Dakota, and there we got people destined for Minnesota and Wisconsin. We were some of the very few people who were going the majority of the distance the train travels.
I'd read that one of the reasons the Empire Builder is actually a profitable train for Amtrak (unlike most of its long distance trains) is that turnover. This train is a lifeline to small towns throughout the mountains and plains, and people mostly seem to use it to travel relatively short distances. Selling the same seat or sleeping compartment three or four times for short distances adds up to a lot more money than selling it once for a long distance.
Our breakfast this morning was with someone from one of those small towns the train links together. Best described as an old coot, he was headed home to Malta, Montana. We had a rather forced conversation with him. The main thing I remember was his comment "I hope you're not environmentalists." The papers talked about the changing face of Montana politics, but he definitely was part of the old guard. We tried to make small talk, but not much came of it. When we noted in passing that the train was running an hour late, he grumbled that "they told us the Seattle section was late making it into Spokane". I had bacon and eggs for breakfast, while Margaret had pancakes. We ate quickly and soon were back in the sleeper.
We had a long stop at Whitefish, Montana, where it seemed as if we shuffled half the passengers on the train. Dozens of people got off, but equally many got on. We waited nearly twenty minutes while they unloaded skis that people had checked.
It snowed all day as we made our way across Montana. The sky was gray, and it was mostly dull and dreary. The best part of the day was heading through Glacier National Park. It was day this time--albeit it snowy, foggy day--and we were able to enjoy the spectacular mountain scenery.
The mountains end abruptly at the eastern edge of Glacier park, and we had a boring, snowy trip across Montana. I got out at the service stop at Havre, where I noticed the train had grown considerably since yesterday. We'd picked up three coaches, two sleepers, and the lounge with the Portland section of the train, plus another engine. That made a total of fifteen cars on this train.
In addition to being dismal, it was cold today. Montana was having record highs when we came westward, but now the weather was more seasonable. Most of the state was expecting lows well below zero, together with single digit highs. It had been hot in our room when we tried to get to sleep last night, but it never warmed up this morning. Margaret turned the heat adjustment all the way to "high", but still nothing seemed to happen. I think the car attendant (or perhaps the engineer) had turned off the heat during the day, figuring active people wouldn't want it as much. He turned it on at night so people would be warm sleeping. At any rate the only heat we had today was generated by our reading lamps.
We had lunch with a mother and daughter from the Green Bay area. The daughter said maybe thirty words all through the meal, and the mother said less. I had a burger for lunch, which was cold when I got it-it fit the mood of the day.
We basically sat in the room and read as we made our way across Montana. I read lots of local newspapers, I read a lot of the brochures I had collected, and I read the $40 a Day book in its entirety. Margaret read her Latin American history book. As we broadened our horizons through the printed word, the horizons around us continued to be little more than white gloom.
Today was definitely not our day when it came to dining car companions. At dinner we had an elderly couple that was traveling in the room right behind us. They were from the Kalamazoo area. The man was Anglo, and the woman was Filipino. For the first half of the meal they said almost nothing, but after that they wouldn't shut up. Both of them spoke in soft, monotonous voices that all but put me to sleep. I mostly tuned them out and to stay awake went back to people watching. There was an interesting couple a few tables in front and across the aisle from us. The boy was an enormous blond chap with a close-cropped who wore loose jeans and a T-shirt that said "Spartan football". He seemed happy-go-lucky and unfazed by anything. His tiny girlfriend (or perhaps wife, but I'd bet the former) had peroxide platinum hair, maroon lipstick, and dark green eye shadow. She wore a tight tailored black business suit and seemed to wear a perpetual scowl on her face. I could definitely see what the boy saw in the girl, but it sure wasn't her personality. He didn't let that bother him, though. She seemed to boss him around constantly, but he let everything go in one ear and out the other. I'm pretty sure they were traveling in coach, and looking at what they both ordered I'd guarantee you he paid for both their meals. The tiny girl had the beef medallions, the most expensive entrée available. She only ate half of one of the medallions and didn't even touch the potato. The huge football player, on the other hand, ordered the cheapest thing on the menu--the same pasta dish I had yesterday-and cleaned his plate.
My dinner was a cross between these two. I had the beef medallions, and I cleaned my plate. They were truly outstanding. I also had apple pie a la mode, and it was also excellent. Margaret had pork shank, which I gather she also liked. The man from Michigan also had beef, and the woman had marinated chicken thighs. They both ate about half of their dinner.
We had Thomas make up the beds when we were stopped at Williston, North Dakota. It really wasn't that late, but we were tired. Once again the heat came on too hot, and again the call buzzer kept beeping. That kept me awake until we got to Minot. The conductor came on at that point. He apologized for making an announcement so late (it was around 10:00) and then said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are entering a skating rink." He noted that highways throughout North Dakota and Minnesota were closed because of an ice storm and warned the coach passengers to stay where their seat tags were and to vacate any unoccupied seats because "we expect to have many customers not on our manifest".
I fell asleep shortly after Minot and slept reasonably well. Margaret was awakened during the night when the same couple we had eaten dinner with were taking very loudly in their room.
It was pushing 8:00 by the time we got up this morning. When I went to the shower there were two towels and six soaps left there. From the towels I could tell that exactly 10 people (including me) had showered since Seattle. Far more people than that had been in the car and could have used the shower. It amazed me that more didn't take advantage of it.
Our breakfast companions today were a delightful couple from Pensacola. They had been married fifty-two years and were on their way back from visiting their daughter and her family in Seattle. The woman was originally from Pass Christian, Mississippi, a place I spent much time on the beach while in graduate school. She was almost a caricature of a cultured Southern lady of "a certain age". Her husband was a jovial gentleman who reminded me a lot of my Uncle Harvey. Like Harvey and Max they seem to find themselves busier in retirement than they were when they worked for money. They seemed genuinely interested in meeting and getting to know us, and I certainly enjoyed visiting with them.
The food itself was less memorable this morning. Both Margaret and I had quiche, and this was one of the most flavorless quiches I've ever tasted. Had it not been hot, I'd have thought it was a cheesecake-though it would have been pretty flavorless under that name, too. The coffee today was also rather bland; I think they make it weaker as the train heads east. At least the hash browns were good.
Breakfast filled the time from St. Cloud to St. Paul. We were still running about an hour behind at St. Cloud, but it was closer to 1:15 by the time we stopped in the Twin Cities. We had a long stop at St. Paul's Midway station, and most of the time we were there we didn't have electricity on the train. Apparently there was a problem with one of the engines, and they had to get that fixed before we could depart again. By the time they did, we were running a little over two hours late.
A ton of people boarded in St. Paul. They added yet another coach (for a total of six), and several new people boarded our sleeping car. That didn't make much sense to me. I can understand wanting to have a sleeper for an overnight trip, but even if the train continued late, these people would still get to Chicago by late afternoon. They'd have more space in coach, and it would be a lot cheaper. I'm still pondering why someone would want to get a sleeper during the day. With the exception of those lovebirds from Seattle, I can't think of anyone for whom it would make sense.
We had a pleasant ride right along the Mississippi through St. Paul and the suburbs. There's a big oil refinery in Inver Grove Heights. We crossed the river there, so that for most of the journey southward Margaret and I looked out at the bluffs and towns rather than the water. The Amtrak route guide describes the nearby landforms as "mountains". They're not really wrong. Indeed, the landscape along the Mississippi is more rugged than much of the Cascades. It's weird to hear that term applied to Midwestern geography, though.
We were scheduled to get into Winona at 9:51am, but it was more like 11:45 when we actually arrived. Still, given some of our earlier experiences on Amtrak, we weren't complaining. I'd actually bet we'd be later than that and had made a motel reservation on the way home (which I found out too late had to be cancelled the day before arrival) expecting a later arrival. If the train continued on approximately the same schedule, there shouldn't have been anyone with problems making connections in Chicago.
It was amazingly warm in Winona. We'd left the snow behind in Minneapolis, and here it was downright balmy. I could hardly believe it had been below zero when we left a week ago. Today was sunny and probably around 30. Thanks to the warmer weather my car started right up. We were off in a flash and were nearly back on the highway before the train pulled out of the station.
We stopped for lunch at McDonalds in Winona (quarter pounders and shakes) and then had a pretty drive down the Great River Road to Lansing. The train crosses into Wisconsin at Winona, so we wouldn't be seeing exactly the same sights as they did. The Mississippi is beautiful from both sides, though, and it was very pleasant driving today.
We followed highway 9 west from Lansing to Waukon, where we stopped to buy gas. The price was $1.599. A few months ago (when we topped $2 in Algona) I'd have bet I'd never see that price again. (For those interested, gas was around $1.75 in Portland, exactly what it is here at home.) We then followed county roads back to Margaret's home east of Decorah.
I paused just a second to let of Margaret and her stuff, and then I was on my way again. Since I had a reservation I couldn't break, I figured I might as well use it. I headed back to Minnesota, stopping to browse at the Alco in Spring Valley and to buy some shoes at ShopKo in Austin. Then I checked in for the night at the Comfort Inn in Albert Lea. The parking lot was packed on New Year's Eve. I don't know where everybody was, though; the motel itself was very quiet. I had an uneventful evening, welcoming in the New Year by shaking my car keys like we did to make bell sounds at the cathedral.
As it turned out, I probably should have gone all the way home last night. I was up around 7:30 and had a quick breakfast at the motel. Most of the guests seemed to rave over their breakfast bar, which featured fresh waffles. Waffles don't do a lot for me, and about all I could find to eat otherwise was a bagel.
I drove quickly south to the Iowa border but was feeling rather hungry. There's a new Burger King out in the middle of nowhere just inside Iowa, so I decided to pull off there and have some more breakfast. It turned out they were closed on New Year's Day (makes sense, I suppose), and I noticed as I turned around in their lot that it was starting to drizzle. Soon after I got back on the interstate it turned to hard freezing rain. I was thankful I had new tires on my car, but even so it wasn't all that easy to control as the freeway quickly turned to ice.
I hate driving on interstates in bad weather. You never know what speed people are going to drive. I very quickly got tense and frustrated, and I decided to exit onto highway 9. I bought gas at the corner there ($1.799) and scraped a thick accumulation of ice of my windshield. Then I set off slowly westward. I never made it out of fourth gear as I drove to Forest City, Garnet, Britt, and Wesley. It normally takes less than 90 minutes to go from Albert Lea to Algona, but today it took about 21/2 hours.
I did make it home safely, though. I unpacked the car and tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to shift gears and get back into "school mode". This was a relaxing and enjoyable vacation, but I must say it ended too quickly.
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