It seems the universe is conspiring against me at times, either
that or it doesn’t want me to leave Corvallis.
You see, our normally snow free town has had two snow storms this
winter, the first of which dumped 8” of snow the morning of my ankle surgery. Calling
the hospital at 7am, I felt a bit sheepish when my questions of whether or not
I should come in were met with an incredulous, “of course, we are here, you can
make it too”.
The conspiracy theory was further expanded when, on the day I was scheduled to leave via train for a little jaunt around
the US, the skies decided to open up and begin to drop what became well over
15” of snow on this quiet town over the course of two days. Though I love snow, I began to question the
timing of it all. You see, I needed a
little clarity and time away from distractions, and endless hours (223+ to be
exact) aboard a train were things I hoped would help me find a publisher for my
golf book and begin work on what I hope to be my opus.
Thankfully, this being Oregon, the cold snap broke and by
Sunday the roads were passable enough to not worry about ending up in a ditch and so I called Amtrak for the third time in
four days and re-booked my ticket, determined to head off that afternoon for the
train station. The one big positive of it all, and maybe the universe is in my favor, was that the delay allowed me to reorganize my pack and the cold and
snow gave me time to test out my new hiking gear.
Knowing that only the main
roads were plowed, my friend Abbie, a fiery but incredibly kind ginger, and I decided
to be smart and take only the main arterials.
Sadly, not everyone had the same idea.
Shortly before we hit Albany we watched as a maroon Ford Focus driven by
a twenty something determined to get his family home decided to try to jump
over the plowed snow onto a side road and become high centered. Realizing he was going nowhere fast, even
with chains, I flipped a Uey and pulled over.
Though it took me out there struggling to move this car by myself before
people stopped, quickly enough there were four of us pushing and the Focus was
on its way.
As we turned off onto less maintained roads we realized that
the parking lot was going to be off-limits for my Maxima. Making a quick assessment of the over a foot
of snow in the parking lot, I knew that if I tried to pull in I would end up
needing to recruit at least three people myself to help Abbie back out. And so, much to her chagrin, I pulled over on
the on-ramp leading back into Albany and flipped on my hazards.
Thanking her for riding with me, I told her to take care of
my car over the next month and went about sloshing my way to the terminal, the
melting snow soaking my suede pumas through.
At I sloshed along and could feel the wet and cold permeating my socks, I
was left to contemplate why I had my waterproof boots tied to my pack instead
of on my feet. But, knowing that I had
seemingly endless hours ahead of me, I gave up worrying about it and continued
on the short trek to the station’s front door.
Upon opening the heavy wood and glass door I was transported
back at least three decades. It seems
the massive remodel undertaken in 2004 neglected to update the station’s
interior to the 21st century and it’s brick and light wood motif felt
like I expected it to, a poor man’s version of an airport. As I sat there waiting for the station
attendant to reopen the ticket window so I could print the ticket that
signified the start of my adventure, I was struck at the truth what I had read,
people riding the train are indeed friendlier than most. Perhaps it is due to the fact that the pace
of travel is so slow or maybe it is because no one believes they will ever see the
people they run into again, but it seemed as if everyone wanted to chat about
travel plans and the weather.
Being a fairly talkative man when the mood hits, I probably
offended a person or two with the shortness of my answers, but I was more focused on processing what lay ahead of me and so I choose to sit back
and casually watch the interactions around me. I do wonder though if it was my quiet demeanor or my attire of
colorful fleece and greying beard that generated more attention, but I
witnessed more than one glance shot my direction followed closely by whispering. Though I have felt it before, it is always a strange
feeling to believe that everyone is talking about you.
After two hours of catching up on my “Traveling the US by
Rail” book and earmarking pages of interest, the Coast Starlight finally pulled
in an hour late from Portland. Sloshing
once more through the snow (I guess plowing parking lots or shoveling walks are
not it the Amtrak job description) I showed my ticket to the first conductor, a
bespectacled man who looked more comfortable in a British comedy than checking
people onto the train, and hopped aboard.
Walking my pack upstairs I was directed to a seat already occupied by a middle aged woman who seemed willing to share. Being that not only she, but also myself and yet another gentleman all possessed the same seat number, I looked around and noticed plenty of extra
seating. Forgiving the apparent fatigue laden decision making of Vickie,
the 80’s styled conductor who gave us our seat numbers, we all found ourselves an empty row and went about getting settled.
Placing the cheap, Orange 45 liter pack I bought for the
trip overhead and my computer backpack beside me I lowered myself into the moderately
comfortable blue and grey seating and waited for us to depart. Within a couple of minutes the train’s whistle
blew and I was on my way. The train's steady pace and the clicking of wheels on rail was hypnotic and 30 minutes into the journey I was struck by an odd
sense of familiarity. Taking anything
even slightly resembling déjà vu to be a good sign I smiled and settled in, but soon the familiarity was explained when I realized that the interior reminded me of a roomier version of the ski buses I
took to the mountains as a child.
A bit remiss, but still quite content I settled in for the 14 hour haul to Sacramento and began to
read the Lost City of Z, a thrilling mystery about an intrepid explorer back in
the mid twenties who went missing with his son deep in the Amazon while chasing
after his life’s work, the lost city of El Diablo.
I prayed it wasn’t a sign.
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