(side notes: … smells and writes like a new journal… What is the purpose of travel writing?)
8 Empire Builder; 36 hrs 25 minutes – Seattle, WA to Minneapolis/St.Paul (ok, Highway 280) Minnesota … but first:
Amtrak Cascades – on the “other side” of the tracks that morning as I see the yellow and blue VIA sitting, hissing, fenced in awaiting its departure to places like Edmonton, Toronto, the Sioux Lookout … it is a hectic boarding this morning – everything goes fine, smooth – but there was a misplaced sense of urgency that was uncommon to what I’ve found in my time here.
As we roll out, things are different (i.e., a “few readjustment things”): the train announcer declaring we are going to Portland, OR - not to Whistler as part of our morning commute, thus far not as epic as the breathless VIA conductor at 1:15 in the morning in Ontario … Bellingham looms and hello Washington State, time to make slow haste home. It’s Legendary Larry (“cause I’ve still got a job”) with assistant conductor Jourdan Spreader today … technical assistance from Alabama John, and Dynasty Steve (#1 in seniority) in the bistro.
How do I feel?
I feel are the reverberations from the Train car in Seat 18 (aisle) in Car 7 as we go out along vine-clad Vancouver; visions of a television (a blinking train guiding geographically-challenged passengers to our next stop), non-vision for time immemorial of GMC Acadias with Vancouver 2010 stickers plastered on the sides … that’s ok though.
Feeling, internally, extremely confident with myself and the prospect of the journey if not anything else – to will myself to recall the power of conscious choice to stay atop the mountain – and set things in motion as I see fit.
Minimizing writing much (fear of journal corruption) as still in Vancouver but the first impressions much be recorded of my surroundings: upright leather seats (upright not opposed to reclined, just starkly upright) red curtains covering the windows and low knap carpet on the floors.
“Holy fucking shit – I’m back in America” I exclaim after Customs does its thing, to my seatmate – he’s only been in Canada for three days camping – and naturally cows, confederate flags, and agents are the first things to welcome me.
The Border Patrol and Customs Agents take a declaration slip, probably all lies anyways (part of the morning hastiness) … but “Welcome to Bellingham, folks,” the Legend says, and alerts all riders that he’ll be showing “Up in the Air” (starring George Clooney).
Wait, he didn’t say that a second time in François … and what’s with all this emphasis on rules, regulations, and reporting of suspicious packages, bags, people, ideas to the conductor?
And a sale of headphones ($4) to those desperately seeking to hear Clooney’s voice?
Yup, definitely back in the States.
A little bit of a mudslide occurs? Not a problem now as our southbound tracks are not impeded upon (but shall cause havoc returning on the Empire Builder). Trees are uprooted from the hillside, mixing them with the black/brown mud on the tracks.
I am awake in Seattle, the last one on the train; all in a fuss I get off and am forced to deal with baggage for nearly 45 minutes. Too heavy. Loose items. Blah, blah. My happiness of a return to the States cannot be undone so easily, but is improved with an Americano at the Zeitgeist Coffee Shop … AND quite happy that it only costs $1.86 (instead of $2.26) and stroll up Jackson Street, take care of business, withdraw, but add, the last few morsels of money I have from the first Wells Fargo in months, sitting with hobos, giving directions to busses (Federal Way) to women in respirator masks; apparently I look like a knowledgeable source for King County’s public transportation, using my EVS skills I don’t exactly tell her NO – using more of the “Yes, and” method to direct her to the information and times listed within the bus stop, saying “though I’ve been to Federal Way, I’ve never taken the bus…” and continued to write … not even wearing my blue volunteer jacket where being approached and asked for directions to the drug store was not uncommon in Whistler.
But I see a tricked out single-speed and lose focus so I feed some Doritos crumbs to the pigeons and continue waiting for my 4:40 departure, though staring at the giant clock tower of King Street Station makes it go no faster.
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