Two dozen Amish just offloaded at Malta, which has the billboard, “Cowboys, Indians and Dinosaurs!”
Before that the conductor, a serious example of his serious kind, made an announcement that someone was smoking weed on he train. “If you are caught, you will be taken off at the next stop in handcuffs and be denied the privilege of using Amtrak again.”
Amtrak is federal property, and the feds have not legalized weed and prohibit smoking anything on the train. Weed heads still gather on the platform right next to conductors and pass around a saliva soaked reefer, sucking the tiny twist of panacea. Amtrak employees are mostly very level and nice. The coach attendant, a tall light-skinend fellow out of Chicago, patted me on the arm as I stood against the head of the car, resting my back against the front wall that boxes in the cabinet and control panel between the front seat and the coupling, “You alright, Bud?”
“Yes, good, thanks.”
I like to stretch and do wall squats in that space when the train is not rocking.
This very uneventful trip is a good time to describe the machine and the process. I walked the platform for 30 minutes at Minot, North Dakota, which is the midpoint refueling stop.
Three locomotives drag this metal hotel. Each is a diesel powered generator, with wheels that run on electric generated by the huge engine. Back east there is one locomotive. On long western trips there are two. This one gets three, because the train splits in Spokane at about 3:30 AM, the 7 heading to Seattle, us proles on the 27 headed to Portland. The lines rise from south to north like east-west interstates, the #1 and #2, with odd numbers headed west. The Texas Eagle, is another train that splits, the crew out of LA describing themselves as the stepchild train. When I take this east I’m on the #8/28. The #3 & #4 are the Southwest Chief, out of LA, with junk equipment. The #5 & #6, The California Zephyr, out of Chicago thru Denver and to Emerryville, CA, has the best gear. The #7/27 & #8/28 run out of Chicago with good gear and are regarded as senior assignments, nice runs that newer employees hope to bid on.
Behind the third locomotive is the baggage car, beat to heck.
Three sleeper cars, with ticket prices triple and more my coach seat, trail the baggage car. All three of these go to Seattle.
The dinning car trails the Seattle sleepers and will go to Seattle. The diner car serves as a crew car for most of the run. If you have an issue, you can find the conductor there.
The Seattle coach car is next.
Next is the Lounge/Cafe car, with diner in the basement where I write at a table and lounge and diner seating upstairs, with extra windows cut out above so as to look up at mountains. This goes to Portland.
Behind the lounge car are two Portland coaches, and behind that the Portland sleeper, where the Sleeper attendant takes lunch meals.
The crew consists of two elements: Onboard Staff, who stay on for the two to three days, then rest in a hotel at the destination, before working another run home. The operational crew, which changes out every 8 hours at Crew Change stops, consist of a conductor, maybe an assistant conductor, and 1 or more engineers. The latter we never see. The crew stops have mechanics, baggage clerks and the men who refill the water, haul off the trash and fuel the engines.
The onboard staff consists of one or two coach attendants, who seat you and assist the conductor. These folks are your usher and janitor, tasked with cleaning five public restrooms per car.
The cafe is manned by one person who makes announcements, works 10 hour days, sleeps from 11 to 6, makes your coffee, is your microwave chef and bartender.
The diner car has an attendant and an assistant. Meals are free for sleepers with reservations for dinner. Lunch and breakfast are first come first serve. Breakfast is good at $20, Lunch lame at $25 and dinner good at $40. With four full sleepers, coach people are not being served on this trip. We eat the 7-11 food from the cafe.
Travel Tips
As a senior, I may get military veteran seating in the assisted lounge. So many people now require assistance, simply cannot walk to a train. Half of the 150 seat senior lounge in Chicago is packed with elderly invalids and fatties crippled by their own weight. I have yet to see a woman who can handle her own luggage—not one, ever. All of their bags are over the accepted weight and size and they are a burden unless they have a man. So the Amish, despite their many children, move fastest, with strong men carrying the large burdens and the women with the babies and toddlers. If Americans, aside from Amish and Mormons, suddenly found themselves as refugees in a war zone, they would not be able to walk out! Even on crutches I was near the head of the pack.
This cafe man is cool, lets us use the bathroom and sit here when he is closed. After the train splits, this will be the crew car. So I tip him, give exact change and we help gather trash. The onboard staff hauls supplies, such as ice, and take off trash. The conductors, engineers and station staff confer. At some stops, like Denver, where the train must back in, the rear car door will be opened so the conductor can stand there and assist. Being out of the way makes all this less stressful for them.
Selecting a seat at the head of a line, is up to you. The conductor or attendant assigns you a car. I like the seat that everybody hates, the front seats. It is noisy, with the coupling clanging, sometimes snow blowing in. The housing lights are on after quiet time [10 PM to 7 AM]. There is no foot rest in some. There are no trays as there are no seat backs. I take the aisle seat by the door. Arriving here, yesterday afternoon, a sissy beard thing of thirty was seated by the window, with his passive-aggressive female behavior, ignoring me loading my gear on the overhead while he sat with his gear on my seat. I waited, he looked away. I lifted his pack and he panicked, snatching it from my hand, “If you want it moved, ask me!”
I do not ask permission of faɡɡots, chattel, etc., Sitting, I ignored him. He was then informed he was headed to the wrong town, he was a Seattle thing, and was ushered forward. For a while I was seated with a huge, polite young man who read. He got off where many do, at Saint Paul-Minniapolis. That gives me those two seats to curl up on in the middle of the country. Once we hit Whitefish, the coach might fill up again. If I get a big man or female seatmate, I’ll nod off in the lounge, ten feet away, through the bright-lit clattering doors. The seats in there are more comfortable and the temperature cooler.
I changed the books into the suitcase and the laptop into the back pack, so I can write tonight. In future, with all this travel, I intend to read at stations and write on the train, focusing on travel writing and novels, and at home, wherever it is, on history and reader dialogues.
Thank you for your support.
-James, Havre, Montana, 2:42 PM, Tuesday, December 30, a red sunset intruding on the crystal blue sky, the northern horizon limited to stacked containers and a pink chemtrail over the Canadian border.
PS: After proofing this it is 4:02, the sky is dark in the north, rosy in the south.
