Riding the Rails: Lafayette to Los Angeles Part 1
“I wouldn’t leave my car here for two weeks,” the young woman wearing a security guard uniform told me flatly, when I asked for directions to the free parking for Amtrak passengers and if there were restrictions on the length of time a vehicle could be left.
“There is no security here at night after 10:30,” she informed me. Following her gaze toward the entrance to the Transit Center, I saw what appeared to be a number of loiterers. I felt a little uneasy in this parking lot at 11:30 a.m.
“These trains are late a lot, and sometimes they are up to 16 or more hours late and come in here in the middle of the night,” she continued.
“What about parking garages?” I asked. “Are there any close by?”
“They’re too far away to carry your luggage,” she answered. “And this not a safe area at night.”
“Are the taxis here at night?”
“No.” she replied. “And if you call one, they may or may not show up. So many times, bus passengers have called a taxi, thinking their ride wasn’t going to show up. Then their ride gets here before the taxi, and the taxi driver is left high and dry. And if they do come, it could be an hour after you call. You can’t depend on them at night.”
After driving more than 700 miles from our home in Tennessee, my husband, 15-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter had just arrived at the Transit Center in Lafayette, La., to board a train for our first long distance Amtak trip. This was an unstaffed station that only opened for about an hour for departures and arrivals. We had just gotten into town after spending the previous night with friends near Laurel, Miss. We still had about three hours to wait for the train.
We were expecting adventure on the trip but not before boarding the train.
The area around the station did not look safe at mid day. I wondered if we should just turn around and go home.
During the trip planning I had called the airport for information about parking and shuttle service. Parking was available there for a daily fee, as well as shuttle service. We headed over to the airport, which was close by and easy to find. At the shuttle service office, we learned that pick-up was available 24 hours a day. When I explained to the young woman there about the possibility of a late train arrival, she contacted the owner. He gave us his card and said to call on our return trip when we reached a certain town, and the shuttle would be waiting for us, regardless of the hour.
Suddenly, it seemed like we had been rescued by a “Good Samaritan.” The owner also discounted the shuttle rate for us, and then offered to take us somewhere to eat before returning to the station. After we arrived back at the station, he made sure it was unlocked before dropping us off. He told us he provided this same service regularly to some local Jesuits who came in from trips on late buses. The airport parking and shuttle were unplanned expenses but provided much peace of mind.
***
The air conditioned waiting room provided welcoming relief from the sweltering late June heat. A few loiterers were sitting in the small room, making for an uncomfortable presence for me, especially the one who kept staring at us and our luggage.
A tall elderly man walked over and asked my husband how far we were going on the train. He told him we were going to California. The man said he was returning to his home in Oceanside, Calif., after attending the funeral of his son-in-law, who had been killed on an oil rig in Louisiana. He also mentioned he was 85 years old and loved to travel by train.
A few minutes later, a middle-age black couple entered the waiting room. The wife told me she had just called “Julie,” the automated Amtrak agent, and that our train, Sunset Limited, was running about 20 minutes late. She told me that she and her husband, a minister in Baton Rouge, were traveling to Los Angeles to attend a family reunion. She and her husband would be returning on the same train the same date as we were. This was a pleasant surprise. Now I knew we would not be the only passengers getting off at this station on the return trip.
As we continued chatting, we heard a train whistle. All seven of us went out on the platform and watched as a freight train rolled by. It wasn’t long before we heard another whistle, and this train slowed to a stop. The minister’s wife told me that she and her husband were going to get seats on the lower level where immobile passengers and others with special needs usually ride. She said they wanted to help look after those passengers.
An attendant stepped off onto the platform and took our tickets. We followed her to the upper level, where she showed us to two pairs of seats on the right side of the train. She put two tags above our seats that read “Los Angeles.” All of our luggage fit into the bins above our seats. On the floor, I found room for the cooler I had brought, containing soft drinks, water, my favorite yogurt, homemade muffins and other snacks. Additional water, soft drinks and snacks were packed in our luggage.
I asked if any bedrooms were still available and the attendant shook her head “no.”
“They’re all sold out, “ she said. “We have two large groups traveling on this train from New Orleans to Los Angeles. One group is going to a wedding and the other one to a family reunion.”
As we settled into our deep blue seats, I was surprised at how big and comfortable they were. They were designed like huge recliners with all the positioning options. I was glad I had kept my lightweight track suit on in spite of the heat in Lafayette. The air conditioning was very cool, but not uncomfortably cool. In a few minutes, I would go in search of the snack bar and a cup of coffee. But for now, I just wanted to settle back in my traveling recliner and watch the Cajun country go by.
***
As the train clickity clacked at a leisurely pace toward Texas, our attendant made her way through the car, stopping at each seat to take dinner reservations in the dining room. When she stopped at our seats, our kids took one look at the menu and said they wanted to eat in the snack bar. Eating in the dining room is considered part of the train experience, but my husband and I decided to eat with our kids from the snack bar.
Although there were several kids riding in our car, someone joked that it could be called the “quiet car.” At this point in the trip, nearly all the kids were fully engrossed in the tech toys they had brought along. A few babies were riding in the adjoining car, and all of them were peaceful. Many of the couples riding with us were middle aged. One gentleman said he was 83 and still working as an architect. A builder in the adjoining car joined him for a few minutes for a conversation about building trades. In the back of our car, several young men were riding together. One of them was a Larry the Cable Guy look-a-like, complete with the button front shirt and cut-off sleeves. He also had a black-eye and slightly puffy face. Whatever had caused this was not a problem on the train. He and his friends were very quiet.
We had boarded the train at 4:15 p.m. and by 5 p.m. some passengers were heading to the dining room for the early reservations. Walking through the cars for the first time was not that difficult, although some passengers would grab the backs of seats as they walked. We quickly learned how to open the doors between cars to get to the snack bar. Steps at the front of our car led to the lower level where the restrooms and dressing room were located. This was another benefit of riding on a train. If you got tired of sitting, you could take a little walk.
My first cup of Amtrak coffee (learned later that it was Green Mountain Coffee, although currently another organic coffee brand is served on board) more than met my high standards, and I was pleased to find the snack bar menu had a varied selection–pizza, assorted sandwiches and even kosher (Hebrew) hot dogs, chips, ice cream, pastries and beverages.
A congenial and peaceful atmosphere settled over our car. It wasn’t long before the train rolled into St. Charles, La., and stopped at the station there. St. Charles was very interesting, where we caught glimpses of ships and oil rigs. And then we were in Orange, Texas, where we would begin more than 900 miles of travel across the state of Texas. It was dusk when the train stopped at Beaumont. After picking up a few passengers there, the train rolled slowly by a baseball park, and we could see a game in progress under the bright lights of the field.
A freight train was having problems ahead of us, so the Sunset took a different route into Houston, which put us about three hours behind. Pillows were passed out to everyone in our car, and the lights were dimmed. Some passengers closed the curtains at their seats. I left mine open. After we finally got into Houston, about 11 p.m., more passengers took the few remaining seats in our car. When the train left Houston, it picked up speed and the sound from the tracks became quite noisy. The conductor and car attendant made frequent trips back and forth, walking at a brisk pace. But these were the only sounds of the night. I didn’t hear any of the babies crying or loud snoring from the adults. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep in my fully reclined seat.
***
Riding the Rails: Lafayette to Los Angeles Part 2
Awakening, I realized the train had stopped. From my window, I could see bright lights and a flurry of activity on the platform below. It was 5:30 a.m, and we had arrived in San Antonio, the time we were supposed to be leaving.
In San Antonio, a coach and a sleeper car from the Texas Eagle, which had arrived earlier from Chicago, were attached to the end of our car. This was going to take some time, so I got up and went out on the platform where a few passengers had gathered, mainly smokers.
Around 8:30 a.m., we left San Antonio, passing by the Alamo. In the distance we could see the hill country. The train turned south, and we were heading into the prairie.
After leaving the prairie, we stopped at Del Rio, which had a pretty pink stucco station and looked new. From there, we caught our first glimpse of Mexico, just beyond the Amistad National Recreation Area. A park ranger boarded the train and spoke about the history of the area and the terrain and pointed out landmarks, such as the Pecos River Bridge, once one of the tallest bridges in the country. He told us to keep an eye out for the miniature deer that roamed the area.
Not long after we left Del Rio, we rode through some small canyons at a pretty good speed, giving the sensation of riding a small but fun roller coaster. Another park ranger gave a narrative about the Big Bend National Park, as the train skirted it. We also learned that some of the towns we would be going by were lures for artists. I could see why this was true. The train seemed to be continuously looping around the same mountain ranges that changed colors on each side–sometimes emanating pastel hues and then changing to black and gold. It was amazing to watch these color changes from the same mountain ranges. Well... at least for the first dozen times. As hard as I tried to maintain an appreciation for this beauty, it did begin to wear off after several hours.
***
As the day wore on, the children in our car tired of their techno toys and brought out the cards and board games they had brought for the trip. A teenage boy, who had been riding on the lower level with his grandmother, came up to our car and joined the kids. This boy was getting a lot of attention on the train because of his size. He was over six feet and probably weighed 300 pounds or more. The first question asked of him was his age. He said he was 15. And next, "Do you play football?" He answered, "Yes." He reminded me of William Perry, the former player for the Chicago Bears, who was affectionately called “The Refrigerator” or “The Fridge.” Since I never learned this kid’s name, I will call him “The Refrigerator Kid.”
I was first struck by the way The Refrigerator Kid’s demeanor changed in regard to the people he was around. When I saw him in the lower level hall talking to his sweet-faced grandmother, he reminded me of a little boy in the way he deferred to her, obviously with great love and respect. Upstairs with the kids, he acted more like an adolescent, laughing and joking with them. And then he decided to flirt with our car attendant.
Our car attendant was a young, attractive black woman, who seemed very mature and well grounded. She was attentive and conversational with everyone in the car, but the middle-aged and older women especially liked talking to her.
As she was taking dinner reservations for the second night, The Refrigerator Kid said, “When we get back to LA, I want to take you out on a date.”
She was not amused or taking this comment lightly. “I could get in trouble for even talking to you about going on a date,” she told him. “I am 31 years old.”
“It don’t matter to me that you are 31,” he shot back.
“Well, it matters to me that you are 15, and this conversation is over,” she said.
The middle-aged women, sitting nearby and listening, applauded her with smiles. One of them scolded him and said, “Don’t you be trying to get her in trouble.”
As soon as the car attendant moved on, he was back in adolescent mode, cutting up and laughing with the kids. Something about this kid pulled at my heart strings. Maybe it was because everyone constantly commented on his size. I wondered if this bothered him. Maybe it was because he said he was an only child who lived with his parents in "the hood," as he called it (Compton). Maybe it was because he at times bragged about where he lived but was so clean cut, well mannered and NEVER spoke any profanities or obscenities. In fact, there seemed to be an innocence in his baby face and loneliness behind his bright smile. At times, I would catch a wistful look on his face as he watched some of the kids with their parents. He just seemed to want to belong somewhere.
***
All day the train had rolled by well maintained fencing, but it was difficult to see what the fencing was keeping in or out. Few houses were visible, and the ones we saw were usually set way back with nothing but land around them. Throughout the day, the train had been climbing, ever gently, without any sense of pulling or struggling, and we were now at just over 4,000 feet, the highest elevation we would reach on the trip. And we were now in the desert.
Finally, after several spotty looks at I-10, we traveled alongside the interstate for a while. I thought for sure we were close to El Paso. It wasn’t long before we saw some cultivation in the desert. On one side of the tracks, the desert was suddenly green but still barren on the opposite side. Ahead of this, we began rolling through some neighborhoods. My husband and I noticed air conditioning units were placed on the roofs of the houses and wondered why. .
As the train approached El Paso, we were fascinated by the wall of mountains of what appeared to be solid black rock. On one section of the mountains, I could see what looked to be a very rough road scaling the side.
Since we had arrived on schedule, we were given some time to get off the train and go inside the beautiful and historic station.
After leaving the train station, we traveled past a hillside covered with small houses, and it was here, that we learned we were within 30 feet of Mexico. Our kids were fascinated to “see” Mexico from their seat.
Leaving El Paso, we were immediately in New Mexico and back in the desert. And then we were
stopped in the desert. Freight traffic was heavy here. For a while we would stop and then go a little ways and then stop again. At times, it was hard to tell if we were moving or stopped. The freights would be moving so fast next to us, that it seemed like we were moving, too. It was getting dark, and some of the scrubby bushes in the desert looked like people walking. At first, I thought I was “seeing things” until the woman in the seat in front of me said, “Are those people or bushes?” It was a relief to learn that it wasn’t just my eyes that were being tricked.
For more than an hour, we waited while freight trains zoomed by. Some of them were extremely long. It was completely dark when we began moving. The Continental Divide was just ahead, but we wouldn’t be able to see anything now.
Just like the night before, the train picked up speed again. And in spite of the noise from the wheels, I was getting sleepy. I wanted to stay awake and see the lights of Tucson. A few people in our car were still awake and talking softly. All the kids were sleeping.
I had brought some fleece throws for each of us to use for blankets. They were the perfect size for our seats and provided just the right amount of warmth at night when the car grew cooler. Snuggling under my throw, I tried to keep my eyes open.
A few hours later, I awoke as some passengers were gathering their luggage to debarked at Maricopa, near Phoenix. I had missed Tucson. No need to try and stay awake now.
***
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| Windmill farm in Palm Springs, Calif. |
Riding the Rails: Lafayette to Los Angeles Part 3
When I woke up, the train was still and quiet. My watch said 5:30. But I didn’t know what time zone we were in and couldn’t remember if I had reset my watch. Looking out the window, I could see the sun coming up in the desert. In the distance was a highway. It looked like an interstate.
As quietly as I could, I took a change of clothes from my luggage and headed to the dressing room. As I walked through through the coach car, I didn’t see anyone awake. When I got to the dressing room, one of the women in the wedding party on board, was finishing her make up. She had a huge make up case. Before leaving, she took paper towels and washed down the counter and sink and then wiped them dry. I was so inspired by this that I did the same when I left.
As I left the dressing room, I saw the elderly gentleman from Oceanside, Calif., standing in the hall looking out the window of the door. I asked him if he knew where we were.
“We are about 50 miles east of Yuma, Arizona, and running about five hours late,” he answered, adding, “I won’t get home until about 5 this afternoon.”
On my way to the snack bar to get coffee, I met the conductor and asked him why we were five hours late. He said that during the night there had been a mechanical problem, and they had to wait for a freight to bring a part to fix it.
In a few minutes, the train started moving...slowly. We passed through red rock formations, and the scenery just became picture postcard gorgeous. As we continued on toYuma, the landscape unfolded into one breathtaking scene after another. I woke my husband up, so he wouldn’t miss any of it. On time, the train would have rolled through all this beauty in the dark.
At Yuma, immigration officials came on board and went from car to car. They stayed on board for quite some time, checking the IDs and luggage of some passengers. They seemed especially interested in two passengers, who had just boarded–a woman and a teenage boy. Both were wearing long black leather coats covered with colorful artwork on the front and back. From the time they had boarded, they had roamed the cars, going from one to another, without ever taking a seat. The officials checked the IDs of these two and searched their luggage. They spoke with them for an extended period of time. The two finally took seats at the back of our car.
Leaving Yuma, the train crossed the Colorado River and headed north into the California desert toward Palm Springs. The train dragged through the desert, stopping continuously for freights. But this desert was very different from the deserts we had traveled through the day before. We passed many citrus groves and saw many other areas of development. This desert was inhabited. It was amazing to see what a little water could do. We passed the Salton Sea on the left, which is actually a salt lake, with no outlets, and the largest lake in California, measuring 35 miles in length and 15 miles in width. Because of the salt content, surface travel on the lake is very fast. We could see campers and RVs near the shore and boaters on the water.
After they returned from breakfast, passengers in the wedding party continued to discuss the five hour delay. Instead of arriving in Los Angeles at 10:10 a.m., the train would be arriving in Palm Springs around that time. When the wedding party reported this delay to family members in LA, they offered to pick them up in Palm Springs.
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| Checking out the 112 degrees in Palm Springs. |
All morning, the desert scenery had been spectacular and even more so as we neared Palm Springs. We stared in awe at the snow covered mountains, towering above the desert, where it was 112 degrees, and the windmill farms. When the train stopped at Palm Springs, I went down to the platform. I wanted to see what 112 degrees felt like. It was hot! The Baton Rouge couple was on the platform and asked me to take some photos of them with their camera. I had my camera with me, so they took a photo of me, too.
After the wedding party got off the train in Palm Springs, our car was nearly empty. Freight traffic was still heavy, and we stopped often. But even when moving, the train was going very slow. Even now, I find it so incredible that it took us almost five hours to get to LA. When we did stop, I don’t remember being stopped for long periods of time. We wound our way around Riverside and then Ontario. Along the way, we would pass by more citrus groves and sometimes ranches. We rolled through neighborhoods and behind houses, where I found it very interesting that so many homes had washers and dryers placed outdoors on patios and porches.
It was of no concern to my family that we were still about five hours late, since we couldn’t check into our hotel until 3 p.m. It was cool and comfortable on the train, and we had access to soft drinks, coffee, snacks and lunch. It was a very pleasant ride. Coming into Los Angeles on the train from the East gave a view of the broad but irregular plain of the city and the hills rising on each side. The distant skyline looked small in comparison to the vast area of the city.
***
Now that our car had thinned out, the remaining passengers just kind of moved around in the empty seats. The teenage boy who had boarded in Yuma came back and took an empty seat across from a teenage black girl who had been traveling alone. She was seated behind my husband and daughter. This girl was the cool kid on board. She had the cool phone of the summer (2006) and a cool ringtone, which was also used for her wake-up song each morning. Her phone was a pink Razar. (yeah, I know...but it WAS cool in 2006.) And her ringtone was a hit song that year, “I’m Bossy.” Although a quiet girl, she got a lot of attention from the kids. She was one of those people who always looks stylish no matter what they are wearing–stylish in an unfussy and unstudied way.
The Yuma kid began a conversation with her that could be heard by all the remaining passengers. It was quite evident she had no interest in him, but she was polite. Then he began cussing and dropping F bombs in each sentence. We had traveled more than 2,000 miles without hearing anyone use this kind of language. Our pleasant ride had turned very unpleasant.
A few minutes later, I heard someone coming up the steps from the lower level. I looked back and there was The Refrigerator Kid. I had thought he was traveling with the wedding party and was surprised to see he was still here. He stood for a moment, surveying the remaining passengers, and then began walking toward the back of the car. When he got to the teenage girl’s seat, he plopped down in an empty seat in front of the Yuma kid. He turned sideways in the seat, leaned his back against the window and set his eyes on the girl. The Yuma kid didn’t say another word – for the rest of the trip.
Looking directly at the girl, The Refrigerator Kid asked her, “What are you going to do when you get to LA?”
“I’m going to visit some schools I’m interested in,” she answered, adding, “I just graduated from high school.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen. I’ll be 18 next month.”
“I thought you would be older than that,” he said, sounding surprised. “Do you drive?”
“Yeah,”
“Do you have a car?” he wanted to know.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“A 1998 Honda Accord.”
“Why didn’t you drive to LA?” he asked.
“My parents didn’t want me to drive on my first trip here,” she told him.
“Well, I’m not going to LA,” he told her. “I’m from LA,” he said, with emphasis on the 'from.'
“I play football at my high school, and our games our televised. They show our games on TV in LA," he said, with pride.
“Cool,” she said.
When she didn't say anything more, he tried a new approach for her interest. “I might join a gang,” he went on. “Of course, I would have to kill someone if I did.”
“You aren’t going to kill anyone,” she said, firmly, looking him in the eye.
Seeing that he had still failed to impress her, he moved on to another subject. “I think I’m going to get a tattoo when I get home. What kind did you think I should get?”
“I don’t think you should get one,” she said, disapprovingly.
At this point in the conversation, his expression changed, seemingly struck with the realization that in a few minutes this girl would be stepping off the train, and then followed by the resignation that he most likely would never see her again. She would be moving on to her college career, and he would be returning to his parents, his neighborhood, his football team and his school, and all that was a part of that. The day before, he had told some kids on the train that he was an only child and lived with both his parents. The look on his face seemed to say that he didn't want this trip to end..
An apartment complex suddenly caught his attention as the train rolled on closer to downtown LA, and he said, “There’s a ghetto. But it’s not as tough as the one I live in,” he bragged.
He had now turned his attention away from the girl and was our self-appointed tour guide. “They're filming a movie over there,” he said, pointing to a side street.
Sure enough, there was a heavy utility-type truck with a bucket extended in the middle of the street. Inside the bucket stood a man holding a camera pointed toward a house.
As the train turned toward the downtown buildings, he said, “You’ve heard of the Twin Towers and 9/11? Well, LA has Twin Towers, too. There they are. One of them is a jail, and it has a swimming pool.” (A year or so later when Paris Hilton was arrested and jailed, this information was confirmed in news reports.)
Before we left the train, I wanted to say something to The Refrigerator Kid. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. I just wanted to encourage him in some way. “Stay in school and finish high school.” “Make your grandmother proud of you.” “Stay away from gangs.....”
Then the train was pulling alongside the platform at LAX. Next to us, I saw a Pacific Surfliner, the train we would be taking to Anaheim. “Maybe we could board this one and not have to wait for another one,” I thought.
Forgetting about talking to the Kid, I grabbed some of our luggage and headed in the direction of the Surfliner. I looked back to see if my kids were following and saw the Refrigerator Kid looking toward my family...with that same wistful look on his face I had seen several times on the train, when he was around kids and their families. I looked backed toward the Surfliner, and it was moving. “Oh well, another one would be along in a few minutes,” I shrugged.
I looked back toward the Sunset, and this time I didn’t see the Refrigerator Kid. “Did you see where he went?” I asked my daughter.
“He went down the steps with his grandmother,” she said.
“I’m going to see if I can catch up with them,” I told her. “I want to say something to him.”
I ran down the steps and looked down the tunnels. There was no sign of them. I went back up the steps and told my daughter, “They must have gotten on a tram. They’re already gone.”
About a dozen of the passengers we had traveled with on the Sunset were waiting with us for the next Surfliner. As I stood there, still haunted by the Kid’s face, I wondered, “What would he have thought if I had caught up with them and said whatever I thought to say? What could I have said in a split second that might impact his life for good?” I didn’t know the answer, but I felt compelled to do something. I didn’t even know his name.
But God did. I could pray for him.
But God did. I could pray for him.
***
Riding the Rails: Los Angeles to Lafayette Part 1
It’s was nearly 11 a.m. as we arrived at the Amtrak Station in Anaheim, Calif., located behind the Los Angeles Angels’ Stadium. The temperature felt like it had already reached 90, just like it had for the last seven days of our stay. During our visit the year, also in July, the temperatures had stayed in the 70s range.
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| Waiting room at LAX Union Station. |
The air conditioning in the ticket office was welcoming, but the agent directed us to some steps outside that would take us up to the platform, where we would wait for the Pacific Surfliner that would take us back to Los Angeles Union Station. There, we would board the Sunset Limited 2 for our return trip to Lafayette, La.
Benches lined a walkway next to the station’s platform. While my husband, son and daughter walked along the platform, I sat down next to an older black woman, who was fanning herself with a wide brim brown hat that matched the lightweight floral dress that reached to her ankles. She was a thin woman, and her carefully styled hair fell just above her shoulders. She had an air of grace about her that extended to the slight movements of her hat.
Without turning toward me or smiling, she said, “I will be so glad to get home and away from this heat.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, thinking maybe she was from the Northwest.
“I live in Oxnard,” she replied. “We are about an hour north of LA, and the weather is always wonderful. The temperature is rarely above the 70s.”
In spite of her apparent refinement, she seemed friendly. “Have you always lived in California?” I asked.
“All but the 10 years I lived in China,” she answered. “I went to China to teach English. I didn’t know a soul there, nor could I speak a word of the language of the people I was going to teach. I was supposed to teach for a year and ended up staying there for 10 years.”
We chatted about her work in China until we heard the train whistle.
As the train moved briskly toward Los Angeles, I thought about the hour and half we had spent on I-5, a few days before, crawling in the same direction. In about 20 minutes, the train pulled into LA’s Union Station. We gathered our luggage and tried to catch up with a tram, stopped near by. But it started moving before we reached it.
As we carried part of our luggage into one of the tunnels, I made a mental note: In the future, only bring luggage that has wheels. The tunnel was long, and there was no signage. When the tunnel we were walking in intersected with another tunnel, we just followed those around us and turned left. We hadn’t gone far when we came to an enclosed area that appeared to be a ticket counter. Stopping there, an agent directed us to the waiting area, just to the right.
The beautiful Spanish waiting room was large, and although without air conditioning, was still comfortable. Most of the chairs had peeling yellow leather but were still comfortable. (On a visit to the station a few years later, we found all the seats had been refurbished.) We had about an hour to wait until time to board the train, which originated at LA.
A few minutes later, the Baton Rouge couple, whom we had traveled with on Sunset Limited 1, came through the front entrance of the station and sat down near us. I asked her if she knew if The Refrigerator Kid and his grandmother had been traveling with the reunion group or wedding party on the trip out.
“He and his grandmother were traveling alone,” she said. “I didn’t know them. He was a great big kid, but he acted like a little kid a lot of the time.”
“He looked like a very lonely kid,” I said. She agreed that he probably was lonely.
As we talked, we noticed a line forming in front of the ticket counter. We gathered our luggage and joined the line. While we were waiting in line, my son told me that as soon as we were told to board, he was going to run to get the seat with the electrical outlet. We had learned on the way out that there was only one outlet in each car. (On all the trains we’ve traveled since this trip, all the seats had electrical outlets.) Some kids had the seat with the outlet on the way out and kept their techno toys plugged in all the time. We had to charge phones in the outlet downstairs.
As soon as the boarding announcement was made, my son sprinted off down the tunnel. I hoped he knew where he was going. The rest of us were moving much slower, as we lugged and rolled luggage. When I got to the train and boarded, I saw my son already seated with his headphones on and playing a DVD on his laptop. I put my luggage in the bin overhead and sat down next to him
A couple with three young blonde daughters took seats behind my family. The husband said they were from Fresno and had spent the night on a train traveling to Los Angeles. He said he was a first grade teacher, and his family was traveling with him to Orlando to attend a teachers conference. They would be taking the train to New Orleans, and then renting a car for the remainder of the trip. While in Orlando, they planned to take the girls to Disney World. All three girls, who appeared to range in age from about 4-8, were daddy’s girls and began fussing about who would sit next to daddy. He worked out a rotation for sitting with him, and the girls returned to good humor. They were all excited about riding on the train and about visiting Disney World.
A Buddhist monk sat down alone in the seat in front of my son and me. He was dressed in a garment that looked like a robe and was barefoot. He was traveling with an Asian couple who were riding in the adjoining car. The three of them were going to Houston. This couple would come back periodically and check on him. They also brought him food. The monk only left his seat to go downstairs to the restroom.
As the train began slowly moving, we retraced our route into the city the week before. When the train went by the apartment buildings that The Refrigerator Kid had called the ‘hood,’ I noticed a converted school bus sitting in the parking area. Painted on the side of the bus was ‘Dream Center.’ Nearby was a volleyball net, and a group of kids, some looked like college students, were playing volleyball. I remembered the name, ‘Dream Center’ from an episode of ‘Oprah,’ with the founders of Dream Center talking about their work with Katrina victims who had relocated to Los Angeles. I found it interesting that volunteers of Dream Center had come to the ‘hood’ to play volleyball with kids, instead of taking the kids out to another location to play.
When the train stopped at Ontario, a young couple with a tow-headed toddler boy boarded and took seats behind the Fresno Family. The husband was an Air Force pilot, stationed at Laughlin Air Force Base at Del Rio. They had traveled to Ontario to attend a wedding anniversary celebration. The wife, who was pregnant and four weeks away from her due date and not allowed to fly, had her blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. She was wearing khaki shorts and a sleeveless blue top. The couple said they had enjoyed the train trip out, and their son was very excited about riding on a train. Each time the little boy walked through the car with one of his parents, he was all smiles. Since the Air Force Couple had the last seat in the back of the car, the wife made a pallet in the extra space at the end of the car for herself and the little boy to take naps and to sleep at night. She said she had been sleeping on a pallet at home to relieve back pain.
Almost as soon as the train left the Ontario station, it stopped again, near the Ontario Airport. A car attendant had come through with DVD player rentals. The Air Force Couple rented one and so did the Fresno Family. During our two-hour stop waiting for three freight trains, they watched a movie.
In front of me, the Monk took out a small bag that held thin strips of leather. He began weaving strips of leather together. It wasn’t long before he had completed a bracelet that he gave to the toddler of the Air Force Couple. He continued to weave those thin strips of leather into bracelets. He made a bracelet for each child in our car, including my two children.
Finally, the train began moving again. It was still daylight when we reached Palm Springs, but we were already three hours behind schedule. As we moved slowly through the California desert, I lost count of the number of times we stopped for freights. After the sun went down, lights from homes and business stretched across the desert as far as I could see. Yes, this was a different kind of desert.
***
Riding the Rails: Los Angeles to Lafayette Part 2
Leaving the California desert behind, the Sunset Limited crossed the Colorado River and made its way into the Amtrak station in Yuma, Arizona. It was about 11 p.m. With the lights in our coach car dimmed for sleeping, most of the passengers were doing just that–sleeping. In the seat next to me, my son was sleeping soundly, as well as my husband and daughter in their seats across the aisle.
Behind me, the Fresno Family and the Air Force Family
had all been asleep for an hour or more. In front of me, the little Buddhist monk had stretched out across his seat and the adjoining empty seat. All around me seats were reclined for sleeping or passengers were taking advantage of an empty seat and stretched out across two seats. |
| Located between Lordsburg and Deming, New Mexico, this is the lowest elevation for a rail crossing of the Continental Divide in the country. |
Just as I was thinking I was the only passenger still awake, I saw a young man return to his seat directly in front of my husband and daughter. He was a slim young man with short neatly trimmed red hair, parted to one side. He appeared to be in his early thirties. He was carrying a clear plastic cup containing beer, which he had purchased at the snack bar. He put his cup inside a cup holder at his seat and picked up a laptop. From my seat, I could see his laptop screen and found myself looking at it with amazement. He appeared to be working with photos and videos and was applying text to them. But it was what he was doing with the text that caught my attention. He seemed to be experimenting with different formats, and at one point, he had flames of fire shooting out from the letters.
A few minutes later, a woman from the adjoining car came through on her way to the dressing room, and I followed her and removed my contacts. When I returned to the car, the conductor and car attendant were both at the seat of the creepy guy looking at his ID. Then they searched his luggage. Apparently, nothing threatening was found, and he sat down. But a few minutes later, he was up again and walked into the adjoining car. He wasn’t gone long, and when he came back to his seat, he turned slightly to look back at the red-haired guy and me. He had just sat down when the conductor returned and had another conversation with him. This continued until I fell asleep. The conductor and car attendant or both were at his seat, constantly talking to him. I never felt afraid, because I knew the conductor was keeping close tabs on this guy.
When I awoke about 5 a.m., the creepy guy’s seat was empty, and I assumed he had gotten off the train somewhere during the night. The sun was coming up as we rolled into Tucson. It was tricky keeping up with the time in Arizona, because the state does not observe daylight saving time. But when I went to the snack bar, it was open and I returned with two cups of coffee. I woke my husband up, handed him a cup of coffee and pointed out a large cactus in the desert. This was the first time we had seen large cacti on the trip. The train was still running about five hours late, otherwise; we would have sped by all this scenery in darkness.
As we passed Davis Monthan Air Force Base, we saw some of the thousands of planes which stand “mothballed” in the aircraft “boneyard,” where they are preserved by the dry desert air. This was a very interesting sight, and I was very glad the train was late, so we could see it.
A few minutes later, we reached Vail. This was the part of the trip I had dreaded on the way out, although we went through it then in darkness. It is here that two rail bridges overlap. Westbound trains take the higher bridge and eastbound trains the lower. For some reason, reading about these bridges made me fearful of them. Westbound trains begin a descent crossing the bridge, and eastbound trains begin climbing. Actually at the overlap, there was a third bridge. I don’t know why or when it is used, but none of the bridges were scary. As we crossed the bridge and started into the canyons, I could feel the train pulling–briefly. But this was the only time during the trip, I felt the train pull while it was climbing.
The train was clicking along without any stops for freights. It wasn’t long before we were back in New Mexico. As soon as we left Lordsburg, New Mexico, we began seeing billboards advertising the Continental Divide, which is crossed between Lordsburg and Deming. This is the lowest elevation for a rail crossing of the Continental Divide in the country. My husband and I began looking for the crossing. After the billboards disappeared, we figured we had somehow missed it. Then we spotted it...and laughed. There in the desert was a sign that stated “Continental Divide Elev. 4,585 Ft. And that’s all there was...just a sign.
Now that I had seen the “sign,” I returned to the snack bar for more coffee and breakfast. Most of the passengers in our car had gone to the dining room for breakfast. But our kids still preferred the snack bar, so we brought food back to our seats.
When we reached El Paso, the train had made up two hours of our schedule, so we were now just three hours behind. As the train sat in the station at El Paso, I looked out the window and saw a police car parked next to the platform. And standing on the platform, next to a young woman with long dark hair, was the creepy guy who had boarded in Yuma. Surprised that he was still on the trip, I wondered why the police were talking to him. And why was that young woman with him?
Just then the Fresno Family returned from the dining room. “Do you know why the police are talking to those two?” I asked them. “Yes!” squealed one of the little girls. “She has a snake in her bag.”
“Are you sure?” I asked in disbelief.
The Fresno mom nodded her head and said, “Yes, we saw it on our way to the dining room. She was riding in the next car and had it out, wrapped around her neck. The other passengers reported her to the conductor, and he told her to choose between the snake and her seat. She told him, ‘I choose my snake.’ So he told her she had to get off the train. Then that guy tried to defend her and they put him off, too.”
As I kept my eyes on the scene on the platform, I saw the woman take a burlap bag from her backpack and hand it to the policeman. As the the police lead the woman and the creepy guy away from the platform, I realized I had walked right by her seat on my way to the snack bar. Apparently, the creepy guy had moved into the next car during the night.
After the train wound its way out of El Paso, we were back in the West Texas desert, where we would travel the rest of the day. As we rolled through tiny towns and communities and passed by schools in the late afternoon, we could see residents walking laps around the school grounds.
Around 9:30 p.m., the car attendant came back and told the Air Force couple that the train would soon be arriving in Del Rio. As they gathered up their things, we all wished them well with their new baby and said “good bye.” Their little boy was still awake and still smiling.
As the train left Del Rio, all the passengers in our car prepared seats for sleeping, including the red-haired computer guy and me.
Jerking motions from the train, as the Texas Eagle cars were taken off at San Antonio, woke me briefly, but I was soon fast asleep, again.
Upon waking the next morning, I wasn’t sure where we were, but the scenery was green and pastoral. After I returned from the snack bar with coffee, I saw signs for Sugarland and knew we were getting close to Houston, I was pleased that we were still just running three hours behind.
At Houston, most of the passengers in our car got off the train, including the Buddhist monk. An older couple came on board with a teenage girl and helped her find a seat. It was about 8 a.m., and the girl looked very sleepy. She was carrying a bed pillow and blanket. She took a seat a few rows up from my husband and daughter and then stretched out across both seats. She pulled the blanket up around her head, partially covering her blonde hair and seemed to fall asleep, immediately. The older couple, her grandparents, told the conductor she was 15 and going to Lafayette. The conductor assured her grandparents that she would be watched closely. And she was. The conductor and car attendant checked on her frequently, while she slept.
As the train traveled slightly north from the station, we approached Houston Lake. The tracks were just above the water, and it was more than a little scary crossing the lake, with the train swaying slightly.
.
By now the only passengers left in our car, in addition to the teen girl, were the Fresno Family, the red-haired computer guy and my family. My husband and I talked to the Fresno couple about their life in California. The husband was originally from Michigan, but his wife had never traveled outside California.
Still just three hours behind schedule, I had no worries about arriving late at night at the Lafayette station. We hadn’t stopped for any freight trains all morning, and the miles were just zipping by. Pretty soon, our trip would be over. Once we were back in Louisiana, it seemed like we were just flying by all the little towns. And then it was time for me to call the owner of the shuttle service. Now I wanted to slow the train down.
Standing next to the door, as we neared Lafayette, I told the conductor, “I don’t want to get off. I don’t know when I’ll get to ride a train, again.”
“That’s the way I felt the first 15 years I worked on this train,” he said, wryly. “For the last 15, I haven’t felt that way as much.”
As the train pulled into the station, it looked much different from the day we had boarded. It was 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, and the platform was crowded with people waving and welcoming the train. I don’t know if most of those people were there to board the train for New Orleans or if some passengers were getting a huge welcoming party.
The shuttle owner was waiting among the crowd and showed us to the executive car he had brought to drive us to the airport to pick up our car.
What a wonderful trip! And now we had our first 5,000 rail miles under our belt.
~~~B~~~
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