SummerRoadTrip_2012_TrainTravel

A fairly short train ride seemed like a great idea and certainly an adventure on this road trip; my Grandmother used to take me to Texas every year to see my Uncle and we traveled by train...three days from Indianapolis to Ft. Worth Texas. I was six months old when I took my first train trip cross country; I credit my Grandmother for establishing my wanderlust at such a tender age. I decided to take the train from Chicago, where I spent time with my Niece and her husband, to Elyria Ohio where I have spent the last three summers with 'My Daisies.' The only connection that would get me to my destination boarded in Chicago at 930p and arrived in Elyria at 530am....and allnighter on the train. I gave into the adventure. The kids dropped me off downtown at the old Union Station building. It is a monument to the glory days of train travel...When women in hats and gloves carried 'Jackie-O' kinda round luggage that matched the six pieces being toted by a red-capped porter who led the way to a comfortable sleeping berth. Union Station in Chicago is no longer used to ferry passengers to and fro; it is rented out occassionally for 'fancy parties' according to the bored and somewhat cynical ticket agent who checked my reservation. I stood in the doorway to the old Union Station gazing longingly from the street level balcony below to the huge terminal area with the massive marble columns. I could imagine the ghosts of travelers past as they bustled in and out of the terminal, gliding easily across the polished marble floors, hurrying to make a connection, running into the arms of loved ones who anxiously awaited their arrival, or merely hustled out into the bustling Chicago streets to earn their wage. Instead, I was gazing at an empty terminal, a few street people where littered the worn wooden benches positioned symetrically across the massive marble floor. The Glory Days of train travel are long gone. I was directed across the street to the doors marked 'Union Station Amtrak.' I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder, wheeled my carryon behind me, navigated the busy Chicago street crossing and arrived on the otherside to the 'new' terminal....no red-capped porter appeared to relieve me of my burden...as dusk settled on the city, the panhandlers, thugs, and street people came out. Before I reached the inside of the termine, two people asked me for money, one literally blocking my entrance to through the doors as she tried to explain to me she only needed 14 more dollars for a bus ticket to wherever she was trying to go. I glanced around fertively for someone to help, but realized I was on my own...I said, 'excuse me,' and stepped around her to reach the escalators down. Down int the bowels of this wretched looking terminal (why on earth did the city planners or whoever was responsible for the switch from the old Union Station to the new Union Station think this was a better idea???) and as the escalator descended, the heat hit me in the face with a rank, sweat smell. There was no air conditioning, there was no natural light, it is dirty, smelly, and teaming with greasy looking travelers. I stood - probably looking downright disgusted - for several minutes, looking around trying to get a handle on where I was supposed to go.....I stood long enought for the next grifter to realize he might have a sucker in me since I looked lost ...he approaches me (I was wary because alas there was no redcap)and startes complimenting me on how I looked, blah blah blah...then asks me to purchase his ticket for such and such a place because he needs the money not the trip blah blah blah...by now I'm not so civil, it's technically past my bedtime and instead of a comfortable, climate controlled envirnment with my book, I'm standing in this filthy train station surrounded by hustlers and questioning my decision to make this part of my trip by train. I let him know in no uncertain terms I wasn't interested. When this didn't disuade him,I had to get down on his level and tell him to fuck off or I would not hesitate to use the pepper spray my niece so thoughtfully made sure I had for this trip. I wound my way through the queue in front of the ticket counter and finally a tired, weary, matronly women who obviously lost interest in her job a few decades ago...asked me for my ID. She had no personality, or if she did, it left her about the same time she lost interest in her job. She printed out my boarding pass, tersely answered my questions, and called 'next' before I could even gather up my luggage and head out. I walked down the smelly hallway...the air was like a sauna and arrived at the gate designated. The 'lounge' was packed....I can't begin to describe the cacophony of sound and the variety of people...most of which looked like they came from Central Casting or a Dickens novel. I sat down, keeping my belongins close, and waited. I glanced over, and this greasy looking foreign man was staring a hole right through me...and since his eyes were not at eye level, but breast level, I got real disgusted real quick. I listened to the conductor call the cities and realized that the exceedingly long line forming an hour and a half before my train left...was for my train. And I also realized that Homeland Security was not in the least bit interested in terroism at our nation's train stations since there was absolutely no security, no full body scans, no xray machines, no one asked me to take off my shoes, and no sky marshalls to ensure my safety. I guess terrorists wouldn't consider boarding a TRAIN with a bomb and holding 400 passengers hostage at say...Grand Central Station in NYC ..which was the terminus of this trip..no, I don't see where that scenerio would be attractive to terrorists (?!?). I actually went back to the ticket counter, this time I talked with a different tired, bored, stale looking ticket agent, and asked if there was a Business Class upgrade...he looked at me with that 'who-is-this-white-women' look of bored amusement and told me there was not...no, there is no assigned seating, you board the train according to where you are getting off. So I reluctantly lined up with the rest of the weary, scruffy passengers and stood there for an hour before the line actually started to move. I kept scrutinizing my fellow travelers trying to decide which ones I would desire to sit next to (remember,I'm spending the NIGHT on this train...) and I was hard pressed to think of a solution...would it be skinny thug looking kid with his drawers hanging down past his ass and his hat on backwards? Would it be Ackmed and his son who had the turbans knotted at the top of their head and long, orthodox beards handing down their chins? Would it be Shawanda with the bad weave, leopard print bra hanging out of her halter dress and droopy but ample cleaveage popping her gum all the way to Cleveland? Or would it be the slight bent elderly lady with white hair? Please don't let it be the exhausted looking Mom with three small children who behaved as though they were raised in the woods. As we walked out of the lounge and out onto the platforms, the trains hissed and clanked on either side of me; I was reminded of the scene in the first Harry Potter movie when he travels to Hogworts for the first time. I found my car and struggled up the steep steps with my carry-ons wondering how the elderly and disabled fair on train trips...and I was handed a piece of colored paper with a number scribbled on it. I asked for a window, but was given an aisle...I went back, asked for a window and was told very curtly by the skinny porter that he didn't have time for this crap....really? I took the window seat anyway....let him cross me. I stowed my luggage and arranged my electronics (yes, theres a plug right by the seat for charging!) and a perky, young, blondish kinda pixie girl plops down next to me, introduces herself as Amy from Iowa (really? I have NEVER met anyone from Iowa in all my travels) and then promptly begins to assemble a cold meat sandwich right there on her flip down tray table (which unlike the airlines, is not required to be in the upright position for movement) explaining to me that her train was delayed several hours last night and she didn't have time to eat and would I care for a sandwich? Wow. That doesn't happen on Air Tran. So the train starts rolling, the lady across the aisle doesn't stop talking on her cell phone, the two boys in front of me never stop moving, and yes, the porter did ask me why I defied his directions and sat where I pleased (he didn't move me however because he sensed a white women on the edge), the lights in the cabin never went out and we stopped four times. I dozed intermittenly, twisted up like a pretzel and I could write several more pages describing the characters on my car alone. Sometimes its a curse being such a keen observer of humanity. As the morning light was just beginning to illuminte Lake Erie to my left, we arrived in Elyria with my Daisy Mickie patiently waiting to fetch me.....thank God, a familiar face...I vowed that if I ever decide to be adventuresome and take the train again, I will book a compartment and see if I can't resurrect a little bit of the glamour of days gone by.