On the Rail Again

What is it about trains? I can't say exactly. Children's eyes light up and adults wax nostalgic whenever they see one. Maybe it's that they offer some sort of connection to a past era, both personal and historical. Maybe it's the disembodied concept of "Travel." Maybe it's the comfort and ease of train travel as opposed to plane or automobile. Or maybe it's the landscape that trains typically traverse, usually more scenic and isolated than that of highways and airports. I just don't know, but I know I love them.

This past weekend, Darling Wife and I went with our two houseguests to visit some of the tourist attractions in the Bay Area. To save money and make the trip more companionable, we took one vehicle. We spent a day and night in San Francisco, hitting several sights that DW and I were very familiar with, but also taking in one or two that we had not managed to experience on previous sojourns in the city. The next day, we all travelled south to San Jose, where we paid a call on Mrs. Winchester, and then our guests continued down the coast to San Simeon, the isolated mansion of famed newspaper publisher William Randolph Hurst, while DW and I caught the train back home. How odd it was to be on a train again. . . and how wonderful.

The southern city where I grew up didn't have trains. Well, that's not exactly true. We had freight trains. I could hear them whistle as they passed by the suburb where I lived, haunting and thrilling to a small boy lying awake in his bed at night dreaming of distant lands and even more distant days. They were romantic, carrying with them an echo of Europe and Victorian industry.

Later when I was studying in the UK, I took my first train trip. I had a British Rail pass that openned the island to me, and I made frequent use of it, so much so that I was an old hand at train travel by the time I hopped back across the pond. Everything seemed so easy on the train. I'd just show up at the station, check the schedule, and go to the right platform at the right time. It required very little thought or effort. I didn't have to carry maps or directions, arrive hours ahead of time, purchase tickets days in advance - I didn't even have to check luggage. Once on board the train, the seats were usually much roomier and more comfortable than airplane seats, and there was almost always a dining car with decent, if overly priced, food, so I was never required to plan ahead or go hungry. I could read or sleep or stare out the window as sheep and stone fences sped past until the conductor notified me that we had reached my stop or I heard the announcement over the loud speakers. Then I'd jump off and start a new adventure in a new place where people spoke with different accents and dwelt beside enormous cathedrals. What could be more fun?

Later, when I'd moved to Boston, I again renewed my friendship with the train. My sister lived on Long Island at the time, and I would take Amtrak down to Manhattan and board the Long Island Railroad at Penn Station. The fast pace of the crowds and smell of pizza-by-the-slice always excited me. Sometimes I would stay in The City for an hour or a day. There was no rush. There would always be another train if I missed one. And if I didn't have time to buy my ticket at the station, I could get one from the conductor on the train, for a slightly increased price. I also regularly took the MBTA commuter rail from Boston to Salem, Gloucester, or Maine. These quick and convenient trains made getting out of the city without a car part of the fun of the escape rather than an additional hassle. I could imagine that I was Sherlock Holmes, steaming my way toward another case, or David Copperfield, about to embark on a new phase of my education.

Now that I live on the west coast, my train excursions are limited to the occasional trip from Washington, D.C. to DW's parent's house in Maryland. They are infrequent, perhaps once a year, but they are delightful. The rolling hills of the mid-atlantic region glide by the windows like a permanent green sea, and rivers with names forever connected in my mind with Civil War campaigns flow gently alongside us. And these trips carry with them the additional promise of family and home.

So as we sat there on this western train, returning to our Central Valley town, I felt the familiar rocking and listened to the perpetual rattle and chug, and a sense of pleasure and relaxation swept over me. There is just something about a train.