Archive – Day 22
Saturday, May 01, 1993
Looking Back...
Still on the train. And still trying to be poetic about life. Kick back your feet, folks, because this is a long one. If only I had written in this much detail about New York, or Disney World, this journal might have been worth something. Instead it’s just a pretentious account of how self-absorbed I was back then. I write about how this journal wasn’t just about the trip but about me and my growth and feelings. What bunk. Who cares about that? I say I wrote it for “my future self”. Well, here’s a note from your future self. I would have been a damned lot more appreciative if you had written more about what you saw and did, instead of the internal struggles you were facing.
Prick.
The dawn of a new month, overcast, finds us somewhere in Colorado following two bands of steel westward.
Last night I saw an opportunity for a new experience, and I took it. I watched a movie in the lounge car while traveling through Illinois and Iowa, not to mention the Mississippi River we crossed over. So, I’ve watched an in-trip movie on a train.
Today is the day of our trek into the Rockies. And then tomorrow we “de-train” in the Biggest Little City in the World — Reno Nevada. So, that gives us a little over twenty-four hours left to our trip, and I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.
We should be coming into Denver within the hour. But we’re running late so it might be more like two hours. Anyway, I was thinking about the possibility of my interest from last time reboarding the train in the same town she got off at. But, I know how absurd that is, so I am not putting any great hope in that happening.
I gave the train another thorough examination, and still there are no gals my age around. Oh well, we still have Denver in which to take on passengers.
We are pulling out of Denver, ice cream resting comfortably in my stomach. I see some mountains ahead of us; they look to be rather rocky. We picked up a compliment of mostly adults in Denver.
I am supposed to be in the lounge car right now, but it is full. So I enter the Rockies in my coach seat. No matter.
I notice the same faults in the Rocky Mountains now as I did on the last trip. There are too many rolling hills and open meadows, not very rocky. It might be that they send the trains through a tame area, bypassing (or going under) the heart of the Rockies. Or it may be that the Rockies are like this; not worth the trouble of the trip.
Our Chief of on-board services looks familiar. Whether we have had him before or somebody who looks like him is on movies or television. But he does seem familiar. Maybe I’ve just seen him so much around the train that he just seems familiar. But it seems as though he was on one of our trains before.
We have a freak on the train! The person is in their early teens, gender unknown. It is adorned with a wide Mohawk and wears black leather and chains. It has several earrings, including one in the lip and one in the eyebrow. It is traveling alone and carries a pack as big as it is. All in all a strange person who is best observed from a distance. Do not feed or make eye contact.
No sign of my former object of intrigue. I guess it was only a one-day trip with her. I suppose I really didn’t expect to see her, but it would have been interesting and perhaps even an initiator for conversation between us. Just imagine — two trains, three weeks apart, and for two people to coincidentally ride them both! Just picture it. But, it was not to be. Our paths crossed once, and then split for eternity.
It is almost time for lunch. I had my first lunch on the vacation in the California Zephyr’s dining car, and so shall I have my last lunch on the vacation in the same place. So when the call is made I will go and I will enjoy, and I will realize that our grand adventure is nearing its end.
Nearing, but not arrived. We still have about twenty-three hours (counting the time change) until our de-training in Reno tomorrow morning. I know I will not want to get off but I have no choice. Real life is waiting for my return to grab me and pull me back in. And I will go willingly, but not without a tear for the vacation that is lost.
We are entering the canyon wherein I found my contentment last time. It retains its beauty without her presence, but I cannot help to think back to that day three weeks ago.
I just had my lunch, good as ever. And I met some people from Pittsburgh who are going to Las Vegas for the first time. They were remarking on the Rockies exactly the opposite from how I was. They sang its praises, which is no surprise since they’re from Pennsylvania. But if only they could see the Sierra. Or the Cascades. Oh, how their wonder would swell up within them until they had no choice but to dismiss the Rockies as puny mockeries as I do. And even the Canadian Rockies would cause them to adjust their thinking and see these mountains as what they really are; famous and beautiful yet no match for competition.
The term “muddy Colorado” is not often heard. Yet here it is. The Southwest’s mightiest river, brown under a blue sky. What vile sources create such a monster? And what wholesome cleaning does it undergo to bring out its luster at later times in its course?
Now the Colorado seems to have begun its cleansing and the parts of it where the sky is reflected are almost blue. Note I say almost. Its muddy complexion has not yet vanished, but it is losing ground to reflections in certain, calmer, areas.
We have now come back into the Pinenuts, which I believe are the transition from the Rockies to the Utah deserts. Luckily I believe that the sun will have set before we reach any tremendous desert activity. If not I can always sleep, resting up for the arduous week ahead of me.
This journal was supposed to be not only a chronicle of the trip but also a chronicle of me. That is why I wrote it in secret code. So I could talk freely about things. So I could be assured that only I could read it, and therefore I could open up more. It is an accurate record of my thoughts during these happy times, two months before graduation yet only the beginning of my life. It is done to preserve myself for my future self, so looking back I can see how foolish or wise I used to be. And also it is to help me in the present sort through and better understand what I am feeling and why. It is the same reason that I keep a journal at home of day-to-day feelings. It is for the benefit of present and future, and thanks to the code it can be as personal as I wish it. It is my legacy, left by the present self who is passing, for the future self who is developing. It is better than any picture or video. This is me. This is who I am, who I never was and will never be again.
My seat is broken. If you lean on it it goes all the way back. If not, it comes all the way up; there is no in-between. Varying degrees of pressure will set it at varying angles, but nothing short of rust will get it to stay there. Damned contraption.
Ah, mild excitement on the train. Some loony missed his stop and decided (in his infinite wisdom) to jump out the door and walk back. Well, he was stayed from his purpose by the ever-obedient Amtrak employees, and subsequently carted off by the Glenwood Springs sheriff. His plan was good in theory, but I think that at the speed the train was traveling it would have fallen apart on him. His is a case of poor planning.
We are now (a while ago, actually), leaving the Rockies and entering the Utah deserts. They are the same ones that caused me so much upset last time. This time, thankfully, we are passing through most of them at night. The only good I can remember coming of the desert last time is that it was where I developed my interest in the unknown passenger.
A note: my mind has not been constantly engrossed with this girl throughout the entire trip or the entire day. But traveling through these areas brings her to mind, being the only girl that I can still remember. She also reminds me of the importance of taking opportunities as they come and not relying on the elusive second chance. I might have missed out on making a friend in Denver.
I just had dinner, also in the dining car. Amtrak food is filling, if you can find something good, but the steward is a bit slow in collecting payment. It takes longer to pay for your food than it does to eat it. But the chicken kiev was surprisingly good. Likewise with the mashed potatoes and the dinner rolls (salad is basically the same anywhere you go). All of it was quite delicious and an all together good meal, at ten dollars a head.
The sun is setting over the western frontier. Actually it has another hour to go, but eventually it will set and when it does it will be over the western frontier.
Later — the sun is about to set, and, just as I said, it is over the western frontier. The last sunset of the trip.
I have been content sitting here listening to the conversations of my fellow shipmates. I can’t remember, nor do I want to remember, what they have been talking about, but it is all intriguing enough to occupy me for these late hours of the night.
The movie for tonight will be “Sneakers”. That is why I am sitting here writing instead of watching the movie. I don’t want to see that movie, so I won’t watch it.
The sun has set. And dark is rapidly descending. Actually dark is descending even more rapidly because they have turned off the lights in our car. Why they would do such a thing at so early an hour (eight o’clock) I cannot know. It gets earlier and earlier every night. But, since this is the last night of the trip, it shouldn’t be a bother anyway.
It’s late at night, all is dark. The only existence is what is inside the train car; all else is black. Our last night on vacation, spending it on a train in a seat that is broken.
Returning home is always a bittersweet time. The end of vacation, a cease to the wandering, no new horizons every day, just back to the same drudgery. The daily routine must be relearned and reprogrammed so that we can trudge through our empty lives without giving it much thought. Reentering the rat race is a necessary evil, as is waking up at six AM and trying to get enough sleep in one night to carry you through the next day. Vacation is carefree. Vacation has none of these worries. On vacation you can wake up just in time to see the sights and let the maid do all the housekeeping. Vacations are beautiful. If only all life could be a vacation.
But everyday life has its own advantages, too. Confidence in knowing what the next day will hold, the comfort of sleeping in a familiar bed; seeing your friends every day in the same places and knowing they will be where you expect them to be.
Yes, as beautiful as vacation may be, normal life is just as beautiful. If played correctly it can be full of as many twists, turns, excitement and glorious tribulations as the wildest vacation.
But, the key part is to play it right. That is what I am trying to do. To learn on vacation things which can better my own life. And soon comes the testing grounds...
