| That evening, my sister-in-law gave me another ride to
the Amtrak station in downtown Omaha. Outside, it was raining like
crazy. The gas stations in Omaha listed "plus" gasoline as cheaper than
regular unleaded. She explained the plus was Ethanol, very popular
in Nebraska. The rain let up by the time I unloaded my bags. The station
was remarkably like a small bus station, with hard plastic chairs set in
rows. Posters advertising Amtrak's sleeping cars were on the walls. A TV
on the wall was showing the Emmy awards. My train was supposed to arrive
at 10:19. I was pulling on my backpack when the conductor announced a 20-minute
delay. At 10:50, it began to rain again. Watching down the tracks, I saw
when the red lights came on at a crossing about a block away. Moments later,
the California Zephyr appeared. The conductor walked down beyond the platform
and took off his hat to salute the engineers in the inbound Zephyr, his
tribute illuminated in the golden drizzle as the train pulled into the
station. About 20 people, including me, got on board, mostly middle-aged
folks with a handful of people under 40, including a tidy Mormon family
of six. I stowed my Alice pack in the shelves on the lower deck and went
upstairs. There was a young, blonde woman who talked on her cellphone the
whole time we were waiting for the train. When we boarded, she looked very
confused. "I'm supposed to be in a sleeper car," she said. "I'm supposed
to meet somebody in a sleeper car." I last saw her, cellphone in hand,
heading forward to the next car with her luggage trailing behind her. I
found a window seat on the south side of the train. There were enough seats
on the coach that everyone got two seats to themselves.
At 11:30, the train began moving. My window rolled past
dark, boarded-up buildings –ghosts of another era. Downtown streets were
vacant that time of night, watched over by the emotionless glowing eyes
of streetlamps. The train was oddly quiet as we rolled along through neighborhoods
and sleepy, rainy streets. A lady came by handing out pillows from a big
sack to passengers. One woman asked for one, "unless you run out." The
lady waved that off with a smile, insisting there were plenty of pillows
to go around. Each pillow had a soft, disposable cover. The conductor kept
insisting we would be "on time to Denver." A lady behind me started eating
what sounded and smelled like caramel corn. As we moved through the city,
life stirred in wet parking lots: trucks lining up for midnight runs and
morning deliveries. We picked up speed as we left Omaha. I could hear the
moan of the whistle as dark trees, houses and parks sped by. I wondered
what they must look like in the light of day, and how they touched the
lives of the people that lived there. To the west, clouds lurked low to
the ground, revealed by the pinpricks of a thousand streetlamps. We passed
a freight train headed east on a parallel track– dim squares of light from
our windows sped across the cars before it disappeared into the night behind
us.
We rolled into Lincoln, Nebraska at 12:40, passing a
big stadium with a "national champions" banner on the side. Several people
got on at Lincoln. A brunette girl in a grey hoodie got off, and was replaced
by a guy in a red hoodie. It looked like more people got on board, but
I think some of them were just moving from different cars. On the platforms,
smokers were taking hurried puffs. (The Zephyr was a non-smoking train.)
We pulled out of Lincoln at 12:55. I figured Nebraska at night was something
I could sleep through, so I closed my eyes and tried to nap. I woke up
at 1:30 and realized we weren't moving. We may have been in Hastings, Nebraska,
or just stopped on a siding. No lights were visible outside, but I did
see another freight train speed past. At some point in the night, I lost
my little train pillow, but I still had the red throw pillow. At 2 AM Nebraska
time, it was midnight in Nevada. Burning Man had begun. I fell back asleep.
I decided it wasn't light or heat or cold or noise that kept you awake
on a train– it was position, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep
in. The seats were wide with plenty of leg room, and went back like recliner
chairs, but they weren't beds. However, I knew if I was tired enough, I
could sleep pretty much anywhere. I remember waking up about 3 AM , and
again at 4 AM in some little station somewhere. At some point, I woke up
to see the constellation Orion perfectly framed in my window– unless I
dreamed that. I curled up into a ball and went back to sleep.
Passing cornfields
I woke to see low clouds of somber blue and grey hovering
over a featureless plain. It was 6:45, Monday, August 28th. I felt
pretty good. I think I got about five or six hours of sleep, all together.
The sky quickly brightened over a sandy prairie. Cows appeared. I went
to the restroom on the lower deck. It was like a Disneyland ride for peristaltic
motion. I thought I locked the door behind me, but some girl almost walked
in on me. I filled up my canteen from the water dispenser. The seat I'd
spent the night in developed a squeak, so I contemplated changing seats.
Every little sound carried all over the car. We were zooming westward towards
Colorado, but I saw no mountains ahead. Only brightening sky behind us.
The lady across the aisle from me was spread out across two seats. She
slept all night, surrounded by pillows. On the floor in front of her was
her purse and open handbag in full view. She slept completely secure all
night. The ride felt smooth. You don't realize how much the train is really
moving beneath you until you look through the windows into the car ahead,
and see it bouncing all over the place. That's when you realize you must
be bouncing all over the place, too.
Cornfields the size of small towns rolled past. The corn
stalks were tall, but not quite yet ready for picking. Blue sky appeared.
We went through a dusty little farming town. Signs on buildings were in
English and Spanish. At 7:25, we rolled to a stop in Ft. Morgan. We were
in Colorado. We were also on Mountain Time, which meant it was 6:25 local
time. We only stopped for a couple of minutes, to pick up one passenger,
and then we were on our way. I sent people text messages about where I
was, but so much of the train route was out of service. I turned my cellphone
off for most of my trip. The rising sun turned everything golden. Sleepy
cows lounged in feed lots. Others tried to graze on the sparse prairie.
Still no mountains. I opened up my supply of beef jerky and had breakfast.
The Zephyr slowed to a crawl along some crop land. Finally, an eastbound
freight zoomed by as we meandered through a dusty farming community. Once
the freight was past, we picked up speed again. Off to the left, a descending
passenger jet paced us before heading off to the west. That, and a passing
suburb, told me we were closing in on a big city. One housing addition
advertised: "Single-family homes from the 200's!" Suburbs surrounded us.
A guy on a cellphone across the aisle estimated we were about a half-hour
out of Denver. Another jet passed overhead, headed northwest. A friend
sent me Gerlach weather for the week: 96 that day, then 80's and 90's the
rest of the week.
Denver train station platform
Suddenly, off to the right, shadowy mountains appeared
in the distance. Clouds crowned the peaks. Denver spread out around the
mountain's base. Shiela, the conductor lady, announced the dining car was
open. They were taking table reservations. The snack bar opened up right
after that. We pulled into the Denver station at 8:42, Omaha time. I got
out and walked around the platform of the Denver station. The conductors
repeated that everyone should stay close to the train, so that nobody would
be left behind when we pulled out. Back on board, I moved to a seat that
didn't squeak. Two guys and a girl, all with what sound like British accents,
got on board at Denver and took seats behind me. They were loaded down
with camping equipment, carrying backpacks on the backs and chests. As
soon as we pulled out of the station (about 9:25 Omaha time), they were
all fast asleep. I went forward to the observation car. Windows in the
roof offered great views all around. Seats were positioned so that you
could face out towards the view. The snack bar was on the lower deck of
the observation car. I got some chips and a soda ($3.50). There were a
pair of couples ahead of me, having cereal for breakfast but planning lunch
reservations in the dining car. "We're gonna enjoy ourselves!" one lady
said. Relaxing back in my seat, my feet propped up, enjoying my chips and
soda pop on ice, I felt very rich and upper-class. Before drinking my Pepsi
I allowed it to "breathe."
|
I started to take a picture of the mountains, but my
camera batteries died just then. I had some spares in my backpack. As I
was digging them out, a slim brunette girl waited for me to get out of
the way so that she could dig something out of her backpack. The train
began turning into a series of switchbacks as it worked its way up into
the Rockies. As we climbed higher, I saw expensive houses dotting the sides
of the mountains. Each of them had huge windows for the spectacular view.
Looking ahead, I followed the line of tracks as they circled around a shallow
valley and into– a tunnel. I wished I'd had someone to share that moment
with. The Zephyr went through about 20 tunnels in the next 15 minutes.
If the windows had been opened, I could've touched the passing moss-covered
stone without even leaning out. We passed some breath-taking views. Pinnaces
of rock shot up all around us. I looked into the observation car, but it
was standing-room only in there. Lots of people were taking pictures. Actually,
a retired couple came back from the observation car. They said the seats
weren't comfortable enough. It was an absolutely gorgeous day: pearl-white
clouds lounged about in a baby blue sky. |
We passed a couple of tiny communities nestled way up deep
in the woods. A dozen or so tiny houses would be clustered around a stream
of clear, sparkling water that churned and rushed eastward down the mountainside.
I learned that between Denver and Winter Park, the north side of the train
seemed to have the best views– at least until Tunnel 20. With little warning,
the train plunged into another tunnel... that just seemed to go on and
on. We were in the Moffat Tunnel, 6.2 miles long. Before they built it,
trains took a whole extra day to go through the Rockies. It took us over
10 minutes to go through. When we emerged back into sunlight, we were in
Winter Park, Colorado. That was where I got a text message from Anne, my
friend who was giving me a ride from Reno. She was on her way to Reno to
spend the night.
It took about two hours to get to Winter Park from Denver.
There were wildflowers everywhere. The hills were carpeted with tall, straight
trees. The train followed the Fraser River down into Fraser Canyon, which
had some amazing views. Here, the river alongside the train ran westward,
all the way to the Pacific. We saw deep canyon walls with lush foliage
and dramatic rock formations. A few trees looked like they were already
turning for the winter. A golf course suddenly appeared on the far side
of the river, fountains of water spraying from the sprinklers. We arrived
at Granby, "the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park." The train only
stopped for a couple of minutes so that a few people could get off. The
conductor said we'd be passing through some special canyons ahead, canyons
with no roads in or out; the only way to see them was by train. Horses
grazed in an emerald green field. Downstream, the river widened, and the
mountains opened up into a wide, green valley. I saw two men fly fishing
in a shallow stream. The train slipped alongside the river, with little
or no noise inside the cars.
Rocky Mountains
| A guy walked down the aisle with a hoodie that
read "Alternative Tentacles." The woman in the seat in front of me would
not stop talking. I don't mind people talking, or even a running commentary
on the view, but this person was the champion of stating the obvious. "Look,
a road!" she'd say. "This is a canyon!" This went on for several miles,
until her son gave her a printout from some Internet website. "Here, read
this. It's interesting." That kept her busy for a while. Behind me, the
British girl woke up and nibbled on a sack of potato chips. She pronounced
"cops" like "cups." It was lunchtime, so I treated myself to a microwave
cheeseburger and a beer from the snack bar ($9.50). All the observation
car seats were taken, so I took it back to my seat. Outside, clouds masked
the sun as it climbed ever higher. The train came to a stop beside the
river, sunlight sparkling on the rushing water. It turned out a freight
train was broken down ahead, and it was 15 minutes before we got going
again. The train came to a halt several times during the trip, to allow
others engines the right of way and to wait for other trains to pass. Squat,
stately buttes rose on either side of the river as we followed its course.
The thick coat of trees fell away to expose the dry, grassy mountainsides,
a splash of trees here and there. Dark mounts loomed ahead. The ride grew
bumpy, and the car grew silent. I read part of "The Canterbury Tales." |
 |
Near Winter Park, Colorado
 |
The canyon narrowed dramatically. The railroad tracks
snaked along the canyon wall, about 100 feet above the river. The river
itself turned into churning white water. Five men in a yellow raft prepared
to shoot the rapids far below us. The white water went on for miles. Someone
said they saw a mountain lion. Below, a man in a broad hat was making a
transit in a blue kayak. Rafting & fly fishing must be a big business
on that river. Fatigue overtook me, and I took a nap. I think I slept about
an hour. I woke to see mountains of pale sandstone. We had crossed the
river during my nap, and it ambled alongside the north side of the train.
Rich, red stone poked through the earth and mingled with
the variety of nature's colors. There was a highway running along the north
side of the canyon, which at that point was so narrow that eastbound &
westbound lanes could not run side-by-side, but tather staggered down the
walls of the canyon. At one point, the stilted highway crossed the river
above the train tracks and disappeared into a tunnel. It re-emerged when
the canyon widened further downstream. Was it still Monday? I saw a road
sign pointing to Grizzly Creek. Exit 119 led to "No Name." About seven
hours out of Denver, we stopped at Glenwood Springs. Red and green cliffs
overlooked the town, lush green grass erupting out of red earth. This was
where many people got off headed for the Aspen area. The British backpackers
got off the train here, but later the conductor found one of their bags
left behind. In the rest room, I "freshened up," then got a $1,75 Pepsi.
Heading towards Grand Junction, the mountain views were just outstanding.
I asked the conductor, "How long before we get to Grand Junction?" He said,
"That's our next stop." Um, that wasn't what I asked.
|
The land quickly turned harsh and dry. Scrub brush replaced
pine trees, and sage replaced green grass. High stone cliffs stood watch
over the rails. The afternoon wore on. We made it to Grand Junction about
4:30 local time, about 8 hours out of Denver. We only spent about 15 minutes
at Grand Junction. The conductor estimated we'd make Salt Lake City in
another six hours. Two rows ahead of me, a grey-bearded man brought his
own supper to eat. It looked like he brought an entire Cornish game hen,
with several side dishes. The conductor pointed out the stark red and yellow
cliffs of Ruby Canyon as we passed from Colorado into Utah. The late afternoon
sun shone onf fields of golden dried grass, purple hulking mountains off
on the horizon. We stopped briefly in Green River, Utah. The observation
car showed movies at night on a couple of closed-circuit TV's set in the
walls. That night's feature was "RV" starring Robin Williams. Anne sent
a text that she was in Reno, and to text her when I was getting close.
Ruby Canyon
When we pulled into Helper, Utah, the sun had already gone
behind the western horizon. The train station looked like the back alley
of somebody's garage. No platform, just a gravel road beside the tracks.
A crescent moon appeared above hard, rugged cliffs. I called home-- everyone
was worried about Tom the cat, who was very sick. I tried to nap as night
fell over Utah, but couldn't. I ended up getting another $4 beer from the
snack bar and watching part of "RV." I don't know how it did at the box
office, but everyone in the observation car was just howling. About 10:15
local time, we pulled into Provo, Utah. The tiny train station was little
bigger than an old Fotomat booth. About a half dozen people got on at Provo,
headed for Sacramento. Ahead of me, a guy was going on and on about politics.
I couldn't tell if he was talking about Ralph Nader's bid for the presidency,
or if he himself had run for president. Back towards the rear of the car,
a girl from Salt Lake was saying it was almost the size of Chicago, "but
with no night life." It was another hour to Salt Lake City, which they
did not announce when we stopped. I had been staying up to see Salt Lake,
because I'd never been there before, but there wasn't anything to see at
night. Once we were past, I settled down to try to get some sleep. I was
out within minutes.
Eastern Nevada
My watch said 5 AM, Omaha time, when I woke up. The windows
were black with night. Everyone else in the car was sound asleep. I went
to the restroom, then lied back down in my seat. The slowing of the train
woke me up again. Outside, amber streetlamps glowed over an empty station
platform. Were we in Elko? I went back to sleep... My watch said
8:15, Omaha time, when I woke up Tuesday, August 29th, which was
really 6:15 Pacific Time: we were in Nevada, but where exactly, I had no
idea. I'd slept for about seven hours– wow. There were some mountains to
the south. The Humboldt Range? I got a cup of hot tea from the snack bar
($1.75) and lounged in the observation car. Not too many people wanted
to observe the harsh plains of eastern Nevada that time of morning, but
I enjoyed myself. The rugged land and stark mountains scrolled by leisurely.
Maybe too leisurely. The train was only going about 40 MPH or so.
I thought we'd be flying down the rails once we got out of the mountains.
Trucks tripple-stacked with trailers were zooming past us on an adjacent
highway– Interstate 80? I saw an exit sign for a place called Argenta.
A blonde lady ate breakfast with a young blonde girl
called Melissa. She spoke to the lady about her "biological dad." An Elko
High School bus sped past. The slim brunette girl wrote in a journal. A
big guy with what looked like prison tattoos on his neck and up and down
his arms turned out to be a Woody Guthrie fan. A black bird, maybe a raven,
flew alongside the train, keeping pace with the observation windows. Wispy
clouds, like strands of angel hair, drifted overhead. We traveled through
a broad valley. Stubborn, lime-green brush poked its way out of pale, cracked
earth. The conductor announced we were running a little behind schedule
because of a slow-moving freight train ahead on the tracks. He estimated
two more hours to Winnemucca. I sent Anne a text, but I don't think it
got through. So much of the train route is outside cellphone service. I
got a Pepsi. We passed a pond beside the tracks, white birds with long
necks were bathing themselves. Two hours later, we seemed to be going even
slower. There was a brilliant blue sky outside. I would've enjoyed it a
lot more if I really didn't need to be someplace as soon as possible. There
was a sandy, craggy range to the south. It was going on 9 AM local time,
and we weren't even to Winnemucca yet. The train picked up speed, briefly,
then slowed back down again. Across the aisle from me, a redheaded girl
dozed in her seat.
At 9:20 local time, about the time we should've been pulling
into Reno, we arrived at Winnemucca, Nevada for a 10-minute stop. Smokers
on board took the opportunity to vigorously puff away outside. The station,
which is on Railroad Street, was more like a little bus stop; there is
no other structure anywhere near it. In no time, the conductor called "All
aboard!" and we were off again. After a while we finally started picking
up speed. I went to the observation car to read for a while. I finally
got through to Anne. She said that because of the time, she could go to
the store for the both of us so that we could head out as soon as I got
to Reno. She just wanted to get to the playa before dark. My "penance"
for making her wait for four hours was to help her put up her tent when
we got there. I apologized for the train being so late, and she said, "No
worries!" Trucks over on the highway were still going faster than the train.
At 11:20 local time we passed the town of Lovelock. Passengers dozed all
around me, but I couldn't sleep. I was too excited. Dry lake beds passed,
ringed with scrubby brush. Ahead, the train had to stop again –in Fernley!
We actually stopped in Fernley, on the road to Burning Man. I wanted to
see if the conductor would just let me out there. At 1:35 local time, four
hours late and 40 hours after leaving Omaha, we finally arrived in Reno!
I lugged my bags upstairs, which was where I met up with Anne. She was
so patient to wait so long for me. We loaded up her little car as quickly
as possible. I still ended up with bags on my lap, but I didn't care. We
both just wanted to get on the road to the playa. |
One
of the tenets of Burning Man is radical self-reliance. A
person must take personal responsibility for himself on the playa. I couldn't
count on any help with my stuff. I had to plan on carrying everything
I brought. Therefore, I could only pack what I could carry. Packing like
that forces you to make your baggage as light as possible, to choose only
what you absolutely need. Taking both a plate and a bowl,
for example, seemed excessive, so I packed the bowl; it was the smaller
of the two. The goggles, hat and bandanna were essential for living in
a desert for a week. Baby wipes were for cleaning up without having use
precious water. The notebook was pocket-sized. The bag o'gifts... I hoped
would be well-received.
