[title type="h5"]Saturday, March 15, 2014.[/title]
Up at a quarter to six, away from the Cool Water Ranch at half past the hour, and at Union Passenger Terminal a little after eight. Mary Ann and I are off to Los Angeles on The Sunset Limited. If all goes well, this oldest name train in America will take forty-five hours to deliver us to Los Angeles Union Station, and we will begin a five-day visit to Jude, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's parents. I have not yet met the latter.
Except to those who don't know of my love of the rails, the peculiarity of this journey is not that I am going this way, but that Mary Ann is me. On more than a few occasions, she has said that she won't take the train anywhere anymore. But just because MA issues a strongly stated position doesn't mean that she will or she won't follow it.
The train plan came up many months ago, when I agreed that it had been too long since I last visited Jude on his home turf. Originally, the itinerary was a very long circumnavigation of The West on its highly scenic train routes. I had to postpone that plan when the NOMenu.com website rebuilding ate me alive.
Now that things have returned to normal, I could revive the trip plan, if in an abbreviated form. As before I had no expectation that either of the Marys would join me. It's difficult to say which of them hate trains more. But something about the idea of watching the Southwest flash by touched Mary Ann's wanderlust, and eclipsed her disdain for my magic carpet made of steel.
That didn't keep her from enumerating all her objections to train travel. As late as this morning she, was still weighing her options. That's her all over.
[caption id="attachment_41650" align="alignnone" width="480"]
New Orleans Union Passenger Terminal. [/caption]
But when the train started moving at nine, she was sitting across from me in our sleeping car compartment, staring at me with a smile that said, "See the sacrifices l make for you?"
The travel began with a minor disappointment. The Sunset Limited's dining car does not serve breakfast upon departure from New Orleans. Seems to me that nine a.m. is well within the range of breakfast time. Oh, well. We signed up for the first lunch service at eleven, and turned our attention to the first point of interest along the long route: crossing the river on the Huey P. Long Bridge. That is a dramatic experience. The Huey was until a few years ago the longest railroad bridge in the world. When you're in a train climbing or descending, before you reach the part where the automobile lanes rise to meet the tracks, you can't see anything below the train on either side. It feels as if it were flying.
[caption id="attachment_41651" align="alignnone" width="480"]
The view of the river from the Huey P. Long Bridge's railroad span.[/caption]
Once we safely landed in the woods and cane fields along US 90, we were enveloped by a steady, light rain from overcast skies. They would increase throughout the rest of the day. This gloom was made even less appealing once we penetrated the bayou country southwest of Thibodaux. This is home for the offshore drilling industry, whose detritus creates what may be the ugliest passages in America. This is one of the great drawbacks of train travel. Heavy industry, junkyards, cigarette and beer stores, poor residential areas adjoining even poorer ones. Mary Ann seems to spot every dog tethered to a short leash in every tiny backyard--a sight that tears her heart open.
Part of the dreariness owed to the train's vantage point. You see tha backs of houses, businesses and shops. Our own backyard is embarrassing too. But. . .
We left the worse of this behind once we were past New Iberia. Which has a strange feature: the trains--both our snazzy passenger carrier and long freight trains with their tanks carrying who knows what--run for a few blocks right in the middle of a street lined by houses and stores. "Street running" is what this is called, and it's almost unheard of anywhere else in America.
Lunchtime. For me, a salad whose characteristics would become very familiar during the next eight days. You get one just like it with every lunch and dinner. I also had a bowl of chicken and vegetable soup with dumplings. This was much better than I expected, marred only by the softness of the dumplings, which were on the verge of dissolving.
Mary Ann had an adult grilled, three-cheese sandwich. One of the cheeses was smoked, and the bread was thick and made with whole grains. Dessert was a round cheesecake whose crust was too thick and dry, but everything else about it was fine, including the blueberries on top.
The people sharing our table (a universal practice throughout the entire history of railroad dining cars) had a lot to say on one of Mary Ann's favorite topics: dogs, especially rescue dogs. We did all but share photos of each other's pooches, and occupied that table longer than the steward would have liked.
The rain increased as we traversed the cypress swamps around the Sabine River. Then we were in Texas, and would remain in that state until about this time tomorrow.
Brightening things up were entertaining announcements from John, who ran the snack bar on the lower level of the lounge car. He had the personality of an ocean cruise director, making you want to hear him say how good his pre-made turkey sandwiches were. For the duration, he called his operation "John's Place."
I headed down to John's Place for to get a cocktail at around. No martinis, he said, but he would be happy to make a gin and tonic for me. It hit the spot, priming me for a very satisfying 45-minute nap n the top bunk of our sleeping compartment.
[caption id="attachment_41653" align="alignnone" width="480"]
The Sunset Limited In Houston.[/caption]
The train continued to run on time, putting us into Houston at around six. (After taking us on a tour of the worst parts of Houston, which rivaled the junkyards earlier on.) Houston must have had a major train station in the heyday of railroad passenger travel (that ended in the 1950s), but with only the six visits a week by the Sunset Limited, it doesn't need prime real estate for the purpose, and doesn't have it.
That did not stop Mary Ann from detraining--something she would do every time the train stayed in the station for more than a minute. She doesn't like the tight confines of the train.
West we went through the knots of expressway ramps that is much of Houston. And then it was time for dinner in the diner. "Nothing could be finer!" Mary Ann snarkily texted Mary Leigh, who with The Boy is holding down the home front.
"Oh, but it could be!" said my daughter with equal sarcasm. She has sworn off train travel for life.
[caption id="attachment_41652" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Herbed roasted chicken on the train.[/caption]
However, this meal was very good. And that's without even bringing up the "good for a rolling train diner" argument. The waitress strongly recommended the salmon, pan-grilled after being rubbed with a seasoning that made it red on the outside. This was delicious, cooked to the gourmet degree of being translucent in the center. The sweet-heat flavor was thoroughly enjoyable. Well worthy of being served with a little Chardonnay.
[caption id="attachment_41654" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Spice-rubbed salmon on the Sunset Limited.[/caption]
Mary Ann enjoyed a half chicken roasted with herbs and the baked potato it came with. Our dining companion tonight--a long-term, soon-to-retire school food service manager, with a 103-year-old mother--said she traveled this train often and loved the chicken, even though she's had it so many times she was sick of it.
With dinner done, there wasn't much for us to do. We couldn't agree on an audio book or a movie. And we were pooped, after our early rising this morning. We worked out the question of who would be on top (in the top bunk, I mean). I climbed up there and went to sleep around ten. As I always do on trains or ships, I slept wonderfully all night long.
The train pulled into the San Antonio station a shade after midnight, there to conduct a complex merger of The Sunset Limited with The Texas Eagle, which had recently arrived from Chicago. The maneuver takes over an hour.
MA would not miss this opportunity to get on solid ground. And MA got off. She wandered around and discovered that the station is near San Antonio's Riverwalk. Then she found herself locked out of the train, which had begun to move. I don't know how she managed to get back aboard, and I don't think I want to know.
[title type="h6"] Yesterday || Tomorrow[/title]
