January 4, 2001
How Marie Got Her Groove Back
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Lakeshore Limited, Amtrak #49
bound for Union Station, Chicago,” came the voice over the loudspeaker.
“This train is a zero tolerance train. The next stop can be
yours.”
That, I thought, is something I won’t hear anywhere but America.
I was dead tired. I’d been planning my trip around the world for
months, but no amount of planning could prepare me for the aggravation of
quitting my job, selling my apartment, storing my entire life in a 10x10
cubicle in Jersey City, gearing up, scheduling my trip, and leaving behind my
friends, family, and beloved Manhattan for the adventure, pain, and
inconvenience of the open road. I’d been frantic for weeks, following
up on trip details, chasing down sponsors, and packing dusty books into
boxes. I visited the post office about six times during my last two days of
packing, mailing extra stuff to my Los Angeles base to sort out upon arrival.
Amtrak station in NYC
I had been getting about four hours of sleep a night as I organized,
packed, and signed over power of attorney to my attorney. My backpack was too
heavy, and the line at the post office too long. I missed my first train from
New York to Chicago by about ten minutes -- not an auspicious beginning to my trip.
Amtrak had been accommodating and kindly switched my departure date to
the following day. I found myself in a tiny sleeper compartment, attended by
a man named Wallace. Trains are relatively small in the Eastern US, due to
the constrictions of the many tunnels. My compartment consisted of two padded
chairs that converted to a bed, a top bunk, and a small video screen, showing
Chicken Run and Toy Story non-stop. There was a
flat shelf that, when lifted, converted to a toilet. Likewise, the sink
pulled down out of the wall, and when you tipped it back, the water ran out
of a drain at the rear. I stared out the window at the foot of snow and ice
that New York was under, and immediately fell asleep.
Lakeshore Limited sink
I woke up hungry, and made my way to the dining car for dinner. It was
crowded. Intimidated, I left for the cafe car, which primarily services
“coach” travelers. I bought a “Buffalo Chicken Wrap”
and sat by the window nibbling, watching the snow go by. Still suffering from
a lack of sleep, I made my way back to my compartment to watch Chicken
Run.
Five hours into my trip, as I slowly came out of my daze, I realized I
had a totally private room on the first leg of a grand tour of the world,
financed by a real estate windfall. No bills, no job, no mortgage, not even a
plant to water. I’d scored the ultimate trip. Happy for my Discman,
which I was taking no farther than California, I put on Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation, played it loud and danced around as much as my
tiny sleeper compartment allowed. Twice. What a score.
NEXT: Amtrak’s “Southwest Chief” Superliner from Chicago to
Albuquerque.