Donna Trussell

(Excerpts from posts on this trip, first published here in 2009. Read a different take on the trip in the February 7, 2010 Sunday magazine of The Kansas City Star, online at Journey of a Lifetime. View photographs from the trip on Flickr. For the slideshow of the photographs, click here.)

1974 in Austin, Texas: Donna Trussell, Charlton McMillan, Linda Elizondo

Long Strange Trip

At home, watching the sun rise might mean a sleepless night followed by what would surely be an achy, lethargic day. But on a train, ushering in the dawn is a badge of honor.

Most of us in the lounge car at 5:00 in the morning could not sleep in coach or even in the roomette. Our compensation was the dramatic landscape that inspired novelist Willa Cather accented by a deepening pink and coral sky.

As we awaited the opening of the dining car – and that first cup of coffee – the night conductor walked back and forth, preparing to detrain in Dodge City. To sleep, he said. “Tonight I have to do this all over again.”

Soon the tsunami of teenaged boy scouts began assembling for breakfast along with their eager leaders. These men not only agree to supervise thousands of teenagers for free, they pay a fee to camp along with them for two weeks at at the Philmont Scout Ranch near Raton, New Mexico.

Brimming with good will, one offered to pay for a fellow diner’s breakfast and another needed no prompting to share the unofficial scouting philosophy: Boys become men and men become boys.

“I used to be a Brownie,” I said to one leader. “But they never let us go camping. All we did did was sit on the grass and listen to lectures. I dropped out.”

He looked at me with sadness — but also determination — and said, “You go down to the scout headquarters in your city and you tell them you want to volunteer. It’s not too late.”

A happier group of men I’ve never seen. If America ever loses its religion, a replacement is already among us. In Raton it seemed half our little rail population walked off the train and into the wild. I felt a twinge of regret that I couldn’t go with them.

You meet such people on the train, and a better reason to ride the rails I can’t imagine. Years ago I met a British couple who wrote crossword puzzles for a living.

Today’s journey is a month-long rail adventure suggested by my best friend from college. Lindy and I are celebrating. We are both cancer survivors, and we’re taking the proverbial “trip of a lifetime”to Albuquerque, Grand Canyon, Tucson, Los Angles, Monterey, San Francisco and Chicago.

Lindy is a year out from diagnosis and I’m almost eight years, but when it comes to cancer and friends, it all comes out in the wash.

Accompanying us is Lindy’s 12-year-old son Danny and his best friend Montana, 13. Danny, Montana and Lindy started in New York City. After a 24-hour pit stop in Kansas City, we four — along with a platoon of boy scouts — boarded the Southwest Chief on July 15.

Around Raton the landscape takes on the colors red, green and sage. Soon we see jagged, cubistic granite and limestone that bear witness to the geologic feature known as the Rio Grande Rift.

Lindy sees the Sandia Mountains coming into view, and Albuquerque just beyond.

Desperately Seeking Williams

Near the New Mexico-Arizona border, big red cliffs appeared and the sun began to set — a show that lasted three hours.

On this leg of the journey, our foursome got split up. My seatmate was a mathematics teacher who seemed amiable enough, but the lounge car’s big windows were calling.

As the train neared Flagstaff, I struck up a conversation with a man who claimed he lived on the train. He would get off now and then to do the odd construction or janitorial job for a relative, but he had no interest in settling down or giving up his whiskey flask.

He was, however, beginning to feel the effects of his lifestyle. He pointed to a corner of the lounge car. “I slept there last night. These young kids have no problem, but I’m 32, and I’m getting too old for this.”

Before I could ask more questions, Montana came running with the news I was to gather my belongings. “We’re getting off the train,” he said.

“But this is Flagstaff,” I said. “We get off in Williams.”

“Lindy says to come right now.”

My lounge car companion was sorry to see me go. “Awesome talking to you,” he said. He was getting off in Flagstaff for a smoke break, so he stood in the clogged stairwell. Montana was right behind him. Lindy was already downstairs with her luggage.

“I think Lindy is wrong,” I said. Montana shrugged. The car attendant seemed fine with our exit. She mumbled something about a shuttle to Williiams.

So out we went — two middle-aged women with six heavy suitcases, assorted tote bags and two kids tumbling out of the train. In the chaos of passengers leaving to smoke or greeting family and friends, one of our bags had disappeared. After a panic, we found it. Fully restored, we ran as fast as our luggage would allow.

Sunset as viewed from the lounge car of the Southwest Chief

At the end of the train, we found the conductor. Gasping for breath, I said “Where’s the shuttle to Williams?”

“Williams? What are you doing out here? Get back on the train! That’s the next stop.”

The platform looked empty of people by then, so again we were running at a good clip. My arms ached. I wondered if this manic luggage hauling was a foreshadowing of things to come. (It was.)

My smoking friend laughed as we heaved our six suitcases back on. “I’m gonna buy you a drink,” he said.

As good as his word, the man emerged from the lounge car stairwell with a half bottle of red wine and a plastic cup.

“Cheers,” I said.

I got just a few sips of wine under my belt when the loudspeaker announced Williams Junction. I went downstairs and looked out the window on the train door — nothing but the blackness of night.

“Middle of nowhere,” the conductor said. “You don’t want to be stuck out there without the bus.”

“Oh no! What if the bus doesn’t come?” I asked.

“It’s already there,” he said quietly. Nice little North by Northwest scare, Mr. Conductor. Fun while it lasted. Well, we all do what we can to break up the tedium of our jobs.

We boarded the Greyhound bus bound for Williams, Arizona. The only light we could see was the bus headlights.

~ ~ ~

(Read a different take on the trip in the February 7, 2010 Sunday magazine of The Kansas City Star, online at Journey of a Lifetime. View photographs from the trip on Flickr. For the slideshow of the photographs, click here. Video below is made from photos taken on the eastbound California Zephyr, set to the song “Train Dream” by Canadian singer-songwriter Allen Dobb.)