One of my friends is currently about half-way through a 40-hour train trip. She’s traveling by Amtrak from her home in the Pacific Northwest to see a family member in Arizona.
When I think of train trips, especially those that take place in the dark of night, I immediately think of “City of New Orleans”. The Arlo Guthrie version. It’s a song full of melancholy and the disappearance of a way of life.
I texted my friend and asked her if her trip was inspiring her to think of the song, “City of New Orleans”. She said “nope”. I texted song lyrics to her, in the hopes of getting a good ear worm going. Her response was that she was not really familiar with the song. What. The. Hell.
I was frantically texting about this song, hoping to get a partner for this trip down memory lane. No such luck. So I, all-by-my-myself thank-you-very-much, veered off into another memory that involved travel through the dark night.
In the 1980’s, my late husband Charly drove from our home in Lexington, Kentucky to Wichita, Kansas. A long boring story why he did that, but he was just planning to be gone a couple days. I got the (harebrained) idea to take a bus from Lexington to Wichita and ride back with him. It sounded romantic.
So I did. A friend dropped me off at the bus station in Lexington in the early-afternoon. I bought a one-way bus ticket to Wichita, a trip that with transfers would take about 18 hours. I brought a small bag with two books, some soap and a washcloth, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. Charly had taken my clothes with me in the car when he left, so I was able to travel lightly.
It was October, so it got dark around 6:00 pm and we rode for several hours through the night. Many of the stops were local — pulling into small towns and dropping off or picking up people at gas stations or in front of supermarkets. One of my seat mates for many miles was a young man visiting from Australia, seeing the USA by bus.
The bus arrived at the bus station in St. Louis in the late-evening. I remember it distinctly because one of the World Series games was just finishing up — one between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Kansas City Royals. A “local” series as it were. The series was on bar TV’s and was even being played over the PA system. The mood in the St. Louis bus station was electric. Really.
I left the charged atmosphere in St. Louis, and headed along, still in the dark, on the bus to Kansas City. I knew that I would have to change bus terminals in Kansas City, but the ticket agent in Lexington had assured me that the terminals were adjacent. He was either mistaken or lying. I choose to believe the former (see reference to “bumpkin” below).
We arrived in downtown Kansas City about 3:00 am. I departed the bus, and asked an agent which door I should exit to walk to the other bus terminal. He looked at me aghast and (kinda rudely) informed me that the other terminal was a few miles away.
Well then. I’m sure I probably cursed. But then I went to the restroom and made good use of the toiletries I had stashed in my bag. I must have figured that if one were to navigate finding a bus station at 3:00 am in Kansas City, one might benefit from fresh breath and a clean face. The restroom, by the way, was only the second nastiest I have ever seen.
With my clean teeth and fresh face (looking, I am sure, like a big bumpkin), I went outside and found a cab. I gave Cab Driver Lady my destination. We pulled up in front of the terminal at about 3:30 am. Cab Driver Lady took a long look at the entrance — it had a sign that said it didn’t open until 4:00 am. Cab Driver Lady turned in her seat, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’m not leaving you here”. She then turned off the taxi’s meter and we sat and visited until the doors opened. I wish I could recall what we talked about. All I remember is that it was an incredibly generous gesture on her part — and hopefully I tipped handsomely.
The rest of the trip was uneventful — well, except for the part where the bus arrived in Wichita and I caught a glimpse of Charly waiting for me at the station. I was pretty excited to see him, pointed him out to my seatmate, and told her that I had traveled by bus all night to get here. Her question was thoughtful, “When did you last see him”? I am sure she expected a response like “6 months”, or “2 years”. My response was “the day before yesterday”. I am positive that I saw the following in the thought bubble over her head.. “This chick’s fresh clean face made me think she’s a bumpkin, but now I am certain of it”.
Train travel. Bus travel. Travel by camper van. It’s all different ways to do more than just get from Point A to Point B. It’s slow travel — often done for economic reasons, but also, as in the case of my currently-rail-riding friend, it can be a choice. It lets us experience a little part of our world. And I think it makes good memories.
NOTE: For those of you who are also unfamiliar with “City of New Orleans”, here is a link to the lyrics.
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/arloguthrie/cityofneworleans.html
NOTE2: Many thanks to my friend Kathleen for allowing me to use her train pictures.
I especially enjoyed this story about your adventure in my home town that 1) does sport attractions other than it’s less-than -seemly bus terminals, 2) the reference to that awesome world series (KC won), and 3) the good heartedness of your cab driver (Midwesterners really are kind folks).
P.S. Your friend may not have gotten the ear worm, but I did!
Ear worm here. One of my favorites! So enjoyed your blog, Eileen.
Ear worm here…I’ll probably have that song in my head all day now…LOL. Nothing wrong with slowing the pace and taking a road trip…even the scenic route…like our trip in IL for me to show you that cemetery on the side of a hill.