Over the last few days, I’ve had train travel on my mind. I’ve been working on my sequel memoir, writing about the summer of 2015. That year, for the first time, I went by Amtrak on my solo journey. The summer before, I’d had my longest road trip ever to northern Michigan and it would be a while before I wanted to drive a great distance again. What if I let someone else navigate — so I wouldn’t get lost?

I always liked taking my solo journey to new places. I’d never been to New England and had read about a historic train hotel, The Hotel Coolidge in White River Junction, Vermont. They had several beds earmarked for Hostelling International (HI) travelers. Since I’d stayed in a couple of their hostels, I felt comfortable booking a few nights there. My plan was to rent a car and see as much of the area as possible in four days. I could deal with rural lanes and small towns much better than traveling interstates and busy cities.

My interest in train travel started when I was a girl. When we stopped at a railroad crossing and I saw the cars speed past with passengers facing forward and some facing back, I wondered where they were headed; was it a fun vacation or maybe a family reunion or maybe they’d been called home for an emergency; I’d never know.

When I planned my solo journey for July of 2015, besides seeing New England, I would get to stop in NYC and visit my son, Ross. It would be great to visit with him and to break that long train trip into two parts. I’d board in Durham on Friday morning at 9:37 and pull into Penn Station in NYC at 8:37. After visiting with Ross for the weekend, I’d board the Vermonter train on Monday morning at 11:30 and arrive at White River Junction at 6:15. It would be a lot of riding, and some people wondered why I didn’t just fly. But going by train, like by automobile, you got to see all the communities between here and there. It provided a different experience from the quick transition to a new city by air with no understanding of the places you flew over.

That Friday, the Car Attendant announced we’d have a full train. He wasn’t kidding as the next stops picked up a Little League team going to a Washington Nationals baseball game in DC and then a family headed to Philadelphia for a family reunion. It was interesting seeing all the ‘types’ of people who rode on trains, some who often took the Carolinean and others excited to ride for the first time. Wedged into my window seat, my belongings close beside me since the storage compartments had filled, I watched as we passed the small communities that had developed near the tracks. The rocking motion of the train became soothing after I’d gotten used to it. The loud sound of the train horn as it approached was overwhelming if you were near the tracks, but inside the car, it was muffled and became a familiar sound as we continued north.

Besides people watching and observing communities along the route, there was plenty to keep the passengers occupied with wifi and table seats where travelers could play cards. People came down the aisle with food they’d purchased at the snack bar. I’d eaten all that I’d packed and wanted to get a sandwich but was too late, a sign noting they were out of food and only had drinks. Guess that’s what happens on a packed summer train, I thought. I hadn’t planned on them running out of food.

We made it to DC by 5:15 and I was wishing that was my destination; it had been a long ride and I was hungry. There they switched locomotives from electric to diesel and then we continued on toward Baltimore. I was glad I wasn’t driving that busy section of I-95 toward NYC, especially on a Friday afternoon.

I can make it three more hours, I thought and settled in to travel through the busy Northeast. The first travel day, especially when you covered the most miles, was always the hardest. I talked to the woman next to me through several stops, then focused on the monitor screen that showed where the train was in process. Finally, we pulled into Penn Station. After a tense time where the trains arrived, which I’ll describe in my sequel, I was happy to spot my son making his way toward me. He took some of my heavy load and led me to the street where he hailed a cab.

It was a nice weekend with him, the most one-to-one time we’d had in years. He showed me the city on a marathon walk of 55 blocks including strolls through Central Park, the Garment District, and the thing I requested– walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. We cooked in his kitchen and ate at some small restaurants with tables by the street– great for people watching in that fast-paced city.

On Monday morning, Ross walked me back to the station and I boarded the Vermonter for White River Junction (WRJ). There was lots of room on that train and it felt much more relaxed than it had on Friday. We arrived on time to WRJ and I walked the two blocks to the Hotel Coolidge. It was nice to walk into such a welcoming, historic space. The days I spent there became like a base camp and there were ‘people in my path’ who helped me. I had an interesting night with bats in my room — but that’ll have to wait for another time. After finally obtaining a rental car, I enjoyed the slow rural pace of the country lanes and two nights in a lean-to at a state park. There a kind stranger offered me a tent to use to save me from the mosquitos.

Overall, my trip by train was successful. It had difficulties that I hadn’t anticipated, but then all trips have those. I came back feeling satisfied that I’d had a new experience and that now I knew what it was like to be one of those passengers on the train.

I wish you the best with whatever travel you may be planning for the summer — whether far away by train, or close by in the comfort of your car.

Best to you,

Connie