Passenger train cars are studded with large picture windows along both sides. My recent 18-hour trip down the Oregon-California rails afforded me plenty of time to enjoy its displays. I didn't realize this until recently, but I think it's probably been about twelve years since I've sat and looked out the window of a moving vehicle. I've always been the driver--so of course I'm looking out the windows, but offensively and defensively. When you're a traveling passenger, you have the chance to look passively, and that makes all the difference. Even if the landscape is made of all familiar elements, something about their constant coming and going is hypnotic. I whiled away hours "seeing the world" out the window.
When day turned to night, the entertainment had to be found inside the train. Unlike an airplane where your interior movement is quite restricted, a train is a world of its own inviting exploration... Alright, it's more like a horizontal building all its own, but it's fun.
Waiting for discovery on this trip were the dining car ("Reservations, please."), the cafe car, the observation car, and a long string of passenger cars.The passenger cars were the setting for an interesting quest--the quest for a power outlet. You have strange needs while traveling. They're often basic needs you take for granted. At this moment, I needed a power outlet. At other times, the need is for a bathroom, or directions, or an all-night Starbucks. But now, I needed an outlet. I wouldn't have died if I didn't get one, but to do what I wanted, this is what I needed. When your traveling (as opposed to commuting or just going somewhere), you have the option to allow your thwarted needs to be an adventure and not a problem. I think this choice is largely what makes you a traveler instead of just a commuter. Then overcoming the problem is what makes "getting there half the fun."
This train, unlike those of previous travels, had electrical outlets in very short supply. Without an electrical outlet, my dear GPS device would not last through the night. It probably would have lost the scent about half-way through. Upon inquiring with the conductor (in his funny little hat--always a crowd pleaser), he said there was only one on the whole train. It was in the cafe car, and he had claimed it. I soon found it with his cell phone hoarding the precious electrons.
Upon further questing, I found that there was another behind the counter of the cafe bar, but alas, it was out of reach for a lowly passenger wanting to string a cord across the aisle. Refusing to believe this apparent state of affairs, I continued searching. It payed off when I discovered that there was exactly one outlet in every passenger car and mixed among the seats. Very accessible... for the person in that seat. Unfortunately, I was assigned another. On a train, the assigned seats are really more like a suggestion, so after making new friends with a socket squatter, I draped my cord along the wall and stated recharging. Problem solved. But after a little more roaming, I found an empty seat immediately adjacent to the plug in another car. Even better. I immediately staked my claim.
When the female conductor approached me a few moment later, I found out that this car was meant to be used by passengers getting on the train further down the line. But this obstacle was nothing a little sweet talking couldn't overcome. After making another new friend, also in a funny hat, I camped there over night, logging GPS coordinates all the way.
I woke up in Sacramento. Full battery. Breakfast was a disappointing 1000 calorie synthetic cinnamon roll I would regret very soon after. Not to be impaired,
I relaxed in the observation car and took in the scenery for the rest of the trip and eavesdropped in on nearby conversations, all the while tracking our progress with the electronic breadcrumb trail in my pocket. It was a good thing, because when I noticed my position dot dangerously close to my destination dot, I scrambled to gather up my possessions strewn about. Packed and on my back, I hauled my bag and myself off the train to meet our destination--this adventure over for the time being, and on to another.When not lost among "the rest of life,"1 travel itself becomes an event of note. In times past, the single most defining experience of an entire lifetime may have been crossing a country, continent or ocean. In our time, familiarity has bread a lack of familiarity--some may even say a professional detachment. But I remain convinced that the art of travel is an option left open to anyone willing to embrace the adventure as one.
1 And by that, I mean exactly the opposite: "the business of life"2
2 If you read that phrase as anything other than "busy-ness," then you're not getting the clever word-play or the point!
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