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travelogue: mr williams takes the Sunset Limited
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[QUOTE]Originally posted by mr williams: [QB] (Apologies that Part 2 is a day late, but yesterday was the Baptism of my 11-month-old God-daughter) Monday morning, and I awoke to the sound of silence and realised that we weren’t moving. It was just after five and the first hint of dawn was appearing away to the east. I dozed for about half an hour when I realised that we still weren’t moving, so I got up, fetched some juice and coffee and took a shower. We started moving at about 5.45 and the first question was “where are we?” If we were on time we should be somewhere between Port St Louis and New Orleans, so it was atlas and binoculars at the ready, and FM radio tuned to the strongest local signal to see if that could offer any clue as to our whereabouts. The scenery was stunning, thick green forests punctuated by the early morning mist rising off rivers, lakes and swamps. It looked just like something out of National Geographic but I couldn’t help feeling that it seemed far too rural and not coastal enough to be somewhere near New Orleans. Where, for instance, was the Gulf of Mexico? It should be in sight by now. As we approached a more urban area I was able to pick out some roadsigns and this, along with the places mentioned in the 6.00am local news broadcast brought a gradual realisation that we were not approaching the Big Easy. Far from it. In fact, we weren’t even in Mississippi…..we were still in Alabama! We rolled into Mobile exactly three and a half hours late and I rolled into breakfast. It was a beautiful sunny morning and the scrambled eggs, bacon and orange juice hardly touched the sides, but why, oh why, don’t Amtrak do something as basic and essential as toast with their breakfasts!!! I was joined by three sleeper passengers: Bill, a USAF Colonel on the verge of retirement, who was going to visit his son in San Francisco before taking the Starlight, Empire Builder and Eagle to his home in St Louis; Gordon, an IT technician heading to see his brother in San Diego and Ken, an eye surgeon who had done a major overseas rail trip every one of the past five years but this year had been “grounded” by his wife and restricted to the Sunset Limited. The padding in the schedule meant that we should make up some time and the discussion centred on how long we would have in New Orleans. Several people were discussing jumping into a cab and having a look at the French Quarter but it would all be a matter of timing. Meanwhile, attention was focused on the riverside casinos and the vast expanse of the Mississippi delta, as we passed through Biloxi and Gulfport, and finally approached the Big Easy. There were several announcements from the Conductor warning us that we had to get through several freight bottlenecks and updating us on our progress, but the best announcement of all came from the assistant Conductor, who came on and said “Folks, if we’re going to see any alligators, we’re coming up to the place where we’re most likely to see them in about two minutes time, and you need to be on the right-hand side of the train”. Just as he promised, we came around a bend alongside a swampy lagoon, and immediately two small alligators could be seen sunning themselves no more than twenty yards from the train. Two more appeared a hundred yards later, yet another leapt into the water as we approached and finally by far the biggest of the lot, probably some 8-10 feet in length, just lying in the sun with its jaws wide open. Although somewhat blurred (it’s not easy trying to photograph an alligator through a train window at 60mph) it has become one of the pride and joys of the williams photo album. After two more hold-ups, the chances of getting to see New Orleans were receding fast. Finally, we came alongside the Superdome and backed into the station at exactly 11.00 am. The Conductor warned that anybody going out of the station area did so at their own risk as the train would depart promptly at 11.55 and wouldn’t wait for them if they returned late; also, if anybody had belongings in the second sightseer lounge at the rear of the train could they please remove them as it was being disconnected here. I stepped out onto the platform where I found Bill from breakfast discussing what to do with several other sleeper passengers. It was a great shame to come all that way and not see the French Quarter and the other attractions but the general consensus was that anything could go wrong and if it did there wasn’t another train for two days. One group decided to risk it and dashed off to find a cab. I contented myself with stretching my legs in the immediate station area and with a trip to the gift shop. It was a beautiful morning and it was already very warm. As I wandered back onto the platform where the smokers had gathered I couldn’t help noticing that I had twice been passed by a jogger in full running kit, complete with walkman. Apparently, he was a coach passenger who went running at every possible opportunity (I mention him here because he pops up again further along the trip). Meanwhile, the engines were being disconnected. A second engine had been added at Jacksonville, but it was not the usual type you see on the long distance Superliner trains. Although painted in the Amtrak logo and colours this was more like a freight engine design with square ends and what can best be described as a “horizontal ladder” on the side. The Conductor, a friendly man in his early 50s, told me they had had trouble hooking it up to the “normal” engine and that was why they had been without power in the kitchen for a while the previous evening. The various platform staff busied themselves with trolleys, supplies and water hoses, and Sharon hopped up and down with annoyance because her supplies of juice and water hadn’t arrived. On her previous trip through NOL they had mysteriously disappeared and she was determined it would not happen again. She went off in search of them, and one of the smokers observed that when Sharon walked quickly, she waddled like one of those wind-up clockwork toys we had as kids. Those of you over 30 will remember them – you wound up the key in their back, put them down on a table or a flat surface and off they went. At that exact moment she re-appeared about fifty yards down the platform, and we all exploded in laughter as we saw exactly what she meant! Fortunately, she was too far away to realise that we were having a chuckle at her expense and she returned with a triumphant look on her face, accompanied by a colleague carrying her supplies. As we approached departure time the Conductor realised that a stream of new passengers were coming up the platform and getting on the train. Nobody was checking tickets at the gate as they came onto the platform and the assistant conductors had disappeared, so nobody in coach was being given a seating allocation. A number of passengers had got to the far end of the platform, only to be turned around and sent back as they were travelling in coach but some of them were in sleepers - including my new neighbours in Room D - and Sharon sorted out their tickets whilst the Conductor got on his radio to find out where his assistants had gone. “Last cigarette, folks” he called to the nicotine brigade “it’s time to go” only to be laughed at. He looked puzzled for a second, but the smokers pointed to the front of the train and chorused as one: “we’re not going anywhere – there’s no engines!” The Conductor stared in disbelief for a moment, sucked in his cheeks, gave a wry grin, and realised that it wasn’t going to be his day. Fortunately for the poor man’s sanity two engines (of the “normal” design) appeared at that very moment reversing slowly towards us. They were shortly hooked on leaving us ready to go. We pulled out exactly on time and went about a mile before grinding to a halt for over 20 minutes. The Conductor made an announcement asking that everyone stayed exactly where they were and didn’t wander around the train just for a few minutes whilst they checked the tickets and sorted out the seat allocations for those that had joined at NOL but he had barely finished speaking when the dining-car manager came on announcing that Lunch was now being served so could everyone please come to the dining-car. Less than 30 seconds later a somewhat chastened dining-car manager was announcing that the dining-car would be open in a few minutes time……after the Conductor had checked the tickets! My lunch companions were my new neighbours. They had travelled from Florida to NOL on the Sunset a few days earlier, had stopped off to attend a jazz event, and were now heading to Seattle to see their new grand-daughter for the first time. It was clear to me within seconds that Phil, the husband, had a strong London accent which he had not lost despite having lived in the States since 1966. They were taking the rail trip to celebrate his retirement and their Silver Wedding anniversary. His wife (whose name escapes me) was a stunningly pretty black lady, and I was astonished that she was a grandmother celebrating 25 years of marriage. She was 56 but could have passed for 35. Like a number of other passengers, they were connecting with the Coast Starlight at LAX but their plans had been thrown into chaos by the re-scheduling of the SL in March, and they had had the dreaded phone call from Amtrak telling them that the same day connection to the CS was no more. If getting from A to B is your sole objective, there IS still a northbound same day connection out of the SL to all places served by the CS except one. The 12.30 northbound Surfliner connects at Santa Barbara into a Thruway bus which stops at all points to San Jose. The Capitol Corridor then links intermediate stations between SJC and Sacramento. If you are going north of Sacramento, the connection is the Thruway bus from LAX to Bakersfield, then a San Joaquin to Sacramento where it catches up with the CS (sorry, Mr Toy, the one exception is Monterey, which has no later bus link to/from Salinas). The disadvantage, of course, is that you miss the rail trip up the coast and have anything between a three and seven hour bus ride. This was not acceptable to most of the riders that I spoke to and they had said that they would spend 24 hours in LA and travel on the next day. They were not impressed that Amtrak had originally threatened them with having to pay a steep supplement (one person was quoted an extra $600) as the sleeper add-on would not be the same price the next day, but they had all stood firm, pointing out that it was Amtrak who were breaking the contract, not them. Grudgingly, Amtrak had backed down, let them re-book on the next day’s CS at the same price, but only on the understanding that Amtrak were not paying for a night in LA. I heard this from five or six people, and apart from being bad PR I find the position Amtrak took to be absolutely indefensible. Fair enough not to pay for a night in LA, perhaps, but the rest? No way. They had clearly been told to see if they could get away with it and apply pressure, but to back down if the customer stood firm. The meek do not inherit Amtrak’s earth! The Huey Long Bridge proved to be one of the highlights of the trip and lunch was accompanied by the clicks and whirrs of cameras. A few miles later we stopped again, and this turned out to be a lengthy delay of nearly two hours caused by freight congestion. You can tell how bad it got as a “beware of the ***” sign on a nearby house became the main talking point in the sightseer lounge. After about an hour the *** appeared in the garden, setting off a chorus of “oh look, there he is”. Now this was getting a bit sad so I decided, having been up since just after five, that an afternoon snooze might be called for. I catnapped for about an hour, before having several cups of coffee as we rolled through Louisiana. A quick spin across the radio dial told that this was real “bible belt” territory. It was also a great place to be if you liked Cajun cooking and the local seafood, as advertised by countless fast food stores and restaurants (my favourite was a sign outside a fast food store which said “Fresh Fried Shrimp - $3.98 a pound, food-stamps accepted”). We arrived in Lafayette just over two hours late and as I got off the train to stretch my legs a blast of heat hit me. The general consensus was that it was around 90f and boy, was it warm. The stop was a brief one, just three minutes, aimed mainly at the nicotine brigade, who were warned that the next break would not be until we reached Beaumont, more than three hours down the line. I wandered through the train to see if coach was any busier (as Jose in the snack bar had promised it would be) but the answer was a disappointing “no” – it was hardly busier than before NOL, although the sleepers were still fully occupied. Dinner on the second evening found me back in the company of Gordon and Bill from breakfast and Pat, an Arnold Palmer look-alike who (appropriately) was heading to California to play golf. The menu was the same as the previous day, save for one of the entrees and desserts which had been substituted by something else. Three of us had the lamb (which had replaced the pork) whilst Gordon had the chicken. Again, the food was superb, the wine helped to wash it down, and the meal stretched long into the evening, the conversation going on long after we had finished the food. Nobody wanted to rush us or move us out – indeed, the assistant, Mike, even came along and asked if we wanted more drinks. The answer was a definite “yes” as the conversation swung back and forth through topics as diverse as the future of Amtrak, the British General Election (which was only three days away) and the future of the BBC licence fee and its sports coverage. Bill (the USAF Colonel) had been based in Britain several times during his career and had been enthralled with the BBC coverage of the 2004 Olympics, especially the opening and closing ceremonies. “Three and a half hours each, without a commercial beak – it was awesome!” (Younger readers may be unaware that although we have advertising on the commercial, satellite and cable channels, there are still no commercials on the BBC. If you own a television in the UK, you have to buy an annual permit which costs about $240. This money funds the BBC. You still have to have a permit even if you only ever watch the commercial or satellite channels, and many of the BBC’s opponents have called for the system to be changed). Bill was also full of praise for the BBC commentator on the Olympic ceremony: “Just one guy did the whole thing! And he didn’t drone on, he only talked when he needed to! This guy was a giant among Sportcasters!” Throughout their history the BBC has indeed produced a line of commentating legends who have had careers of 30, 40 or even 50 years, some commentating into their eighties and still at the top of their game. Pat and Gordon were full of admiration, and wished that they could have something like that in America. (Just for the record, the commentator Bill was referring to has been commentating for a mere 42 years. His name is Barry Davies and The Queen awarded him the MBE in the New Year Honours list for services to sports broadcasting). It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and what long distance train travel should be all about, and as I wasn’t wearing a watch it was only when I got back to my sleeper that I realised that dinner had lasted over four hours. Although approaching Z-z-z-z-ville I was still hoping to stay awake long enough to see something (even at night) of Houston. We had made up some time and arrived about 90 minutes late. Sharon was in her usual flustered state on the platform, as she was due to have three leavers and two joiners at Houston. It’s obvious when you think about it, but when there are no spare sleepers she has to tidy up the rooms of those leaving and make sure everything is clean and tidy immediately as they leave and has to have everything set up before the joining passengers can move in. I could understand why she didn’t like the SL as she never got more than a few hours sleep at a time, as there were invariably people leaving and joining at Mobile or Biloxi on the first night, San Antonio on the second, and Tucson on the third (although due at Tucson at 11.59pm, being the Sunset, of course, it frequently didn’t arrive until 3 or 4 in the morning). I strolled a few yards down the platform past the waiting room, looked to my right, and looked in astonishment at the Houston skyline. I tell you, folks, it is a truly wonderful sight, with countless skyscrapers all lit up. It compares with looking down on the Chicago business district from Sears Tower. It was a warm, balmy evening, and I felt like a long stroll, but that clearly wouldn’t be possible. It was strange to think that I had been on a train for nearly 36 hours and we weren’t even half way through the journey. The jogger ran past me at this point, again in his running kit and again wearing his walkman. I couldn’t help thinking, what would happen if he didn’t hear the “all aboard” call because he had his music on? I had visions of him pounding down the track in hot pursuit of the train, like the man at Orlando….and probably overtaking us as we waited for a freight to get out of the way! Although running late, we still waited in Houston for over half an hour and pulled out at just before 11.15. It was time to turn in. It had been a very smooth ride so far, I had no trouble sleeping, and when I next opened my eyes it was exactly 4.00am. I hauled myself up from my bed to see that we were sitting in San Antonio station. With a departure time of 5.40 that meant I had 100 minutes to take that long stroll, possibly get as far as The Alamo or do any number of things…… But it was not to be. As soon as I turned over and lay back on my bed it was clear that I had arrived at Z-z-z-z-z-ville Central, and all thoughts of exploration disappeared into the wide blue yonder. Next week: Part 3 and astonishingly we're set for an on-time arrival in LA....will we make it? [/QB][/QUOTE]
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