I just finished writing up a travelogue about a trip that I took on the Southwest Chief in January.

I present it to you, for your delight and edification.

Chuck Reuben

Sunday, Jan. 2, 2005

The Southwest Chief arrived in Albuquerque five hours late because a faulty dining car had to be switched out in Chicago. That suited me fine since it takes me forever to get ready for a railroad journey. Also, the train will make up for lost time as it crosses the desert. Instead of arriving in Los Angeles at 9 a.m., I will arrive an hour and a half later. No big deal.

As my train barrels through the night, I must admit I’m a bit irritated by the couple who are sitting across the aisle from me. They took a seat in the lower level, but their tickets were for the upper level coach. Because of this, I am forced to sit next to somebody for the duration of the trip instead of having two seats to myself.

Fortunately, my seatmate is a mild-mannered person: Very quiet and polite. I confronted the conductor about the situation and told her that I didn’t think it was fair that these people should just waltz in and take a seat when the rest of us had to book our seats weeks in advance, and sometimes pay more money.

The conductor replied that, in fact, the lower level seats cost less money than the upper level coach seats and besides, the lady seemed to have a hard time moving around. Another thing that irritated me was that the attendant ran out of pillows precisely when he got to me. He didn’t even offer an apology. He just sheepishly left the car without offering an explanation.

My final frustration is that my seat is facing in the opposite direction the train is moving.

On a more positive note, I am feeling fit as a fiddle and very excited about the cruise. Jennifer got me to the station in a timely fashion and we parked at the Greyhound Station because the parking lot was being ripped up. I hope they are building a new Amtrak station. Lord knows, the old one needs to be replaced.

The Amtrak Station used to be the gift shop of the historic Alvarado Hotel, demolished in the 70’s. It is a cramped, stuffy place whose graffiti-covered bathrooms walls can only accommodate one person at a time. It has been retrofitted, rewired and replumbed a dozen times but it will never be a proper railroad station and the sooner it is replaced, the better.

Albuquerque used to have a real train station but it burned down some time ago. That was a real tragedy because it was a lovely place with airy breezeways and a red tile roof. It was a legacy of the Fred Harvey days when most people traveled by train.

The city went to a lot of expense to imitate the architectural style of the old building when it built the new transit center for city buses next door, but it's not the same. The new buildings are just boxes with fancy facades. They lack soul and substance. Even the stucco looks cheap. But, I suppose, there is something to be said for the attempt to revive a long, forgotten time in the city’s past, however feeble that attempt may be.

The conductor was true to her word and eventually returned with the attendant. I told her I had found a pillow upstairs.

“Then it must be dirty,” she said.
“Well, I’m just using it to help support my lower back,” I replied.
“I was giving out pillows,” the attendant said in his defense.
“Well, you ran out when you got to me and then you left.”

My dirty pillow was taken away and the attendant returned with a clean one 20 minutes later. I suppose he had been chastised by the conductor and certainly didn’t have any kind words to say to me. As a matter of fact, he didn’t say a single word, and that was consistent with his character thus far.

It’s 4:30 a.m. Pacific Standard Time, 5:30 Mountain Time and I have woken up, as is my custom. I had to take two sleeping pills to get me to nod off and nod off I did at about 10 p.m., giving me about seven hours of reasonably peaceful sleep, which is certainly adequate.

I did, however, wake up with a mighty headache, caused by the pressure change of going from a high altitude, 7,000 feet, to a considerably lower one. This sort of thing generally affects me when I am in an airplane and is the primary reason that I do not fly.

I immediately knew exactly what I needed to do. I started chewing on a few sticks of gum, swallowed a Zyrtec antihistamine/decongestant and sprayed some Flonase into my nose. One ear popped almost immediately and I pray the ear drum did not perforate. The fact that I am not in pain is probably ample evidence that the Eustachian tube obligingly opened. The other is being a big more stubborn, however, and I may have to rely on an old trick I learned during my flying days. I will boil some water and saturate a paper towel at the bottom of a cup and place them over my ears. Hopefully that will equalize the pressure.

My seatmate has evacuated the premises and moved elsewhere on the train. Although his presence did not bother me, I always feel much less self-conscious when I’ve got both seats to myself, thanks to my habit of spreading out beyond my boundaries.

9 a.m. Victorville

If the train were on time, we’d be passing through all this rugged terrain in the dead of the night. Fortunately, the lateness of the train provides me with vistas that are unfamiliar and a delight to behold.

I awoke this morning at about 6 a.m. after a night of restful sleep, thanks to the two sleeping pills that I took last night. I headed out to the dining car and was placed at a table with a husband and wife team who lived in Flagstaff. The wife had a variety of frightening ailments, cancer, Parkinson’s, arthritis, but she was a ray of sunshine and very talkative. She said that in Arizona marijuana could be prescribed for medicinal reasons and she said it was a godsend.

Now, this lady was hardly a hippy from the sixties. Married to an engineer and having lived a very conservative life, she claimed that marijuana helped ease her arthritis and gave her an appetite when the cancer got the best of her.

Compared to the drugs that were being prescribed to her by her doctor, marijuana displayed no sinister side effects. As a person who lives in New Mexico, a state that does not condone medical marijuana, I could help feel nothing but envy for her situation. And, an individual who is getting on in years and is starting to feel the effects of old age, I can’t help wishing that I too could enjoy the benefits of legally smoking an herb that is regarded with such disdain by the judicial system of our country.

For breakfast I ordered an omelet but was told that they had run out of them, so I settled on a generous stack of pancakes, with a side of hash browns, coffee and juice. At about $7, including tip, it was quite a bargain.

I am sitting by the window, watching the wet landscape slip by. I am fortunate to have an electrical outlet right by my feet and I have my electrical heating pad plugged into it. Every now and then somebody comes by and asks to use it, in order to power their cell phone. I tell them “no” they can’t use it.

It is amazing to me that cell phones have such short life spans and must be recharged so frequently. It would seem to me that they should come with a compartment that would allow AA batteries in case of emergency, but from what I understand, they don’t and that certainly is a design flaw.

My heating pad is working quite well. It is positioned on my back now but soon will be shifted to my arm, then to my neck. Anybody who wants to use the outlet will probably have to deal with quite a long wait, if they are relying on me to relinquish it. They would probably be better off going to a restroom and using the outlet there.

When I am packing, in preparation of a train ride, I am always in a quandary whether I should pack away my heating pad because it does take up some space and accounts for a bit of weight. In retrospect I am always glad I bring it. There is nothing quite as relaxing as soothing a weary muscles with the heat generated from a toasty heating pad. It’s better than rubbing smelly liniments all over myself and it doesn’t bother my fellow passengers (except of course when they are coveting the only electrical outlet in the car).

We are slowly climbing up a grade to Santa Bernardino. I can feel my ears start to get plugged up. Outside the snow is flying past my window at a sharp 45-degree angle toward the train. The ground is soggy and so saturated with water that puddles are everywhere. Fog fills the valleys, each ridge growing less distinct from the former, until the distant mountains are completely obscured by white. Rivers of brown water run beside the tracks and rivulets form wherever an arroyo or tire tracks can be found.

It is winter, so the landscape has not taken on much green yet, but if it were just a little bit warmer, I suspect that the hills would flourish in wildflowers and new life.

Every now and then a rushing river appears in the place of where a dry arroyo exists 11 months of the year. The river fills every inch of the waterway, eroding the sandy bank, torrents of water creating brown muddy rapids that nobody, in their right mind would challenge.

In my haste to leave Albuquerque, I neglected, or maybe purposely neglected, to bring my sophisticated raingear, i.e. goulashes, poncho, umbrella. Instead, I brought a cheap, disposable plastic raincoat and that’s about it. Somehow I think I will do just fine without all this gear. I mean, it’s not like I was going on a camping trip or trying to conquer Everest. I think I will survive.

I was told by the attendant, who seems a little less grumpy this morning, that the train was thrown together in Chicago at the last minute because the train that was supposed to transport us never quite got here. This is the reason it lacks an observation car and why they had such a hard time finding a working dining car. It also explains the five-hour delay. A rumor is circulating that a stabilizer bar on the train is defective and that is why it could not make up for lost time last night. As it is, we remain five hours off schedule, which is, all things considered, not that bad a thing.

This morning, after breakfast, I went through my yoga routine. I did my gentle neck exercises, the cat and the cow, warrior #1 and #2, shoulder rotations, spinal twists and four repetitions of the sunrise salutation, not to mention some pranayama breathing exercises as well as the “shining skull.” I did most of the exercises on the carpeted aisle of the lower level seating compartment, my back to the passengers who must have been watching every move I made. The train ride was particularly smooth so I had no problem keeping my balance.

“My yoga instructor would be proud of me,” I said to a lady who was watching me at the conclusion of my routine.
“That was very impressive,” she said.

I feel great.

In addition to my heating pad and computer, I also shlepped an mp3 player that my sister sent to me. Using the CD burner that I installed on my computer about a month ago, I compiled two mp3 discs with over 300 songs, or about 20 hours of music.

Two CDs contain my rock and roll collection and the other CD contains my classical collection. Although I do not listen to the music a lot, I am glad I have the option to listen to it when I feel so inclined.

The mp3 player is over three years old and has all sorts of buttons that are difficult to comprehend. I downloaded the manual from the internet and it really is not much use. The manual seems to be written for people who have a good understanding of mp3 players, not for those who, like myself, don’t have a clue.

You’d think all you would have to do is pop in the CD and press play, but no. The operator is required to program play lists, otherwise the CD will play for while and simply stop. It is infuriating.

In this age of mp3s (and computers in general, so it seems), good, readable, comprehensive manuals are definitely a thing of the past. “Intuitive understanding” is the name of the game. “We used to call this term “trial and error” and quite frankly, I don’t buy it.

Nevertheless, in my old age I still possess a brain cell or two and I seem to be catching on to the mp3 routine, slowly but surely.

Noon.

Wet, wet everywhere. A person entering LA for the first time would hardly ever believe this place experienced drought. The Los Angeles River almost looks a branch of the Mississippi, the concrete canal half submerged by fast flowing water that is headed directly to the sea. It seems a shame the water is not routed to a reservoir. As we enter Los Angeles, the sun has broken through the clouds and the rain has stopped falling. It’s just damp, everywhere.

1 p.m. The train arrived at the station. LA is gray and overcast, and puddles are everywhere. They won’t last long though; this is, after all, the desert.

I’m sitting in a clean, spacious, un-graffitied Gold Line car that will take me to Allen street and Pasadena. A security guard insures my safety and an automatic PA announcement tells me that the next stop is Chinatown and tells me that smoking, eating and drinking is prohibited on the train.

As the train leaves the station, I watch as the building recede and the iconic view of the noble, white modern architecture of the old city hall dominates the skyline, even though it is hardly the city's tallest building these days. Freshly restored, this classic structure lends nobility to Los Angeles, with elegant walls punctuated with square windows and that taper to the pyramid that graces its roof.

This light rail system operates on the honor system. A passenger purchases a ticket at any one of a number of ticket booths and then enters his desired train. Security guards seem to be everywhere but they don’t always check to see if you have a ticket.

I have seen passengers take away freeloaders in handcuffs, however. It is a serious offense to be caught without a ticket and at $1.25 for a one-way ride, or $3 for an all day ride, it hardly seems worthwhile to be dishonest.

Allen Street is my destination and I’m already almost half way there. The train cuts effortlessly through the city, on its own dedicated line. There are only a couple places where the train actually crosses a road and it is here, of course, where most accidents are likely to occur. Some people are in such a rush that they are willing to cross over barriers and ignore warning lights in order to save a second or so. Some of them pay with their lives.

It is actually a bit chilly out there and I’m wearing a light jacket that I once bought at a yard sale for $1. In the distance the clouds cover the mountains. Fresh snow covers the peaks. As I was walking though Union Station, a person, who noticed I was coming off the Southwest Chief quizzed me about the weather at Cajon pass, the highest point between the high desert and LA. He wanted to know if there was any snow out there because he was about to head out by car. I told him it was raining and snowing, but I didn’t notice any great accumulation of the white stuff. He seemed grateful for my weather report.

.....

Sat., Jan 15th, 6:30 a.m.

I’m seated in my very own roomette in an Amtrak sleeper, my first sleeper and probably not my last. The attendant is a charming Hispanic fellow named John who said I would love my experience. He used to work the coaches and refers to them as “the chicken people” because of their propensity to leave chicken bones under the seats after they left the train.

The roomette seems big enough for one person but would probably be cramped for two. There are bigger rooms to be found on the sleeper but they, of course, command a higher ticket price. As it stands, I paid $115 for the luxury of having my own room and this includes the cost of meals.

My little room consists of two seats that are facing each other. Later, at night, they will be collapsed to form a bed. Another bed can be pulled down from the wall to form another bed.

One nice thing about having a room is that time certainly seems to fly. These accommodations are very cleverly laid out and now that my attendant has showed me how to turn the chairs into a bed and showed me where the closet was, I am ready to make myself at home.

“At home” basically means I throw off my clothes and putter about in my underwear (or nothing at all). Unencumbered by clothes bulging with a wallet and assorted identifiers, I feel free.

Although I do have the option of taking a shower, I think I will pass. I only have a few hours before I get to Albuquerque and I don’t feel like dealing with the challenges of maintaining my balance.

I pulled the upper bed down so that I could put my little bag on it. In doing so I have greatly decreased the amount of available space. As it is, with both beds down, I only have about 8 inches in which to move around. I just cracked my head against the upper bunk and my head hurts terribly.

I enjoyed a t-bone steak for dinner last night with apple pie a la mode for desert. I ate an omlette for breakfast. I’m ordering the most expensive items, including deserts because it all comes “free” with the accommodations. I am enjoying my privacy and relishing the final leg of a long and restful vacation that took me all the way to Acapulco and back home.

As the train arrives in Albuquerque 40 minutes early, I think to myself that I probably won’t buy another roomette again. If I win the lottery, I will certainly buy into a deluxe room. For the mean time, I think I am happier staying in the lower level reserved coach seats because they give me easy access to the observation room and there is plenty of room to move about.

A roomette is a very isolated and cramped situation. As nice a thing it is to sleep on a perfectly flat surface, I think the price I am paying, both in terms of money and a cracked skull, is simply too dear.

The only adverse comment, if I may; I had to 'dig' in order to determine your direction of travel on the Chief. That I had knowledge you live in Albuquerque helped me "piece it together".

The other point, of course said with all due respect, is that I thought you had "graduated' to Sleeper as your standard for overnight trips, but evidently I am mistaken. I would have thought with the reported ailments that have chosen to attach themselves to you along this "road of life", you would WANT your privacy.

There is one point, however, on which we do agree, and that is the Roomette is simply a one person accomodation. While I believe Amtrak was wise to have all accomodations with not less than two beds, the second bunk in the Roomette is simply there for the "exceptions', such as adult and small child, two adolescents whose family has a Bedroom elsewhere on the train, or (heaven forbid) two adults who have been made fully aware that they are essentially booking "indoor camping'.

Unfortunately, you appear to have about as many reasons to travel East of Chicago as do I to travel West, but it still would be a pleasure to "meet up' on our travels somewhere, someplace.

However, from his reports here, Mr. Reuben appears to travel to the West, I travel to the East.

I thought that Albuquerque had rebuilt the station into an intermodal set-up. Is this still in progress???

As far as equipment problems...this is precisely what Mr Gunn has alluded to in his plea for funding to get Amtrak back to a good state of repair!

Cheers!

It was my understanding that Albuquerque built an intermodal surface 'Transportation Center' at roundly the location of the ATSF/Fred Harvey station/Hotel Alvarado complex. However, Amtrak and the sponsoring Agency were unable to agree upon terms of occupancy.

So Amtrak still uses the temporary station, which I believe isthe same structure used when I was last through Albuquerque during May 1991.

Oh well what's new, suounds like the same tune as at Albany and San Bernardino.

http://www.unm.edu/~atr/GASF-press-release.pdf

As far as the existing Albuquerque Amtrak station is concerned, what will happen next is anybody's guess. The parking lot is now being torn up in order to begin construction of a commuter rail station and platform with trains that will go from Bernalillo to Belen, several times a day on existing track. (see www.nmrails.org for info). Supposedly this will open within the next year, I think.

A logical extension from Bernalillo to Santa Fe is in the works, but new track needs to be laid and this will take years and lots of money.

I don't know what kind of station is planned. It will probably be very modest, considering the *entire* first phase of the project costs only $70 million dollars. That's really not a lot of money, when you think about it.

The Southwest Chief is a very long train, so I don't know how the new platform will affect it's operations.

The bus station, the *intermodal" thing, is actually a large building with a big wall around it. It faces the street, not the platform, so I don't see how it can be used by rail passengers.

I'd like to see the city cut a deal with the owners of the old locomotive repair center on Second Street and turn part of it into a "Wheels Museum" and part of it into an Amtrak station. ( http://www.wheelsmuseum.org/ ). But that whole situation is caught up in some sort of sinister lawsuit, so who knows what will become of that cathedral-like structure.

Jonathan, I was so traumatized by that old mp3 player, I don't want to think about it for a while. Sometimes it would play for a minute or so and then just stop. I'm hoping to buy a one ounce "flash" device in the not-too-distant future: No moving parts and lots and lots of memory. Only problem is, it costs money and unfortunately, money does not grow on trees.

OK, I was just confused because the USA Rail Guide has a picture of the new Alvarado Transportation Center which looks very much like the old station.

As far as Albany goes. I like the new facility. (The third since 1969!) It is large and well-located for parking and such. The old one was decrepit in 1967 and 68 and I hope it looks better now!

I cannot speak for San Berdoo...

Cheers!