They were the best of trains, they were the worst of trains. I'm back from my transcontinental rail journey, and I've got a lot to report. So much happened! The prize money, the odd connections, the quirky characters, the far removed stations, the beatings, the dealings with the police...
I started from Salisbury, NC on a humid summer night. I felt a little worried about my safety as I waited on the platform in the wee hours. Far off in the distance I could hear chainsaws and glass shattering and people screaming. The northbound Crescent was due at 2:49 AM. A gentle misty rain started to fall as a gloomy fog rolled in. A giant wrestler guy appeared. He was wearing a pair of star spangled shorts.
2:49 came and went. The Crescent was late. The wrestler guy asked me if I knew anything. I told him I knew Henry Hudson first sailed up the Hudson River in 1609. He just looked at me. My attempt at humor went the way of the steam engine. So I moved on. I called Amtrak. The Crescent was three and a half hours behind schedule. It wouldn't reach Salisbury until 6:20 AM. It was going to be an all-nighter.
The wrestler guy explained why he was taking the train. He'd missed his tour bus while frolicking with a fan of the female persuasion. Now he had to get to Washington, DC. His name was Bulk. I told him I was going on a cross-country Amtrak trip, starting from Salisbury. Only I was headed to New York.
Since we had nothing to do but wait, I dared him to a wrestling match. He said I wouldn't like what would happen to me. I called him yellow and questioned his masculinity. Finally, I provoked him enough to get him to agree to one round. The station was deserted. I stripped down to my skivvies.
We circled one another. I tried to get my hands on his shoulders. He brushed my arms away with tremendous force. Suddenly he lunged at me. He lifted me up sideways and knelt on one knee. Then he let me fall like a dead weight on his knee. The pain in my back was excruciating! "Is that all you got?" I chided. I staggered to my feet. Once again we circled. "Sure you wannna keep going, little man?" he replied. I lunged at him and grabbed him around the torso. He jumped forward and fell on me. The wind got knocked out of me. My entire body ached. Next, he stood up and kicked me in the stomach several times. I could feel the moist platform pavement scrape my face. "Get up!" he snarled. Somehow I managed to do it. The next thing I knew I was being twisted by the scissor kick move. My nose was bleeding. My knees were bleeding. "Uncle!" I cried out. He stopped attacking me immediately and extended a hand to help me up. I struggled to talk. I said, "Wow, man, you're really an excellent fighter!" I was breathing hard. I had taken a real lickin'.
"Better put your shirt and pants back on," Bulk said. "That train could be close." I went over to a bench and dressed. I looked forward to lying down in my roomette berth. First I'd have to clean up all the blood, though.
We heard a train horn. A very long train appeared and pulled up to the platform. It wasn't the Crescent. It was the Blue Unit of the Ringling Brother's circus train. A skinny guy with glasses and a white goatee opened a cargo door, leaned out, and asked us if we would help him feed the elephants while the locomotives were being refueled. Then the man asked, "Aren't you Bulk Deadweight, the wrestler?" Bulk nodded and said, "That's me. How're ya doing?" The man explained, "We're on our way to DC for a show tonight." Bulk said, "I'm going to DC too, but the train is three and a half hours late." The man brushed his whiskers and asked, "How'd you guys like to ride the circus train? We can put each of you in a sleeping car room. Whaddya say?" We nodded yes and climbed aboard the train. "Don't forget, you guys gotta feed the elephants before you turn in."
As I hoisted myself into the vestibule, I paused and turned my head to the left. I don't know why. But there in the shadows stood a man in a fedora hat and a trench coat. He stared at me intently. I had an eerie feeling. He looked like a government agent. But I was excited to be on my way, so I didn't give him any more thought.
I was tired and beat up, but I summoned the energy to feed the elephants with Bulk. We talked and laughed as we worked. I got elephant saliva on my arm. You have to push the food way back in the elephant's mouth.
When we finished feeding the elephants the man who had invited us aboard, Woody, brought us to our accommodations. The train was already underway again.
My suite was very luxurious. It was bedroom E. The walls were made of polished mahogany. The windows were framed with ornamental stained glass. The room featured a queen size bed with 1000-count Arabian cotton sheets and a big puffy comforter. A little clown-shaped chocolate candy lay on the pillow. A genuine Monet hung above the headboard. There also was a separate bathroom with a spacious marble and glass shower. All the fixtures were made of gleaming gold. For entertainment, there was a big screen TV with DVD and Blu-Ray. There was an Internet PC. There was a Jacuzzi with a mini-bar. There was a writing desk with a speakerphone. And if all that failed to impress, there was a collapsible vistadome just for two atop a spiral staircase! I called room service and ordered eggs benedict. Then I took a hot shower. The water flow was adjustable to seven different settings. It sure felt good to get that slimy saliva and dried blood off of me. According to Woody, we were due at Alexandria Yard outside DC around 11:30 AM.
Woody knocked on my door about 1:00 PM. The circus train was pulling into Alexandria Yard. I stretched and got dressed. I didn't want to leave my luxurious sleeping car bedroom. I never knew circus train accommodations were so fancy. And I guess it's true - the thinnest slice is the best way to enjoy luxury.
Bulk appeared from his bedroom. He looked well-rested. I explained to him that we could catch the Metro the rest of the way into DC. The circus train came to stop. On my way down the vestibule stairs I pressed a crisp one dollar bill into Woody's palm. At first, he heaped thanks on me, but when I got on the ground he started snarling some kind of angry frontier gibberish. I walked away. Bulk asked me. "What'd you give him?" "A buck" I replied. Bulk said he would have given more, but he didn't have any money. All he was wearing were his star spangled shorts.
So there I was, walking through a freight yard in the hot midday sun with a broke wrestling guy. The Braddock Metro station was a couple a hundred yards away. I was looking forward to getting to Union Station and continuing on my way to NYC.
I paid Bulk's Metro fare. He was headed to a hotel in Georgetown. Before we parted ways I agreed to check out his web page. I felt like I was losing a good friend. Washington was busy. The Metro was crowded. Soon I was at Union Station. The first chapter in my journey was through.
I went to the ticket window to see if my Salisbury - NYC ticket would be honored even though I didn't ride the Crescent to DC. The agent took my tickets and typed in my res number. "Well," he said, "since the Crescent was running so late the Washington - New York portion of your trip was upgraded to Acela Express First Class." It was great news! The agent typed a few more things into his computer and handed me back my adjusted ticket. "You're on the four o'clock Acela Express, train 2172. It leaves in 40 minutes," the agent said. I'd be in NYC in time for a late supper.
It just so happened that the American Banker's Association was holding a raffle at Union Station that afternoon. Feeling lucky, I bought a ticket. The prize was $100,000.
The raffle drawing was scheduled to take place at 3:50 PM. My Acela was at four. I went to B. Dalton Bookseller to pass the time. I found a well-stocked transportation shelf. There were many books about railroads. One of them was by a gentleman named Henry Kisor. It seemed like it would be a good accompaniment to my cross-country journey. I brought it up to the cashier and paid for it.
It was time for the raffle. A sizeable crowd had gathered. A banker dressed like the Monopoly man walked up to the podium. He said, "And now, the American Bankers Association will draw the winning raffle ticket and award the prize money." The man then cranked the handle of the cylindrical raffle ticket holder. All the tickets flew in different directions inside the clear case. The moment was at hand. The man opened up a door on the case and pulled out one lone stub. "The winning raffle number is 218511!" I looked at my stub. It was 218511.
When you win a large sum of money, it takes your breath away. You feel excited, elated - yet you also feel some doubt. Surely there must be a mistake, you think. Next, you begin listing in your mind all the people you have to call and brag to. Then you feel fear. Somebody might try and take what you've won. I quickly stammered out, "I-I believe I have the winning ticket!"
"Well, come up on stage and let's see if you do." I guarded my ticket in my palm as I pressed through the crowd towards the podium. I handed the man my ticket. "218511" he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" A police officer with a gun handed me a satchel. Inside the satchel was $100,000 cash. Camera flashes popped off all around. People asked me my name. I made a brief speech.
I wondered. Should I catch the four o'clock Acela Express, or stay here and buy everyone a latte? I decided to catch the train. The policeman accompanied me, just to make sure nobody tried to grab the satchel. We just made highball. The Acela Express glided down the platform and onto the mainline. Sitting in my First Class seat, I peeked in the satchel. It was mine, all mine!
Sitting back in my seat I suddenly remembered something I saw in Union Station that disturbed me. It was after the raffle, while walking to the Acela Express platform. There was a man again, a man in a fedora and a trench coat, standing in an alcove, watching me. He looked like the same man I saw in Salisbury. But there had been no time to check him out. My train was leaving.
I wondered. Was I being followed? And if I was, why? Was the man dangerous? Should I confront him if I saw him again? As the train raced along through Maryland my mind raced with conspiracy theories. Why would a G-Man want anything with me?
The car attendant came by and broke my stream of thoughts. "Would you like anything, Sir?" he asked. "A glass of champagne for everyone in the car!" I replied. Then I flashed him the contents of the satchel. His eyes grew large. He said in a hushed tone, "Yes sir, right away sir!" Then I handed him a hundred dollar bill, for inspiration. Moments later I heard the attendant announce to the car that a generous passenger had bought champagne for everyone. A small round of applause went up.
I had never been on an Acela Express train before. It was very futuristic. I figured it would impress George Jetson. But then I remembered that so many other countries have high-speed rail, many of them much faster than ours. The tilting mechanism was hardly noticeable in action. It was a very smooth ride.
There was a businesswoman across the aisle from me. I was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I figured she wouldn't talk to me. But our eyes met a few times, and somewhere near Wilmington I said to her, "What would you say if I told you I just won $100,000 and that I didn't know what to do with the money?" She said, "That's not all that much money. You should go to UBS and invest it overseas so that the IRS can't get at it." I smiled. Recently UBS had gotten in trouble with the feds for hiding client's assets from the IRS. "Yes, that'd be a fine idea," I chimed in. "They have offices in New York City," she added. We both laughed. Then she got up from her single seat and sat down next to me. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and winked at me. Then she held out her hand. "I'm Ophelia," she said, looking in my eyes.
First class cars feature meals served to passengers at their seats. I invited Ophelia to join me for wine and some dinner.
Ophelia ordered an Amfleet Salad and Chicken d'Acela Cordon Bleu. I opted for the P42 strip steak with Sightseer mashed potatoes and Talgo broccoli. We shared a bottle of Merlot F40PH.
Our conversation touched on a thousand different topics. How did the word cartridge originate? Why are the Muslims in the Philippines called Moros? What are Quaker guns? Why do we have a best man at a wedding? Does the lunula occur on the fingernails of all races? Which is correct, "harebrained" or "hair brained"? Why are so many companies incorporated in Delaware? Does thunder cause milk to turn sour?
We traded personal info, too, by the time we reached Newark, NJ. It turned out Ophelia was a model. She had gone to DC to pose in clothes tailored for congresswomen. In college, she had studied to be a dental hygienist. Now she worked for a dental practice in downtown Manhattan, modeled part-time, and lived in a high-rise in the village. Between cleaning teeth and modeling she made a pretty good buck. Once, there was a pizza baker/wanna-be rapper named Tony in her life. That was history now.
The train entered the Hudson Tunnels. Passengers began gathering their personal items. It was about seven pm. Within a few minutes we'd arrive in Penn Station. I asked Ophelia if she'd like to meet again while I was in New York City. I intended to stay for a few days of suburban train riding. She said she'd love to and told me to just give her a call. The train came to a stop. We said goodbye.
As I walked up the stairs to the concourse, I wondered, would the man in the fedora be there? When I reached the top of the stairs I took a good look around. There were college students waiting for regional trains. Throngs of commuters headed for the LIRR and NJT platforms. People lined up at the checked baggage counter. Homeless people. Security guards. But there was no sign of the man in the fedora hat.
I went outside and flagged a taxi. "Take me to the Park Plaza Hotel, please", I told the driver. I saw from his license that his name was Vinjay Surimpopakok. "Yes sir, very good sir!" he said with great enthusiasm.
Vinjay was from Thailand. I asked him how his shift was going. "All in a days work," he replied. It turned out that Vinjay spoke in clichés. "Every day I'm out here chasing after the almighty dollar," he added. I told him about how I'd just won $100,000. He told me about a Nigerian cabbie who recently hit the lottery.
"That is as luck would have it," Vinjay mused. "Everyone is winning money. They are hitting pay dirt, lock, stock, and barrel. I wouldn't wait with baited breath for such luck to come to me. I just knuckle down and keep on working, like it or lump it." The cab zig-zagged up the avenue. Vinjay liked to change lanes frequently.
I asked Vinjay what life in Thailand was like. He said there are too many taboos. "Taboos in Thailand include touching someone's head. You just don't do it. The head is considered the most sacred part of the body. The feet are considered the filthiest part of the body. Stepping over someone, or over food, is considered an offense. Books are treated as sacred objects. In Thailand, you never slide a book across a table or put it down on the floor. And I don't mean maybe."
We arrived at the hotel. The fare was $7.50. I gave Vinjay a hundred. "Thank you," he said, "Now I can go home early and catch forty winks!" "Maybe this is your lucky night. Maybe you should keep driving," I said. "I prefer to be home rather than drive into the dead of night. Quitting early fits the bill." And with that parting cliché, Vinjay drove off.
For no particular reason, I looked up. I saw a figure. I strained my eyes to see. There, in the shadow of the grand fountain in front of the hotel, was the man in the fedora hat. He was staring right at me. I started running towards him. He turned briskly and crossed Fifth Avenue. A bus went by. I had made him, but after the bus passed, he was gone. It was like he had vanished into thin air! One of the horse carriage drivers asked, "You alright, mister?" "Yes, I just thought I saw somebody." "How 'bout a carriage ride?" The man smiled broadly. "No thanks, I've got to check into my hotel. Maybe tomorrow." I was thinking of Ophelia when I said that.
I'd always wanted to stay at The Plaza Hotel. Designed by noted architect Henry Janeway Hardenbergh, "the greatest hotel in the world" opened October 1, 1907 at Central Park South and Fifth Avenue, and no expense was spared on this 19-story, French Renaissance "château." The lobbies were made of polished marble. All the doors were of solid mahogany. 1,650 crystal chandeliers were installed to light the way. Today, many say it's still New York’s most prestigious hotel. This true Beaux-Arts landmark just underwent a 400-million-dollar renovation. Rates are very high. My suite was $500 a night. While an Amtrak sleeper costs about the same, there's no point in comparing the two. One offers luxury, the other, adventure!
My Plaza Hotel suite was nicer than my suite on the circus train. Of course, it was far more spacious. There was an armoire and a settee and a king sized bed. Everything was finely upholstered with glabrous fabrics of the highest quality. The bathroom was immaculate. The view from my window overlooked the famous fountain where, in the movie "The Way We Were", Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford broke up. I especially liked the 'personalized' Muzak that was pumped into the room. All the tunes were songs of love and praise for me! "Dave, you're a great guy, Dave, you're the best - how we love you..."
I decided to go downstairs to the famed Oak Room for supper. I was still hungry, even though I'd had dinner with Ophelia on the Acela Express.
The Oak Room is a fabled restaurant. Its menu is daunting. I ordered the Lobster and Sweet Corn Bisque with Spring Mushrooms as an appetizer ($16) and the 50-day Niman Ranch Prime New York Strip Steak with Miso-Bernaise sauce ($48) for the main course. I also enjoyed Sweet and Sour Snow Peas with Apple and Bacon ($8) as a side dish. Then, feeling full and exhausted, I trudged back to my room. The first day of my trip was over. What a day it had been! Sleep came easily.
DAY TWO
I woke early the next morning and had breakfast in my room. Then it was off to the bank to deposit the money I’d won. I couldn’t after all carry it all across America in a satchel. I would sit down and figure how to invest it later. I thought of my newly empowered Visa debit/credit card with a greater respect. Then I went to Penn Station to ride some NJT trains.
First I rode out to Dover and back. Dover Station is an historic landmark. The Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad built it in 1901. Two rail lines serve it. I went there on the Morristown Line and returned on the Montclair-Boonton Line. I got off at Newark – Broad Street and rode the subway to Newark – Penn Station. Then I rode the line out to Bay Head and back. I enjoyed the latter very much. It goes across some long bridges and through picturesque seaside resorts. A big Alstom PL42AC pulled the train. When I got to Point Pleasant I took a cab to Allaire State Park, where I rode the Pine Creek train ride. I wanted to ride the ex-Erie Port Jervis Line too, that day, but there wasn’t enough time.
I was kind of in a daydream when the train back from Bay Head rolled into New York/Penn Station. I was looking forward to dinner with Ophelia. Then, blocking my path, emerged three New York City policemen! They instructed me to follow them. I didn’t see that I had much choice. “What’s this about?” I asked. They were silent. We went out onto Eighth Avenue. A large black SUV was parked there. One of the policemen opened the door. Inside, was the man with the man with the fedora hat!
“It’s you!” I exclaimed. “Why have you been following me?” I demanded. “Shut up and sit down!” replied the man in the fedora. I looked at him and then looked at the policemen. Reluctantly, I entered the SUV and sat down. The SUV took off into traffic.
The man spoke. “Your government needs your services, Mr. Sommer.” “Services? I’m just a guy who likes to ride Amtrak trains!” “Precisely.” The man began to explain. He said the Pentagon needed a microchip transported to Vandenbergh Air Force Base. The best way to do so seemed to be to hide it in plain sight. There are many enemies of America right here within our borders, he said. One of them was a man called Mr. Adrian. He would stop at nothing to get the microchip. Mr. Adrian wanted to sell the chip to terrorists. In short, they needed me to bring the chip to Vandenbergh. Who would suspect me of carrying the chip, being an ordinary tourist riding trains in a zig-zag manner across America?
“So what’s in it for me?” I asked. “10 million dollars and a lifelong first class Amtrak pass.” He answered. “But really it’s about patriotism” he added. “Well, I don’t know. My life will be in danger.” “All you have to do is follow your itinerary. When you get to Santa Barbara someone will meet you. No one will suspect you have the chip. The man leaned over. “Hold out your hand.” I did. The man had a small gun-like apparatus in his hand. He grabbed my hand and pulled the trigger. “There!” he said, “The chip is now embedded in your hand. That didn’t hurt, did it?” I looked at my hand. The SUV pulled up at Penn Station again.
“What if I get into trouble?” How can I contact you?” “We’ll be watching you the whole way, answered the man. “Now go. Take your trip as if this encounter never happened.” I opened the SUV door. My heart was racing. My hand smarted. The SUV sped away.
My immediate thought was to head to JFK Airport, get out to Vandenbergh ASAP, and collect my $10 million. But the man in the fedora had been specific: I was to follow my zig-zag itinerary. That way, no one would suspect me of carrying the chip.
I called Ophelia. She was getting off work. She said she'd love to have dinner with me and see a show. We met at a restaurant called Hill's Empire Steak House. It was themed after the Great Northern Railroad. Ophelia looked radiant in her Phase IV outfit. She said she wore it just for me. After supper we went to a Broadway show called Pooch. It was a musical about an electric Amtrak locomotive. It was hard to hold back the tears when Pooch was sent to the scrap heap.
We went for a drink after the show. In the middle of our conversation Ophelia paused, and said she had to get something off her chest. She said the minute she saw me she was attracted to me. When she learned I was traveling around the country by train she simply fell in love. "I dunno," she said, "there's just something about a guy with a $100,000 who's traveling all over on Amtrak that really appeals to me."
Needless to say, I didn't go back to The Plaza Hotel alone
DAY THREE
Ophelia took the day off and accompanied me on a one day rail excursion. We caught the 7:39 AM LIRR train from Penn Station to Greenport on the eastern tip of Long Island's north shore. Along the way we talked about Long Island things, like F. Scott Fitzgerald, the creation of Levittown, and Lindbergh's trans-Atlantic flight. Ophelia asked me lots of questions about my Amtrak trip. Part of me wanted to tell her about the microchip and the man in the fedora hat, but I stayed mum.
We had to change trains in Ronkonkoma. Even though the LIRR is America's busiest commuter railroad, Greenport is only served twice a day by a diesel-hauled shuttle. The shuttle was hauled by a new EMD DE30AC. The scenery grew more rural. We stopped at places like Yaphank and Mattituck. A man in the seat behind us argued about expanding Amtrak service between Kansas City and Dallas on his cellphone.
When we arrived in Greenport we had a quick lunch. Then we caught a cab to the ferry dock at Orient Point. From there, we sailed across Long Island Sound to New London, CT aboard the car-ferry "John H". A Cape Air Cessna 412 flew over the ferry midway across Long island Sound.
At New London, we caught an Amtrak Regional train back to Penn Station. The consist of Amfleet equipment was pulled by an HHP-8. I told Ophelia about old New Haven trains like the Senator, The Merchants Limited, and The Yankee Clipper. A young engaged couple sat behind us. They were arguing. The guy didn't want the gal to hypehnate her last name. We had cheeseburgers from the Amcafe. They were very gooey and tasty. It was a wonderful trip.
DAY FOUR
I could scarcely believe my ears. The man repeated himself. "Are there any railfans who would like to drive the Lake Shore Limited to Poughkeepsie?" I raised my hand. The man told me to follow him. We went to the platform and walked the length of the train. There were coaches, two sleepers, an Amcafe, a diner, a crew dorm, and several baggage cars. When we arrived at the engine the man told me to climb into the cab. There was another man in the cab. He asked me, "Are you a Railfan? Do you read Trains magazine?" Yes, I said. "Well then you can drive the Lake Shore Limited to Poughkeepsie. This is the throttle and this is the brake. It's easy. Just wait until that dwarf signal turns green." The light turned green. I threw the throttle into Run 8. The train lurched forward. I ignored all the warning bells and whistles. The train raced alongside the Hudson River. Within two minutes we were in Yonkers. "Can't this thing go any faster?" I asked. We streaked through Tarrytown. The cab attendant was hiding in a corner of the cab in the fetal position. "I told HQ this was a bad idea!" he muttered. The Lake Shore blasted past Ossining jail. We were doing 310 mph. "It's high time America had high speed rail" I said. "But it's always had high speed rail," the man said. "it's just that the airlines pay Amtrak to go slow. Every train in America is capable of going 350 mph." So that was the big secret! If trains went fast it would turn the aviation industry upside down! The US economy would go belly up! I slowed the train for the Poughkeepsie stop.
After I drove the LSL from Penn Station to Poughkeepsie I went back in the train to my sleeping car. I had room E in viewliner 5601 Imperial Dwarf. There was nobody there, so I went to the lounge. It was deserted too. I went to the diner. No one. Then I heard a screeching noise. DERAILMENT! The floor of the diner seemed to rise up to hit me in the head. I felt warm blood trickling down my face. Then there was tumbling. I banged sideways against the edge of table. My femur burst out from my skin, cracked and jagged. The windows shattered. Tableware flew in all directions! A fork slammed into my eyeball. My eyeball popped out and rolled away. "NO-OOOO-OOO-OO" I screamed...
I sat up straight in my bed. I was in a state of mild shock. The sheets were wet with cold sweat! It had all been a dream! I was still at the Plaza Hotel. I never drove the LSL to Poughkeepsie. It was 4:10 am. Ophelia woke up. "What is it darling?" "I just had an awful dream!" I replied.
I fell back asleep. I didn't dream. Ophelia's warm body was reassuring. We slept until ten in the morning. Then it was breakfast in bed. Fall would be coming soon. It was time to leave New York City.
I decided to take Amtrak to Springfield, MA and connect to the westbound Lake Shore Limited there. I booked a quiet car seat on train 170 leaving at 8:30 am the next morning. 170 connected with train 470 at New Haven. 470 would take me to Springfield from New Haven. I'd have a two hour layover before the westbound Lake Shore Limited arrived at 2:10 pm.
While Ophelia was dressing I noticed a tattoo of the letter A on her ankle. "What's that for?" I asked. Ophelia covered her ankle quickly. "It's an old boyfriend" she replied. Her nervousness at my discovery seemed odd, but I accepted her explanation. Later I would find out what the A really stood for.
That day we rode Metro-North to Danbury to check out the railroad museum there. Then we took a cab across the state line on route six to Brewster, NY. There we boarded the Wassaic train for a ride to the extreme northern terminus of the age-old Harlem Line. It used to go from Grand Central all the way to Chatham, NY. You could go all the way to North Adams, MA if you desired. You could connect to the Boston and Albany at Chatham. The line is electrified from GCT to Brewster North nowadays. From there, P42 dual-mode gennies pull or push the trains to and from Wassaic.
We returned from Brewster to Grand Central on a new M-7 mu trainset. It was a scenic ride through the bucolic suburbs of Putnam and Westchester Counties. There was a man with big blue sunglasses and a sequin jacket sitting near us. It was Elton John. He was humming “Harmony” when I approached him. "Please, no autographs," he said. "Yeah, well, don't sleep in the subway darling," I retorted. "Look bloke, is there a problem here? I'm just a pop star riding on Metro-North." I scowled. "You could be nice to people. People made you rich!" Elton shook his head. "Heard that, considered that. But f- that. I'm old and crotchety now."
I went back to Ophelia. "Sorry dear, no autographs." I said. "But don't worry. I'm lighting out for the western territories tomorrow. I'll get you autographs from real pop stars when I get to LA. Who knows, maybe I'll bump into Lady Gaga on the Pacific Surfliner."
DAY FIVE
I had to get up early to catch the 8:30 am connection to Springfield, MA. I quietly packed and gathered my things. I left Ophelia asleep in the bed. I felt upbeat about continuing my trip. When I got outside there was a black SUV waiting. The door opened. It was the man in the fedora hat. I got in.
"We have reason to believe that someone is advising Mr. Adrian of your movements," he said. Who could it be? I wondered. Besides, I hadn't really gone anywhere since arriving in New York City, just a couple of day trips. The SUV moved in the direction of Penn Station.
"Well, I don't know who it could be. What should I do?"
"Just keep zig-zagging across the country on Amtrak. Our intelligence isn't confirmed." The SUV pulled up at Penn Station.
I opened the car door. I was anxious to be on my way. The man in the fedora hat leaned forward. "Remember Dave, America is counting on you." I closed the car door.
I descended the escalator to the Amtrak concourse. My train was leaving in 15 minutes. I would ride it to New Haven then connect to Springfield.
Train 170 to Boston was at the platform as I descended the stairs from the concourse. This was a regional train, a solid Amfleet consist with an HHP-8 at the head-end. I opted out of business class and the quiet car. I just took a seat in an ordinary coach on the left side so I could view the Manhattan skyline from the Hell Gate Bridge. The train wasn't very crowded.
At 8:30 the train began to move. It accelerated as it descended into the East River Tunnel. The tunnel lights looked like blurry stars as we sped past them. After about five minutes we burst into the bright morning light at Sunnyside Yard. I saw lots of idle Amtrak rolling stock. Approaching Harold Interlocking, the train slowed and then crossed over onto the track toward our left. I could see the Hell Gate Bridge approach rising over Queens from east to west.
Soon the train was on the bridge. The view of Manhattan stretched out before me. Sunlight reflected sharply off the buildings. I thought to myself that this was one of the finest views from any Amtrak train. It was a brilliant morning. The atmosphere on the train was subdued. There was a light chop in the waters below.
Then we were in the South Bronx. I could see rusting remnants of the New York, Westchester & Boston Railroad as well as those of the New Haven. We passed the freight yard at Oak Point. I saw a couple of CSX locos and lots of freight cars. The scenery changed from factory buildings to apartment buildings and bodegas. Then some green started poking through the urban landscape and we crossed the drawbridge by City Island and Co-op City.
We entered Westchester County at New Rochelle and slowed for Shell Interlocking. Metro-North's four track line from Grand Central Terminal came in from the left and merged with Amtrak's trackage. Train 170 eased into New Rochelle Station right on time at 8:59 AM. I decided to go to the Amcafe and grab a coffee.
We were on the move again when I returned to my seat. I moved over to the right side of the coach. I wanted to see the seaside vistas of Long Island Sound. I didn't see much. The New Haven Line doesn't really get close to the water's edge until Connecticut. Train 170 must have been doing 80. We flashed by leafy suburbs like Larchmont, Mamaroneck, Harrison, and Rye.
Ophelia was on my mind. She had looked so beautiful sleeping in the big bed at The Plaza Hotel when I left. She had asked me the night before where I planned to go next and I told her I was going to Chicago. I told her I didn't know where I was going after that, because it was true. I was leaning towards The City of New Orleans though.
Then I thought about Mr. Adrian and the man in the fedora hat. I thought about Bulk Deadweight and the circus train. I thought about the $100,000 I won. The money was safely in the bank now.
We entered Connecticut when we crossed the Byram River just east of Port Chester by the old Lifesavers Candy Factory. The train rolled smoothly through the tony suburbs of Fairfield County. I sipped my coffee.
Trouble came at Stamford. Three young punks got on board. They had a boombox. It was playing loud rap music. The trio sat down in the row behind me. The conductor came and took their tickets. They were going to Hartford. The conductor didn't say anything to them about the loud music. The three were intimidating. You could feel the tension in the car. Everything they said was "Yo"-this and "MF"-that. They were very loud. All three had baseball caps turned sideways with the letter "A" on them.
Suddenly one of them kicked the back of my chair. "Yo, old man, how you like the beats?" I turned around. I took a deep breath. The kid was ugly. He had acne and a goatee. He looked vicious. There were about ten gold chains around his neck plus a cross. "I don't like 'em at all," I said. "You should turn that radio down."
The group laughed. "And who's gonna make me, you?" said the apparent leader.
"Nobody should have to make you. If you had any common sense you'd have some respect when you're among the general public."
"Oooh!" said the kid with sarcasm. "Respect! Are you sayin' I'm dissin' you?"
"Whatever that means, I'm saying you aren't acting right."
The kid stood up. He came around to my row. "Yo, I don't like you, baldy!" I grabbed my coffee and stood up. I was being threatened, as far as I was concerned. I tossed the hot coffee in his face. He howled. "Yo, look what you did to my threads, man! I'm gonna kill you!" he cried as he stepped backwards and fell down.
When the boy fell, a large metal object popped out of his sweat pants. It was a Ruger SR9 9mm pistol. I leaned over and grabbed it. The other two boys jumped out of their seats and clenched their fists. I pointed the gun at one boy, then the other.
"Now you punks listen to me and listen good, or I'll blast your heads off." I looked at the boy on the floor. The last thing I expected this morning when I woke up was to be pointing a pistol at three young punks. I flicked off the boombox. Applause rose up from the car.
The boy on the floor got up. "Put your hands in the air," I growled. "The three of you are getting off at the next stop!" The conductor appeared. I explained what happened. He radioed for the Bridgeport Police to meet the train.
The leader threatened me with promises to get even. I told him he wasn't in a very good position to threaten anyone.
The train came to a stop at Bridgeport. Uniformed officers lined the platform. Two of them entered our coach. I was still pointing the Ruger at the punks. One of the officers told me to put the gun down. I did. The officer picked it up. Then they handcuffed the boys.
Two more cops appeared. They were detectives. They told me I had to come with them. I protested, but they said I must. I gathered my things and got off the train. I was not going to make my connection to the Lake Shore Limited at Springfield, evidently. Damn punks!
I called Ophelia from the squad car. I told her I was being taken to the station house for questioning. The police needed a statement from me.
As the squad car moved through the streets of Bridgeport I noticed all the fallen leaves blowing on the ground. Where were they going? Like the tide, they had no way of turning.
We arrived at police headquarters. The detectives let me out of the car. I followed them inside. We went to a drab green interrogation room. I felt a little uncomfortable. They offered me a seat at a small table. They stood. A one-way window faced me. I wondered if anyone was behind it.
"Well, Mr. Sommer" said one of the detectives, "are you in the habit of carrying unregistered handguns?"
"The boy was carrying it, not me!" I was shocked. The cop was implying that I was the perpetrator.
"So you say. Those boys said you pulled the gun on them." said the other detective.
"We've got to establish who's telling the truth, you see."
I told the story of how the boys got on the train and disturbed everyone and then threatened me. "Look, I'm on vacation" I added.
"You could be going away for a long time if we press charges against you."
"I'm telling you, those boys were dangerous. The only reason I got the gun was because the boy fell down when I threw my coffee on him. I've never see that gun before in my life!"
"Don't get excited, Mr. Sommer. We're just doing our jobs. The boys have rap sheets a mile long. Your record is clean. We just need you to write down on this pad exactly what happened. It's serious business when an Amtrak train gets delayed because of criminal activity."
I described the turn of events on the pad the detectives gave me. When I was finished they said I could go. They took all my contact info in case they had to reach me again. Charges were going to be made against the three punks.
I left the police station on foot. I walked south on Main Street towards the Amtrak station. I passed St. Vincent's Medical Center and then I came to a place called the New Colony Diner. I stepped inside and took a seat at a booth. A waitress came and handed me a menu. She placed a glass of water on the table. I called Amtrak on my cell. I needed to change my reservation on the Lake Shore out of Springfield.
Since my travel plans for the day were shot, I decided to return to the Bridgeport Amtrak Station and catch a train to Hartford. I'd spend the evening there, and resume my original plan the next day. Hartford is a nice city. Train 176 left Bridgeport at 4:42PM. It connected with train 476 at New Haven. Train 476 arrived in Hartford at 6:05PM. I made reservations to stay at the Homewood Suites Hotel. The rate was $206.10 a night. What the heck. I had the dough. Why not splurge?
I had a cheeseburger and fries with gravy. It was only one o'clock. I had to find something to do for a few hours. I pulled out my laptop PC. It appeared that the P.T. Barnum Museum was the city's main attraction. What a coincidence! I had ridden the circus train just five days ago!
I finished my meal and paid the check. I left a fifty dollar tip for the waitress. She was nine months pregnant and was working hard. I felt sorry for her.
I got up and left the diner. As I walked south along Main Street again, a Tibetan-like monk in a pink robe approached me. I started to reach for my wallet. But then he said, "Hello sir! Would you like to accompany me to our afternoon worship? We are the Kalimar monks. Our shrine is around the corner."
"Okay!" I replied. The circus museum could wait. This was sure to be an experience. I followed the monk.
We came to an ordinary looking house with a small flight of stairs leading up to a porch. There was a sign above the door. It read, "Kalimar." We went inside.
Drapes hung everywhere. Incense was burning. There were candles on every possible ledge. The living room had been transformed into the main chapel. There were paintings and statues of deities I'd never seen before. Prayer rugs lay on the floor. A throne stood at one end of the room. It was sculpted to look like the sun. The monk offered me a chair. I sat down.
Presently I heard chimes. About 30 monks with shaved heads filed in. They chanted "Kalimar - Kalimar" over and over. Within a few moments they had all taken up positions on the prayer rugs. A giant gong sounded. The spiritual leader of the Kalimar monks entered from behind an elaborately embroidered curtain near the throne. He took his seat above everyone. He raised his hand slowly and the monks ceased chanting.
"Igsno hara lakavi myansori ambritsarara!" said the priest. The monks all smiled and said "Kalimar Kalimar" in unison.
The curtain opened again and in walked a monk with a decapitated goat head on an ornate gold platter. "Kalimar Kalimar" said the monks. My host winked at me.
The monks passed the goat head platter around. They all smiled and giggled. The symbolism was lost to me. Each monk passed a hand over the goat's eyes and then jabbed a needle in the head. Then the attendant took the head away.
The ceremony went on. Fish eyes were passed around. Each monk ate one. Then a bucket of entrails was brought out and set on fire. I sat quietly and watched.
At the end, some curtains were drawn and a golden statue of an Amtrak Genesis locomotive was revealed. The monks went berserk. They laughed and did somersaults with glee. Then the leader clapped and the commotion ceased. The monks returned to their rugs.
The leader looked at me and said, "We are the Kalimar monks. We are the protectors of Amtrak trains and passengers. Sign away your worldly goods and join us!"
I just stared back at him. All the monks gazed at me. The leader repeated himself. The monk who'd brought me there said, "Your Excellency, I have seen this man protect passengers on train 170, but perhaps he does not wish to join with us."
The leader's eyes gleamed. The monk who spoke for me bowed his head. I wondered if I should say something. I had no idea one of the Kalimar monks had observed me on the train. I had no idea the Kalimar monks existed!
There was a long silence. Then the leader clapped his hands once. The chanting began again. The monks slowly rose from their prayer mats. My new friend came over to me. "Now we will go outside for martial arts drills." he said. I followed the procession of monks to the rear of the house and out the back door.
The backyard was a fantastic oriental garden. Tall bushes and trees lined its sides. There was a small fountain and numerous potted bonsai trees. It would be impossible for outsiders to see in except from directly above.
The monks formed two lines. Swords were distributed. A gong sounded. Two of the monks stepped out of their lines. They began fighting. They shouted when they swung their blades. "Hah!" "Huh!" "Hasan-Chop!"
The fight became more intense. The monks watched intently. My host said to me, "We practice martial arts to serve and protect Amtrak passengers. There is a Kalimar monk on every train Amtrak operates."
Suddenly one of the swordsmen cut a swath out of his opponent's robe. The robe split open. There was an Amtrak logo tattooed across the man's chest.
The leader clapped and the fighting instantaneously ceased. Then two new opponents emerged from the opposing teams. More fighting took place. Karate. Judo. Kung Fu. Hapkido. Jiu-Jitsu.
Finally the last two opponents bowed. I looked at my watch. It was three o'clock. I decided it was time to go.
I thanked my host. I bowed deeply towards the monks. I had a feeling that this was not the last I'd see them.
I left the shrine and found my way back to Main Street. I felt a little peculiar. The Kalimar monks were strange. A taxi approached. I raised my hand. The cab came to a stop in front of me. "Where to, pal?" said the driver.
The cab was in terrible condition. Electrician's tape held the back seat together. There was a grimy McDonalds soft drink cup crumbled on the floor. The windows were smudged with greasy fingerprints. There were signs everywhere. "Fuel Surcharge Table" "City Zone Map" "Please Do Not Slam Door" "No Smoking" The car reeked of cigarette smoke. I glanced at the taxi driver's license. His name was Louie Fontana.
"I'll tell ya, Mister. This town ain't what it used to be. I been driving cab here 43 years."
I took a deep breath. "Think you can find your way to Hartford?"
"Hartford? Sure! I know it like the back of my hand!"
"How much is it to go there?"
"It's $130, but for you I'll do it for $130!" He winked.
"Okay. I'm going to the Homewood Suites Hotel."
The cab started moving down Main Street. Louie picked up the microphone hanging from the dash. "This is car 11. I have a pick-up to Hartford."
"$130, car 11."
"10-4"
We got on I-95 towards New Haven. I was happy to be leaving Bridgeport.
"Mister, you mind if I have cigarette?" the driver asked.
"Go ahead. Just pretend I'm not here."
"I'll crack the window."
We crossed the Housatonic River and passed the exit for Sikorsky Airport and the cities of Stratford and Milford. At New Haven, the home of Yale University, we proceeded on I-89 north towards Hartford. Classic rock songs played on the radio.
Louie started talking. "You know what drives me nuts? Vegans! They can't be just Vegetarians and not eat meat, fish, or poultry. They gotta make it even more complicated. And then there's the politics. Vegans are always against this or that. Who needs 'em!"
I thought about it. Vegans, of course, in addition to being vegetarian, do not use other animal products and by-products such as eggs, dairy products, honey, leather, fur, silk, wool, cosmetics, and soaps derived from animal products.
"Why do they drive you nuts?" I asked. "Who cares what other people eat?"
"Well, I get the vegans in the cab and they start right in about my smoking and my fast food. I'm gonna put a sign on the cab that says No Vegans."
"I think you have enough signs."
"I hope one time I'm driving a Vegan somewhere and we get stuck in a snowdrift and the only thing to eat is a Big Mac."
We continued north.
"Yeah, kids today are into weird stuff. They should be into wholesome stuff, like baseball. You know what the best World Series ever was? 1978. Dodgers vs. Yankees. The defending champion New York Yankees had struggled for several years on the way to recapturing their twenty-first crown while the Los Angeles Dodgers were still stinging from the previous year's defeat. Both teams boasted strong pitching staffs, top-notch sluggers and several All-Stars in their line-ups. Many experts had predicted a close, seven game Series that would be decided in the closing minutes, but things did not appear that way in Game 1. LA's Davey Lopes drove in five runs on two home runs and Dusty Baker added his own against twenty game winner Ed Figueroa and the entire New York bullpen. Tommy John got the first Series victory of his career after tossing shutout ball for six innings in the 11-5 opener. The only encouraging performance from the Yanks was the familiar play of "Mr. October" Reggie Jackson, who picked up right where he had left off in '77 with a home run and two singles."
Louie burped, lit another cigarette, and continued.
"Little changed the following day as the Dodger Stadium crowd was treated to it's second win in a row thanks to Ron Cey, who knocked in all of Los Angeles's runs with a single in the fourth and a three run homer in the sixth. Rookie pitcher Bob Welch saved the 4-3 game in the ninth after Jackson took the plate with two men on base. As the count went to 3-2, Reggie, who had fouled off three two-strike pitches, swung mightily at Welch's fastball and missed. Now up two games-to-none, the National Leaguers were thinking sweep as the contest shifted to Yankee Stadium."
A car swerved in front of us. Louie gave him the finger.
"Game 3 promised to be a pitchers duel as both teams brought out their "big guns". Don Sutton (a fifteen game winner) started for the Dodgers against Ron Guidy (25-3, 1.74 ERA, nine shutouts) and both aces struggled despite their spectacular stats. Guidry allowed seven walks and eight hits while Sutton surrendered five runs and nine hits in 6 1/3 innings. Roy White started the Yankees rolling with a first inning homer, but Graig Nettles was the star with outstanding play in the field. With two out and one man on base in the third, Nettles stopped the Dodgers by throwing out Reggie Smith after making a diving stop of his bullet down the third base line. In the fifth, with base runners on first and second with two out, he snagged another line-drive by Smith over the bag and held the power hitter to an infield single. On the next play, with the bases loaded, he nabbed a hard grounder by Steve Garvey and forced Smith out at second. Finally in the sixth, he finished them off with another brilliant stop on a two out, bases-loaded shot down the line while getting another force at second. In the end, Los Angeles couldn't beat the infielder and his team walked away with a 5-1 triumph."
A VW bus was moving slowly in front of us. Its backside was plastered with bumper stickers. One of them read VEGAN. Louie grunted and passed the bus.
"Game 4 featured another controversial call that was becoming the norm in modern baseball. Tommy John entered the sixth protecting a 3-0 lead (thanks to Smith's fifth inning homer), but a series of events turned the tide of the game and inevitably the Series. After White led off with a single, Thurmon Munson walked and Jackson followed with a run-scoring base hit. Lou Piniella came up next and knocked a sinking liner toward Bill Russell. As the Dodgers shortstop went to play the ball it glanced off of his glove and fell to the ground. Munson, who had hesitated in case the ball had been caught, took off for third, but Russell went to second attempting to catch Jackson and complete a double-play at first. Sensing this, the Yankee stopped midway down the base path and, with Russell's throw in flight, turned toward first baseman Steve Garvey colliding with the ball. Munson scored the Yank's second run, but the Dodgers argued (to no avail) that Jackson had intentionally interfered."
Just ahead was a billboard for Amtrak's Acela Express. There was graffiti at the base. It read, "Kalimar". The monks had been there. Louie continued jabbering away.
"New York went on to tie it up in the eighth, after Blair rounded the bases on a single, sacrifice and double by his fellow teammates. After Goose Gossage (twenty-seven saves, 2.01 ERA) retired Los Angeles (in order) in the top of the tenth, the Yankees struck for the game-winning run in the last half of the inning after Piniella scored White for the 4-3 victory. Bob Lemon, who had replaced Billy Martin in July, started Jim Beattie in Game 5 and the rookie benefited from the "Bronx Bombers" at their finest. Bucky Dent, Mickey Rivers and Brian Doyle all collected three hits and Munson drove in five runs for an eighteen hit, 12-2 romping that put the Yankees one game away from their twenty-second World Championship.
Hunter was given the call for Game 6 and, with two innings of relief help from Gossage, the two emerged 7-2 winners and World Champions. Dent and Doyle both repeated their three hit efforts with the shortstop's three run homer proving the deciding factor while Jackson topped it off with a seventh inning homer off of Welch, who had fanned him in Game 2. In addition to their first back-to-back championships since '61-'62, the Yanks set another postseason record as the only title winner ever to trail before winning six straight."
We were 32 miles from Hartford.
-------------------- Everybody has to believe in something. I believe I'll take the train! Posts: 230 | From: Ithaca, New York | Registered: May 2009
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