Every Stone a Story

Train here a mere 2 mins late. Another female passenger is wearing a heavily decorated short vest with a knife handle protruding from on ... 9:36 PM Feb 12th

"Here" was the Oakland train station. The knife handle -- bone, handsome, promising a short but useful skinning blade -- was protruding from one pocket. The vest looked Tibetan, but I can't be sure -- it was lovely, and so was the woman. Nice station, glass and white-painted iron, but small.

We're on our way! 9:49 PM Feb 12th

I asked the conductor to make sure I didn't have a seat next to the gaggle of cigarette-smoking teenagers who were also headed to Portland. The conductor and all the other train staff were polite, competent, and pleasant. I was seated next to a well-dressed Black businessman who made half a dozen cell phone calls and then disappeared into the lounge car. He reappeared just before Sacramento, smiled, gathered his stuff, and disembarked.

Waking was worth it. Discovered recliner-style leg rest. Heaven. 12:50 AM yesterday

I slept a few hours and then woke. The train seats in coach are about 24 inches wide (that's per seat -- the seats are in pairs with no arm between), and there's a good 50 inches from one row to the next. By comparison, airplane seats are 18-21 inches wide in coach, with 30 - 31 inches from one row to the next. The difference in comfort level is astronomical. The seats recline, there are adjustable footrests, and then there are these lovely lower-leg rests. Also, the tray-tables on the back of the seats ahead fold down and then slide, so you can adjust their distance.

First seatmate stayed in the lounge car. Just escaped being saddled with a skinny lady with awful perfume. She is one seat ahead, reeking. 2:24 AM

By "escaped," I mean "I mentioned politely that I was having a problem with her perfume," and the conductor seated her elsewhere. I still ended up sleeping in my HEPA filter mask, from her perfume, the leftover cigarette smoke on her, and the weird smell of burning rubber that permeated the train or possibly the northernmost reaches of California and the southernmost of Oregon.

By the end of the ride, I was pretty asthmatic. This is the great risk and frustration of any kind of public transit for me. In fact, of anytime I leave my apartment or my car or the few places I know are safe. My allergies and asthma make ordinary life much more difficult and sometimes impossible. Going anywhere that I can't control the atmosphere or the food feels like flinging myself into contingency -- which is a lovely adventurous feeling, except that I'd really rather not end up in the ER or morgue. And both are a possibility these days.

Woke an hour ago to a landscape of fir trees under heavy snow. Despite gray skies and night, the snow itself glimmers. I still dream suc ... 6:02 AM yesterday

Still dream such scenes.

I didn't tweet every time I woke up -- I had a wakeful night, interspersed with sleep -- but I loved the snow and spent a long time just looking at the way it lay on the trees and houses, how it sank into darker slush in ditches. I miss snow.

Stark hills, sagebrush, snow. Welcome to Oregon! 7:27 AM yesterday

There are hills and plateaus here, desert landscape from here to Bend and beyond. Almost every little house had a beef or two, and many had horses. Yet clearly this wasn't horse country in the aristocratic sense. It was hardscrabble country with working horses and cattle destined for the barbecue pit.

On my left is Crater Lake. On my right a bald eagle. 8:45 AM yesterday

This was freaking amazing. The train tracks run for a little while right on the shore of the lak, which turned out not to Be Crater Lake. I looked across the train car at the grey early light, the lake choppy and iron-grey where it wasn't frozen, and the ragged, ruined parapets of the original volcanic crater. Then just outside my own window, I saw an eagle hunting the bleak countryside to the east -- not twenty feet from me. Just about level with the train windows, so I saw it slightly from above.

These west coast Amtrak trains are nothing like the ones I rode back east, which are practically commuter trains. These are two-level cars with baggage, restrooms, and maybe a few seats or a video arcade on the lower floor. Above, the regular coach seats. I didn't check out the luxurious sleeper accommodations. You can move from car to car only on the upper floor.

The stairs are only a couple inches wider than the seat cushions, and have two 90-degree turns. I managed to bump my knee against the wall twice while going downstairs, and once I scraped a three-inch-wide swath of skin off my right calf.

There are three restrooms per car -- two like airplane restrooms, one a foot wider and considerably longer. Never any lines for the toilets.

It's snowing! 9:40 AM yesterday

Seeing snow on the ground is one thing. Watching it fall is another. We'd been through drizzle, light rain, heavy rain, and what sure as hell sounded like sleet on the way so far. But snow -- snow is magic.

Almost to Eugene. Out of the clouds and snow, into sunshine, reservoir, and wooded hills with ugly clear-cut patches. 12:21 PM yesterday

I walked around the train whenever I needed to stretch my legs. The aisles are also wider than those in airplanes, and nobody ever makes you put on your seat belt. I could have gotten out at some of the bigger stations, but the platforms are jammed with people desperately puffing away on cigarettes, which are strictly forbidden on trains. (Thank God.)

The smokers all rushed out whenever we reached a bigger stop, one where we stayed for 20-40 minutes. Some of them would stand by the doors for ten minutes before the station, sucking an unlit cigarette and clutching their lighters. So the smokers made the platforms no place to get a breath of fresh air, unless you define fresh air as a blast of tars and nicotine.

On the other hand, not only does Amtrak forbid smoking on the train itself, they occasionally announce the ban, complete with the information that anyone caught smoking on board will be dumped off the train at the next stop. This announcement made me practically orgasmic.

Apple, cheese, lavosh make a perfect train lunch. Watching creeks, fields, pastures, small towns from observation car. about 23 hours ago

gramina kindly packed me a picnic to go along with what I'd bought myself. (Bottled water, a bottle of Diet Coke, juice for breakfast, PopTarts ditto, plus some dried fruit.) I remembered to slip my picnic knife in: a plastic-handled knife with matching sheath. It's safe to take one's knife on the train.

One destination, should you wish to stretch your legs, is the diner car. I never went there, having been warned that the food was expensive and possibly not Lynn-safe. There is also a parlor car open only to those who take a sleeper berth. The sleepers are insanely expensive, but I can see the point of them.

I did go to the observation car, which gave even better views than my seat. Comfy chairs, vast windows extending around the curve where wall met roof, and an electrical outlet so I could recharge my cell phone. Amtrak trains in the east have a lot more outlets in the coach seats, but again, they're commuter trains for business people. The Coast Starlight seems to be for railfans, students, retired people, and a few happy misfits like me.

A few young orchards and many old douglas fir. I like this country. But I like the hills better. Portland by 4pm. about 23 hours ago

The Willamette Valley is dead flat, but you can see hills from there. I'd love to drive through the Cascades and the Oregon coast range. Hills make me happy. So do trees.

No Twitter, too busy.

Arrived safely in Portland. The train station has a Richardsonian Romanesque exterior with a clock tower, but the interior is a melange: a coffered, carved ceiling; marble-clad walls; neon directional signs; and brushed-aluminum deco typefaces. I loved it.

Alan and I rode a bus uphill and checked into a motel. I was wiped out from travel, asthma, etc., so Alan went out for Japanese food while I collapsed into sleep. He returned with miso soup and tempura and sushi, so I woke, ate, drank the soup (which was *exactly* what I needed), and fell back asleep.

This morning we had breakfast at Biscuits Cafe on 21st (good omelette, pretty good biscuits, although Alan reports their biscuits and gravy was upside-down). Then we walked all the way down to Powell's. For me, these days, that's a long walk. In addition to the asthma, I am badly out of shape -- and there is indeed a strong causality there, as well as correlation. But he was patient with me when I was slow and had to stop to breathe, and even when I was commenting on the architecture.

Lots of comfortable foursquare houses from the 1890s-1920s, a fabulous Shingle house, and one anomaly that looked like it had been built in the days of Carpenter's gothic but by someone who couldn't find even one lancet window. Oh, and there was one place cut into apartments, with an upstairs sleeping porch. The porch railings had been replaced by a five-or six-foot privacy fence, whereat I groaned.

Dynapgraphics is a spectacular Art Deco building with a great logo. Instantly recognizable as a printing facility, just from the sign and logo. If they pay as much attention to detail on their printing as on their building, they must be top-notch.

We'll take the bus back uphill, though.

Not only am I in Portland, I am at Powells. about 1 hour ago

Powells has free wifi in their cafe. Also, one nasty customer, many pleasant customers, and the facilities to rearrange my Portland breakfast for tomorrow. Having checked email, NOT read any LJ or Twitters, and made necessary arrangements (plus drunk a pot of dragonwell green tea and some black tea latte), The electrical outlets are only in the corners. I am now ready to go look at books.

Wheee!