Ride their fathers’ magic carpet made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin’ to the gentle beat,
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.”---Steve Goodman
The two tracks farthest from my house were through rails on which the passenger and freight trains hauled their cargos north, or south to Boston. I finally got to ride in one at age 5 when my father took me to a Red Sox game at Fenway, a dreamy, miraculous journey past backyards of waving people, crossroads of waiting vehicles and bustling business centers. We pulled into Boston’s North Station amid a sea of railroad tracks and trains moving into and out of town, a fantastic panorama for any child. I looked at the nattily attired conductor with envy. This guy actually got paid for riding up and down the line all day, doing nothing more than taking tickets and schmoozing with the riders. Where do I sign up?
When I went off to college in Oklahoma in the Autumn of 1958, it was via train, first from Lawrence through New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana to Chicago, then from Chi-town through Illinois, Iowa and Missouri to charming Stillwater. Dumb kids at that age have romantic visons of train trysts with mysterious strangers, but of course that never happens (see “Lookin’ For Love In All The Wrong Places”). You’re more likely to run into Grandpa Jones or Aunt Fannie on their way to the big grange convention in the Quod-Cities. I did meet Marjorie, though, a high-school grad on her way to Mundelein College, who kept buttoning and unbuttoning the top fastener on her blouse. Her mother had probably warned her against railroad train lotharios, and she couldn’t decide whether or not I was one, so nothing happened. Still, the trip was a useful lesson in how the landscape of the country gradually changes as one heads west, a treat unknown to travelers on the great silver bird. One solid tip, though: bring your giant book of crossword puzzles for those moments when there are no Marjories and the train seems to be swimming in molasses.
Hey, Hey, LBJ---How Many Trains Did You Fill Today?
In 1965, President Lyndon Baines Johnson signed the Highway Speed Ground Transportation Act, which was supposed to pave the way for a national high-speed rail system in the United States. Lyndon told everybody “An astronaut can orbit the earth faster than a man on the ground can get from New York to Washington.” Alas, sixty years later it still takes about three hours to travel between the two cities, about twice as long as a single orbit of the International Space Station. Nonetheless, hope springs eternal. At least two dozen countries in Western Europe and East Asia have successful high-speed rail systems…trains which travel at least 186 mph…and there is growing momentum in the U.S. We octogenarians, faced with an old stick-in-the-mud as president may not see it but all you sixty and seventy-year-old whippersnappers have a good chance.
Construction has already started on the first true high-speed rail line in the U.S., which is scheduled to open between Southern California and Las Vegas in 2028. Amtrak has also revived the possibility of a high-speed line between Houston and Dallas. “The outlook has never been brighter,” says Andy Kunz, president and CEO of the U.S. High Speed Rail Association. “We are just getting warmed up.” Still, the possibility of two relatively short distance rail lines is a far cry from cross-country travel. Mike Reininger, the CEO of Brightline West, which will connect Vegas with Rancho Cucamonga in SoCal, had this to say: “Big cities, especially those 200-300 miles apart, have broken infrastructure systems and very slow vehicular traffic. In most cases, the roads are inadequate for the amount of cars and trucks using them. There are slowdowns and stoppages everywhere. That’s where high-speed rail will work best and soonest. Don’t get me wrong---eventually, we are interested in destinations everywhere. I am firmly convinced that the first time a customer buys a ticket, there will be no going back.” Mike thinks if you build it, they will come. But but let’s play it safe and try the Short Line first.
What’s Next?
Current railroad tracks, alas, cannot simply be repurposed for high-speed rail. The speeds involved require a sealed corridor with grade separation---features like overpasses and underpasses which prevent cars and pedestrians from having to cross in front of a bullet train. A high-speed train can’t nimbly wend its way through the landscape like The Orient Express, it needs straightaways, gradual slopes and gentle turns. The Brightline West train from Vegas to Cucamonga will be built on a 218-mile strip of land between the north- and southbound lanes of the I-15 so the company does not have to go through the costly process of negotiating rights-of-way with private landowners. Environmental reviews are finished with and passenger service is expected to begin in late 2028. “This one is super easy to build because it’s on wide-open desert,” says Andy Kunz, president of the U.S. High Speed Rail Association. “It’s flat, and few people live in the region.”
The dream of a national high-speed rail system is being kept alive by legislators like Seth Moulton, the U.S. representative from Massachusetts’ sixth district since 2015. Moulton has been pitching a $205 billion federally funded high-speed rail system that would connect the entire country. Moulton contends that connecting two large cities with high-speed rail would also foster better connection among surrounding smaller cities. “If you built between Chicago and Boston, say, it would not only be great for those two cities but it would absolutely be transformative for Cleveland, for Buffalo, for Syracuse, for South Bend and for Albany. All of a sudden, they’re accessible to these great economies.” He suggested that by compressing enormous distances, high-speed rail could perform the important work of “truly knitting the country back together. Just imagine zipping the 2446 miles from New York to L.A. in 17 hours.” If you’ve got the money, Honey, we’ve got the time. Lefty Frizzell said that.
No hopping boxcars, though, Jimmie Rodgers.
Where Did They Go, Cotton-Eyed Joe?
Trains used to go everywhere. Up to the lip of active volcanoes, throughout India when the monsoon months made driving impossible, even to western ghost towns in the U.S. long after the silver ran out.
The daring Italian route spiraled up the slopes of Mt. Etna, offering tourists spectacular views of the action. The train featured special heat-resistant carriages and emergency speed capabilities in case…well, you know. The prevailing philosophy of the railroaders was “Who can’t outrun lava?” but in 1992 after barely escaping three eruptions in a single season, the insurance companies had enough and refused further coverage. Ciao, Mr. Conductor.
The Indian railway specifically operated during the wettest monsoon months when alternate travel was stalled. Modified steam engines were able to push through several feet of water while keeping passengers dry in elevated carriages. The route, however, was forced to cease operations when water-loving crocodiles began following the trains, mistaking their regular schedule for a migration pattern and creating unsafe conditions at the stations. “See ya later, alligator!” “After a while, crocodile!”
The historic line originally serving the booming silver mining communities in the American West mysteriously continued long after the silver ran out. The railway curiously maintained profitability despite carrying few passengers and almost no freight, drawing the interest of federal investigators. The Feds got an eyeful, discovering the trains were being used to transport counterfeit money which was being manufactured in abandoned mine shafts along the route. The railway’s slogan might have been “If You’ve Got The Money, Honey, We’ve Got The Line.” Poor sports, the Feds shut ‘em down in 1976.
The Spiritwood Express, a Canadian prairie line, serviced remote farming communities in Saskatchewan for nearly 50 years before its odd demise. The route became infamous for constant sightings of moose on the tracks, causing costly delays and near-misses. Railway officials finally pulled the plug after a record-breaking 37 moose sightings in a single day, which made the route economically unsustainable due to endless slowdowns. “If they would have renamed the train ‘The Bullwinkle Express’ we’d have relented,” claimed a representative of the Loyal Order of Moose.
The Transylvanian Night Express in Romania connected remote villages through densely forested mountain passes before help got hard to find. Local superstitions about the mysterious area led to many train drivers (not called engineers in Romania) refusing to complete the route after sunset. Others who piloted the trains vigorously complained of encounters with shadows that moved independently of objects. Management finally surrendered to folklore and discontinued the service. (Insert Twilight Zone music here.)
The Maharaja Train
Travelers who like to be pampered think nothing of buying expensive first-class seats on their favorite airlines, but what does that get you? A little more space, gratis alcohol, maybe a meal and a chance to sneer at the commoners on their way to steerage in the rear. Emirates Airlines’ will fluff up your pillows and bring your slippers, of course, but there is no silver bird the equal of India’s fabled Maharaja Train. Now, that’s your ticket to ride.
The MT is the world’s finest luxury train. It is equipped with facilities offering unmatched opulence. Travel connoisseurs who have experienced Europe’s fancy Orient Express testify there is no comparison, the Maharajah wins hands down. The world-class facilities include pneumatic suspensions, attached private bathrooms, individual temperature control, Wi-Fi internet, DVD players and LCD TV. If you’re interested, there are complimentary afternoon wine pours, two fine dining restaurants, a comfortable lounge and exotic bars. Guests can choose their cabins from four categories from mere suites to deluxe cabins, each more lavish than its predecessor. The snazzy observation car offers cozy armchairs and a well-stocked library, and that’s just for starters.
Travelers on the Maharaja’s Express, the be-all, end-all of the Indian rail world are greeted with red carpets and local folk bands at every stop. Say again? Even King Farouk didn’t get local folk bands. It’s like having the Kingston Trio greet you in Omaha or Peter, Paul & Mary showing up at the depot in Duluth. Is this a great railroad, or what? Send our regards to Delta…we’re turning over a new leaf.
Turning Point (a little train romance)
He noticed her walking through Boston’s North Station, straight and true, gliding along as if her feet never touched the ground. She was probably seventeen but carried herself like the Queen of England, though simply dressed and void of crown. She was a brunette with shoulder-length hair and a face carved by Zavadil, lean and lithe and the mistress of whatever domain suited her. He decided her name was Chloe.
The train tracks are not far apart at North Station and for some reason he was happy to see her climb the steps into an outgoing next to his. He stood on the platform and watched Chloe take her window seat in the middle of the car. She noticed him, lifted her eyelashes just a smidge, sat down with a very slight smile and looked the other way. He mounted the steps of his train and found a window precisely across from hers and forced himself not to look in her direction for several minutes. When he did, Chloe was smiling, as if highly amused by his antics. She raised a hand and gave him the tiniest wave possible.
And so here we had one of life’s magic moments. Was this to be or not to be? He had never in his brief existence seen her equal, never been so entranced by such a woman, but then again, he knew so little of her. If he was bold enough to bolt from his train and rush to hers would he be greeted by scornful laughter and the possibility of a destination fifty miles from his own? Or perhaps…just perhaps…a welcoming smile and a ride to glory? Life has so many turning points, knotty questions with undecipherable answers that could mean everything or nothing, the opportunity to be a hero or a fool. He almost stood once, almost took the plunge, but caution ruled this day and just as he sat, the train gave one brief tug, then began easing forward. He looked toward Chloe’s window and waved. She had placed a note on the glass…a possible invitation…perhaps a valuable phone number? He’d never know, he was too far away to read it and the train would not be stopping. When the memory finally arrived, John Dryden’s quote was a minute too late. “None but the brave deserve the fair,” it admonished. One sigh and one lost opportunity. He never made the same mistake again.
That’s all, folks,
.
