The Easier Ride
By Robert J. Ottaviani
“All aboard, Pittsburgh to New York this way please.”
The train guard stood tall and dapper dressed up in his navy blue uniform with cap while directing the boarding traffic. We rolled our baggage on the loading platform past several cars until we decided which car we wanted to enter. “Let me help you with those bags” he offered to those who struggled to lift their belongings up three steps to enter the train. Once inside we stored our bags overhead our seats, which were not designated and of our choice.
A Long Mind Wondering Journey
And so our 444 mile, nine-hour journey aboard the Pennsylvanian was about to begin. We depart “Penn Station” in Pittsburgh exactly at 7:10 a.m. as scheduled as the big wheels start to turn rolling us down the track. Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack – the steel wheels sing against the steel rails. We are soon up to speed pouring past city neighborhoods and working our way through winding creeks at the foot of mountains and beautiful countryside. These scenic views become a staple of our trip as seemingly every time we look outside similar settings are to be enjoyed.
Inside the train we notice immediate comforts such as the extreme leg room with foot rests and leg rests. There’s also a button to release your seatback down to a tilt-back level, a drop down tray and a close by outlet to plug in your electronic goodies. None of these are state of the art concepts but rather well thought out ideas put in place years ago. Tickets are not checked upon boarding but rather a few miles up the track lending itself to the total laid back attitude. It’s as if you are taking a trip not to a city but to a time long ago when railways were a big part of American folklore.
Traveling Back in Time
It was easy to imagine being ambushed by the Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch or Jesse James and the James Gang, as we passed through some isolated terrain. Trains were much slower in the Wild West and cars were usually made of wood. These outlaws would ride up on horses eventually catching up with the train and unleash the designated car from the engine. A couple of sticks of dynamite later and all the gold and payroll was theirs for the taking. All that was left was the dust kicked up from their horses as they rode off and disappeared behind the rocks. My wife drew her double barreled derringer and I readied my Wyatt Earp revolver when we realized it was only some rider-less horses rustling in a nearby field. I pulled my renegade Dillinger hat back down over my eyes convinced we were safe for the moment and went back to dreaming.
A Quiet Ride
Whoot whoot, whoot, whoot the train horn delivered a deep drone of a warning that we were rambling across more countryside. On and on it went with an occasional whistle blown or bells clanged to signify specific communications and warnings. The one constant was a gentle humming sound of the train rolling along. I was pleasantly surprised at the overall quietness of the ride. All the sounds were in unison and never alarmingly loud or unsettling. We moved about the train whenever we wanted visiting the dining car for a drink and some lunch. We listened to a table of grizzled, experienced train riders swap stories of train travel, one eager to outdo the other. We made occasional stops where we could get out and stretch our legs a short while. We read, we listened to music, we slept, we scoured the Internet on our Netbook, and we re-connected with each other because we had the time.
We pulled into New York Penn Station exiting the Pennsylvanian number 42 right on schedule at 5:20 p.m. We grabbed our baggage at our leisure and listened as further assistance was offered to those who needed it. The ride was totally devoid of angst and worry and the nine hour venture hardly seemed that long. I’ve had work shifts that seemed excruciatingly longer. If it seems like I’m romanticizing the train experience in part I am but only because of my contempt for the alternative. Air travel!
Flying the Unfriendly Skies
I loathe it! From the time we book our flight I’m a mess. I just don’t like the experience. Arrive several hours early. WAIT, take your shoes off, WAIT, and pass your bags through, WAIT. “You’ve been chosen by said airline for special attention, move over to the side for a pat down and WAIT”. “Okay you can proceed to your gate now and WAIT”.”Attention, we are seating rows d through f now” like its some big privilege for me. It’s certainly not “all aboard”, is it? So I enter the big tin cigar holder, find my seat and realize my knees are holding up my chin because there’s no room. My drop down tray also serves as my napkin as it literally sits on my lap. And now for something different … I get to WAIT for clearance for take-off. The stale unvented air has me considering pulling down the oxygen mask and I haven’t left the ground yet. We are finally airborne and I have to use the facilities but WAIT the light is on meaning I have to stay in my seat. Well, at least I get some lunch, oh no you say you just have peanuts and juice. There’s no calming humming noise, no gentle whistles, no soothing horns but a rather disturbing rattling sound from the cabin, which sounds like it’s going to split the aircraft in half. Well at least I have turbulence to look forward to, there’s nothing like that dropped out of the sky feeling. And to think I get to repeat the process when I return including the WAIT for the luggage and hope it’s on my flight. I’m starting to think all of the missing luggage has boarded a train as I would have given the chance. You must admit arriving on the 909 at midnight pulling into the station is a far more romantic notion than having to catch the red eye because you were bumped due to overbooking! As soon as I figure out how to get a train through water I’m leaving the friendly skies forever!
Robert J. Ottaviani (Bert) is a cusp born Aries the ram who has lived through summer of love in the late sixties and the hippie culture that bled into the seventies. He has a passion for music, gardening and all things nature … and laffy taffy. He is freakishly aware of music trivia to absurd levels. Most days you can find him playing his guitar or jotting down lyrics. He was so impacted from the moment he first heard the Beatles that he has Beatlemanianized his life, been to Liverpool, England and remains convinced he is the fifth Beatle. He is married to a gentle and lovely vibe of a woman with three wonderful children. He currently lives and resides in strawberry fields forever.
