A Round Trip on the Train to Chicago

My June Radio Stardust mix was inspired by my journey by rail to and from Chicago.

The first thing that I noticed about cross-country train travel is just how human it all still felt. When I wheeled my suitcase into the Martinez, CA train station to check in for my trip to Chicago on the Zephyr, there was no robot to print out a luggage tag, no interminable line to check in at before being herded over to another interminable line. No signs demanding I pour out all liquids into the terminal's jungle juice bucket.

Instead, I stepped through the entrance on a gorgeous late May morning and found a human behind the ticket counter, with whom I exchanged casual pleasantries and discussed my travel plans. Then I traded him my checked luggage for my boarding documents, and off I went to wait in the morning sunshine for my train, alongside families—actual families!—who were hanging around to see their loved ones off on rail adventures of their own.

Train seating was randomly assigned, based loosely on destination. I stowed my bags in the ample overhead space and said good morning to my seatmate, a friendly man from Buffalo who was on his way home from visiting family.

The seats in coach were comfy and roomy, with easy access to outlets, a lot of room to recline, and a little adjustable footrest. I had plenty of room in the footwell for my legs and my backpack, and my overnight bag & insulated Trader Joe's bag fit easily overhead, with tons of room left over for anyone else. What a concept: enough room for everyone's luggage, and no tetchy flight attendants warning us that if we didn't volunteer our luggage, they'd start hauling it off to the underworld arbitrarily!

Once everyone was aboard and settled, the whistle sounded. From the platform, the families that had moments ago hugged their loved ones good-bye, waved with a joyful exuberance as our train pulled out of the station. Soon, we were across the river and I was off to Chicago.

Life Aboard the Zephyr

I had done enough research ahead of my trip to know 2 important things about riding in coach on the Zephyr: bring a blanket and a pillow for your seat, and pack your own snacks and drinks, because the train fare in the cafe car was not that great and on the pricey side.

Not long after our departure, I wandered up to the observation/cafe car to confirm this advice. We were, at that point, passing through the sort of northern California countryside surrounding Sacramento that I was deeply familiar with. The observation car felt light and airy, with huge viewing windows and what at the time felt like more than enough seats and tables to go around. There were only a handful of other people in there, and the cafe downstairs had not yet opened, so I settled in with my laptop and my travel mug of coffee for some morning writing.

The first day was spent mostly roaming back and forth between my seat and the observation car, which began to fill up as we headed towards evening. At lunchtime, the conductor announced lunch reservations were open in the dining car (priority to sleeper car passengers, but they had available tables for coach that day as well) and I headed downstairs to browse the cafe car's offerings. Reddit proved reliable: the options were microwaved pizza and hotdogs, cup noodles, lots of pre-packaged foods. I went back to my seat to retrieve the lunch I'd packed: a homemade muffaletta sandwich, kettle chips, and a can of cider.

Friends, this was the way to go. A picnic lunch as the Sierra Nevadas rolled by in all their glory? Worth the cost of admission. Every few stops we'd get a 'fresh air break' of about 5 minutes to get off the train and stretch our legs. In Truckee, just outside Lake Tahoe, I spied a train museum right off the platform, but we were warned not to wander away from the train or we'd be left behind. Amtrak, I beg you: give us a longer stop at Truckee! Let us see the museum!

As the night wore on and passengers settled in after dinner, I noticed that my seatmate and I seemed to be the only two strangers who had been assigned to the same row, and there were tons of empty seats for sleeping coach passengers to sprawl out. The staff was awesome and agreed to let me take a row once we pulled in to SLC and they had a chance to update their seat assignment tickets. Unfortunately for me, SLC was not until about 1 in the morning, and my seatmate wanted to turn in for the night much earlier than that, so I found a cozy nook to read in until we got to Utah.

The next day served up more breathtaking scenery and a lot of quality writing time for me. We had almost an hour stop in Denver around dinner time, so I found myself some KBBQ tacos and browsed the cute bookshop there until we were ready to depart, taking advantage of the extra time to stretch my legs as much as possible.

After Denver, the train got full full, and it soon became next to impossible to get a spot in the observation car unless you got really lucky. I'd enjoyed it for hours the day before, so I mostly kept myself to my seat after that.

Train Culture

Riding the Zephyr was one of the most wholesome and rejuvenating 2 days of solo travel I've ever experienced. There were quiet moments in the coach cars of parents setting up picnic lunches for their kids. New friends shared photos of their grandkids and their pets. Families played board games. At one point, a group of teens broke into song at their table and the only response over the ambient chatter of the cafe car was the triumphant laughter of a kid who had just beaten their dad at a round of Uno.

I exchanged reading recs with more than a few fellow bookworms. And on that subject, you should know that reading Stephen Graham Jones' The Buffalo Hunter Hunter, in a dimmed train car as the moonlit expanse of the western US rolls by out the window, hits very different than reading it in one's living room. I highly recommend.

And, perhaps, best of all, not one single conversation on the train, in my earshot, brought up the subject of AI. Not once did I have to hear someone express confusion that it wasn't working for them how they expected it to, or enthusiastically try to gaslight me into believing it's the best thing ever, or sell me on ways to better utilize it. It was, in a word, healing.

When we passed through scenic canyons and tunnels, I tried my best to capture the views on my phone while next to me, a tourist from halfway across the world solemnly worked magic with a real camera. Students traveling together, families, retirees, lone travelers like me, an entire car full of Amish folks, all mingled as we came and went from the observation car to get a drink from the little bar cart and marvel at the fucking majesty of America.

On 0ur return trip to California, there came a moment alongside the Colorado River where the conductor announced we would be stopping on the tracks to allow the eastbound Zephyr to go by. My fellow passengers and I watched out the window as someone hopped out of the engine car with a fishing pole and jogged over to the rocky shore and cast a line (they did not appear to catch anything).

By the time I'd gone to Chicago and back to the Bay, I'd finished a few writing projects, two books I was reading, and made the acquaintance of several new people. Was this the most efficient way to get to Chicago? Not in the slightest. It took just over 2 days each way. But it was a good reminder that there still exists around us a warm, analog world where it is possible, and not terribly difficult, to go on journeys that do not strip ourselves or each other of our humanity in service to corporate greed.