Taking the Train in 2009

I had forgotten what I was missing. While my love took a week to visit her father and his wife in Ontario, I decided to use the time to be with my sister and her husband in Seattle. As many of you know, going to the city isn't one of my favourite things to do but it had been a long time since I visited my sister and I decided to turn the whole thing into an adventure. I took the train. The ferry, bus and skytrain deposited me at the station an hour before departure. Southbound was an evening train and this time of year that means it was dark. But the comfort of the journey was impressive. The roominess of my seat made first class on an airplane seem cramped in comparison. The real magic however was to reveal itself on the return trip.

My family took me to a little train station in Edmonds. Although the reservation I had printed out on the internet had a tekky barcode suggesting automated check-in procedures, it was easily exchanged for my $32 ticket by a classic station manager behind an old time wicket. The whole process had such an air of old town charm that I expected to see him wearing armbands on his white sleeves. No big parking garage, no long line-ups, no endless security procedures, just a smiling face and a warm room inviting us to wait in comfort a few steps from the platform. After climbing to the top of the double-decker train I waved good bye through the noticeably large windows just like they do in the movies.

As the train started to pick up speed my attention was soon diverted from stowing my things to the panorama that swept over my left shoulder. Heading north the magic did not reveal itself right away. As the scenery changed that old town charm kept surfacing again and again but it was intertwined with the legacy of neglect, the remnants of an industrial age, landscape that oscillated between pristine and polluted, between breathtaking and abused. From garbage dumps to parks, from abandoned barns and docks to brand new business complexes the paradoxes multiplied until they formed a living mosaic of our civilization.

Once we rolled effortlessly parallel to a highway and I noticed that we were easily passing the cars with what I realized was a fraction of their stress. In total comfort I turned my attention back to the cascading display; geese floating in formation across the sky - silos like exclamation marks in the barnyards - country lanes crisscrossing the fields - a gravel pit - a homestead - a scrap yard - a 120 volt outlet by the window for my laptop I presumed - legroom that makes it hard to reach the seat in front of you with your toes - rivers - sheep herded through the gate by a young farmer with long hair - cornfields cut stubble short - container peers piled high with boxes of stuff - shopping centers with parking lots - lumber mills - swans - horses - a pair of bald eagles - herons perched to capture breakfast in the slough.

Traveling by car you are insulated from the land and community around you by the infrastructure of the freeway. On-ramps, safety barriers, fences, landscaping, traffic signs. And you are surrounded by other cars that clamour for your attention as they represent a constant danger that your alert mind must anticipate. On the train the gentle rolling motion combined with the low drone of the whistle to announce our arrival at a crossing now and then soon lulled me into a serene state of tranquility. Like floating on a carpet through the countryside, I thought to myself. There is this immediate connection with the world around you. I felt close enough to reach out and touch the branches but safe enough to lean back, relax and let the complex beauty of America stream by my window.

A huge pile of what looks like manure with a kitchen chair standing erect at its apex. A perfect place to watch the train go by? A mirrored bay with abandoned pilings marking the spot of a bustling fishing dock long lost to the waves and the sea worms. Cliffs climbing out of the shore, covered in trees reaching for the sky. Tunnels of complete and utter darkness burst into vistas flooded with golden sunlight as we wind gracefully, like a huge eel seeking the interface between the cliffs and the waters edge.

Vaguely I recalled the highway between Mt Vernon and Bellingham. How it rises up through the pass with the diesels blowing black smoke in the slow lane and the anticipation of treacherous road conditions January often brings. I smile at the glittering blue of the inland sea just outside my window as it stretches into the morning fog. Ferns of the rainforest interspersed with luxury homes and trailer parks. A ketch at anchor in the stillness of Teddy Bears Cove, hundreds of ducks taking flight in a cloud of protest.

From graveyards to shipyards to rail-yards. Cities offer their abandoned warehouses, smashed trailers, scrambled storage yards where piles of scrap metal abound. The enormous quantity of wasted industrial land is striking. And then, Bison in a rolling field surrounded by evergreens followed by kayakers waving as we skirt the shore once again. I wave at the little children in strollers and they wave back. Grown ups too, it seems the train still has that magic. Dogs swimming for sticks and couples walking hand in hand. More fog born out of the ocean while the sun does its best to burn it away. Another eagle lifts from a branch just before I hear it brush the train. Crystal clear water gives way to industrial swamps and chemical sludge. Community gardens, snow capped mountains and fog induced rainbows that chase us down the track.

The train, most eloquently and most efficiently, reveals the soul of our land and our people as it moves our body and our mind through space and time. More than any other form of transport it slices through the backwoods and the backyards to uncover our despair and our glory. Next time you get a chance, break out of the old rut and do yourself a favor. Take a real trip. Take a train.