AUG 19: We are aboard the California Zephyr, an Amtrak train that runs from San Francisco to Chicago. Two nights and three days of riding through mostly wilderness, then a transfer in Chicago that will take us 25 more hours to Philly. This particular train is pretty well setup. It has two levels, a splendid--if crowded--viewing lounge, sleeping cars, coach cars, a dining car, and a concessions area.
We glide through orchards, canyons, mountian-tunnels and vast desert plains dotted with scrub... its pretty fantastic. No gas stations and billboards—only the occasional dirt road, bridge, river or bare-assed mooner to keep the landscape engaging. The world flashing by the windows as the rhythmic sway of the train lulls our bodies into a soft trance-like lethargy...
As I write, crumbling boulder hills jut and roll off to my left. For a moment we are at the base of cliffs towering hundreds of feet above us, then the view opens as the track curves, then cliffs again—pale red-orange. I can see the front of the train as it rounds curves. I am facing forward. We are crossing Colorado about 24 hours into the trip.
