the chief
from my experience riding the Amtrak Southwest Chief across the country earlier this year.
6:30 PM. The Chief arrives in Fullerton. I meet Jonathan in the window seat next to me. His mother and sister are across the aisle from us.
He was visiting in LA. Together they are returning to Chicago. We chat about his recent trip to see the Northern Lights in the upper peninsula of Michigan.
An announcement from the conductor. The observation car is open. Another announcement for dinner reservations. A reminder I have not eaten a proper meal all day.
9:30 PM. The Chief arrives in Barstow. The conductor warns those stepping out for air not to go too far. The desert is warm at night.
I am tired but do not return to my seat. A man and woman sit together in the observation car. They discuss relationships over whiskey and coke. He offers advice, having one divorce and four other “great relationships”. I drift to sleep.
4:30 AM. I wake to an attendant asking if Flagstaff is my stop. The moon shines through the windows. The sky is painted midnight blue and pastel yellow.
I watch as new passengers board. Mountains in the distance. The eastern rim of the Grand Canyon 125 miles north. I wish I could see it.
5 AM. The Chief pulls away. Past the Route 66 Travelers Inn. I try to sleep more before passengers stumble in. I long for a warm bed.
9 AM. The Chief hits a cow that wandered onto the tracks. Unfortunately, it did not survive. Into Gallup for inspections.
I meet Kimberly who runs the cafe. She is stressed out. Her equipment was not working yesterday. Today it is working and she can accept debit again.
I talk to a woman from Arizona. She rides The Chief all the time and prefers it to driving. For shorter trips, perhaps I agree.
Albuquerque is hot as hell. 45 minutes to spare here. In the station, 98.5 FM spills over the speakers. Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.
6 PM. The Chief crosses the border into Colorado and arrives in Trinidad.
8:30 PM. The conductor announces quiet hours. It is a different voice. This voice reminds the “night owls” not to disturb those wishing to sleep. I have two seats to myself tonight. The day ends with views of the Colorado sky.
6 AM. I wake to wind turbines in the plains of Kansas. Most of the state was covered overnight. My first thought is how beautiful and diverse the United States of America is.
The journey so far has been uncomfortable, but I feel privileged to see the country like this. I also feel disgusting having not showered in two days. The stench of myself and others is setting in.
The Chief switches tracks at a train yard in Topeka. I marvel at the engineering.
7:30 AM. A third voice announces our arrival into Lawrence. “Home of the Jayhawks!” the voice says with enthusiasm.
University of Kansas shirts and hats are spotted as new passengers board. That distinct shade of blue is hard to miss.
I head back to my seat to catch up with Jonathan. We talk about where we have lived and our careers. He is an engineer working in natural gas and hopes to transition to aerospace soon. He wants to work on the International Space Station.
Noon. I head to the dining car for lunch. I order the “Natural Angus Burger” with kettle chips and a brownie for dessert.
After lunch, the Chief passes over the Des Moines River into Iowa. Some folks mistake it for the Mississippi River. I tell them it is coming up soon near Fort Madison.
I meet a family in the observation car. They are annoyed with the woman sitting near them back at their seats. She won’t stop snoring.
We prepare to pass over the Mississippi River. It seems others have caught on. The observation car is filling up quickly.
1 PM. The Chief passes over the river and into Illinois. The final stretch to Chicago in front of us. Somehow Illinois seems even more rural than Kansas and Missouri.
I talk to a man sitting next to me eating soup. It smells delicious. We discuss trains and the contrast between urban Chicago and the rest of rural Illinois.
4:30 PM. The Chief arrives at Chicago Union Station. I say goodbye to Jonathan and we exchange contact information.
6 PM. I make it to my hotel. A lady in the elevator sees my backpack and asks if I am a hiker. I say yes. She loves hiking near Sedona Arizona.
My room is on the 11th floor with a view of the Chicago skyline. I end the day with Portillo’s. I was told no trip here is complete without a slice of their chocolate cake. It was good.
As the curtains close for the evening, I am left with a final thought. I love the United States of America.
6:30 PM. The Chief arrives in Fullerton. I meet Jonathan in the window seat next to me. His mother and sister are across the aisle from us.
He was visiting in LA. Together they are returning to Chicago. We chat about his recent trip to see the Northern Lights in the upper peninsula of Michigan.
An announcement from the conductor. The observation car is open. Another announcement for dinner reservations. A reminder I have not eaten a proper meal all day.
9:30 PM. The Chief arrives in Barstow. The conductor warns those stepping out for air not to go too far. The desert is warm at night.
I am tired but do not return to my seat. A man and woman sit together in the observation car. They discuss relationships over whiskey and coke. He offers advice, having one divorce and four other “great relationships”. I drift to sleep.
4:30 AM. I wake to an attendant asking if Flagstaff is my stop. The moon shines through the windows. The sky is painted midnight blue and pastel yellow.
I watch as new passengers board. Mountains in the distance. The eastern rim of the Grand Canyon 125 miles north. I wish I could see it.
5 AM. The Chief pulls away. Past the Route 66 Travelers Inn. I try to sleep more before passengers stumble in. I long for a warm bed.
9 AM. The Chief hits a cow that wandered onto the tracks. Unfortunately, it did not survive. Into Gallup for inspections.
I meet Kimberly who runs the cafe. She is stressed out. Her equipment was not working yesterday. Today it is working and she can accept debit again.
I talk to a woman from Arizona. She rides The Chief all the time and prefers it to driving. For shorter trips, perhaps I agree.
Albuquerque is hot as hell. 45 minutes to spare here. In the station, 98.5 FM spills over the speakers. Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer.
6 PM. The Chief crosses the border into Colorado and arrives in Trinidad.
8:30 PM. The conductor announces quiet hours. It is a different voice. This voice reminds the “night owls” not to disturb those wishing to sleep. I have two seats to myself tonight. The day ends with views of the Colorado sky.
6 AM. I wake to wind turbines in the plains of Kansas. Most of the state was covered overnight. My first thought is how beautiful and diverse the United States of America is.
The journey so far has been uncomfortable, but I feel privileged to see the country like this. I also feel disgusting having not showered in two days. The stench of myself and others is setting in.
The Chief switches tracks at a train yard in Topeka. I marvel at the engineering.
7:30 AM. A third voice announces our arrival into Lawrence. “Home of the Jayhawks!” the voice says with enthusiasm.
University of Kansas shirts and hats are spotted as new passengers board. That distinct shade of blue is hard to miss.
I head back to my seat to catch up with Jonathan. We talk about where we have lived and our careers. He is an engineer working in natural gas and hopes to transition to aerospace soon. He wants to work on the International Space Station.
Noon. I head to the dining car for lunch. I order the “Natural Angus Burger” with kettle chips and a brownie for dessert.
After lunch, the Chief passes over the Des Moines River into Iowa. Some folks mistake it for the Mississippi River. I tell them it is coming up soon near Fort Madison.
I meet a family in the observation car. They are annoyed with the woman sitting near them back at their seats. She won’t stop snoring.
We prepare to pass over the Mississippi River. It seems others have caught on. The observation car is filling up quickly.
1 PM. The Chief passes over the river and into Illinois. The final stretch to Chicago in front of us. Somehow Illinois seems even more rural than Kansas and Missouri.
I talk to a man sitting next to me eating soup. It smells delicious. We discuss trains and the contrast between urban Chicago and the rest of rural Illinois.
4:30 PM. The Chief arrives at Chicago Union Station. I say goodbye to Jonathan and we exchange contact information.
6 PM. I make it to my hotel. A lady in the elevator sees my backpack and asks if I am a hiker. I say yes. She loves hiking near Sedona Arizona.
My room is on the 11th floor with a view of the Chicago skyline. I end the day with Portillo’s. I was told no trip here is complete without a slice of their chocolate cake. It was good.
As the curtains close for the evening, I am left with a final thought. I love the United States of America.
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