Boarding at Chicago’s Union Station was a straightforward affair. An announcement asked all Southwest Chief passengers to move toward our gate. Tickets were checked and Amtrak officials lined us up according to our class and destination. We shuffled forward, then onto the train. It was slow moving as passengers plodded up the narrow stairs to the second floor seating. But soon enough we were ensconced in our seats; our belongings safely nestled in the overhead storage. And then there was the whistle and the call of “All Aboard!” followed by the train pulling out of the station. 

I love train travel. I enjoy gazing out the windows and watching the passing scenery – from urban to rural, plains to mountains, through cities, towns, and villages – and the freedom to move around or read or snooze all while we glide, lightly rocking, along the rails. Over my many years of traveling, I have taken many a long train trip. When I backpacked around Europe in the early 2000s, I often took the train between cities and countries. But I have also ridden trains in places like India, New Zealand, Japan, Korea, Sri Lanka, My overnight train journey locations have included from Malaysia, China, Thailand, Australia, Europe, Egypt, and Finland. Yet, I believe the only multi-night train trip I had taken was the 1984 trip cross country trip I took with my mother, sisters, aunt, and cousin, upon which I was basing this new trip. 

I booked C’s and my seats in the interest of authenticity and cost. Though I had looked at the roomettes and sleeping cars, the price tag was much more than I was willing to part with. And in 1984, we had all made the journey in coach. Whenever I thought about this upcoming trip, I felt both a shiver of excitement and trepidation. I had been 11 in 1984; my current, much older self, did not have quite the ability or agility to sleep in all manner of places and positions. A few years ago, I pulled something in my back just reaching down to pick up a paperback book! I wondered what two nights curled up in a chair might do to me.

Coach seats on trains are far more comfortable and spacious than those on planes. C and I had two seats together. There are no middle seats on the train. We had ample space between our seats and those in front of us. The seats recline – and though they are not flat, they do go further back than on a plane. There is also a leg rest, which extends parallel to the seat. And, if your legs are long enough, there is a footrest that may be raised from the seat in front of you. I had packed a fleece blanket, travel pillow (well, for C a large squishmallow), eye masks, and ear plugs for each of us. Before we left our hotel in Chicago, I moved those to our carry on and packed away our coats and colder weather gear into our one large bag, which we then checked with Amtrak in Chicago. 

The first few hours passed quickly. We dined on apples, granola bars, Goldfish crackers, and string cheese we had bought in Chicago. With it being the winter solstice, the sun set around 4:30 PM, only a little over an hour and a half after we left Chicago. Thus when we crossed the Mississippi River around 7:30 PM, it was long dark. I was disappointed. One of the things I remember from the 1984 train trip was the excitement us kids had in crossing the great river. Unfortunately, I realized, by taking this trip in winter we would have far less time to gaze upon the scenery. But the darkness and the gentle rocking of the train did make it easier to become drowsy. We made up our little coach chair beds and went to sleep.

I woke the next morning just after 6 AM with a jolt of the train. I was a bit surprised to find us in Garden City, Kansas because I recalled a stop in Kansas the night before. The train must slow down greatly as it makes it way through the state. 

We were soon to cross into Colorado, but just outside of small town of La Junta, our train stopped for at least 30 minutes. It turned out it was to let a freight train pass by. The first of many (that I was aware of) that would delay our journey. La Junta was a destinated crew rest stop and thus the first of our “fresh air” breaks when passengers could get off to stretch their legs. C got off only so she could then say she had visited Colorado. I just kept walking up and down the platform for a good 45 minutes as I had no idea how many fresh air opportunities we might have. 

From the train window we saw a coyote run by. I decided to go to the observation car to better see the scenery. C did not want to join. She wanted to take selfies, play games, listen to music, and message her friends on her new phone (an early Christmas gift from her dad). I asked her many times to join me in the observation car and yet she always said no. This too was something different from my 1984 trip. I had my sisters and my cousin — and we had no electronic devices. 

The train trains climbed in elevation. La Junta is located at just above 4,000 feet above sea level. We began to see snow blanketing the ground as we climbed into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the southernmost subrange of the Rocky Mountains. Then we went through the Raton Tunnel and entered New Mexico. At 7,588 feet, its the highest pass of the Santa Fe Trail and a National Historic Landmark. This was a particularly exciting part for me as I remember my sisters, cousin, and I moving quickly to the end of the train so that we could watch us exit the tunnel. And we must have been a bit rowdy in doing so as we were shushed by a few passengers and then the conductor made an announcement. Something like children having to remain in their designated cars unless accompanied by an adult. That did put a damper on our fun. 

We ate lunch in the cafe. I alternated my time reading at my seat or in the observation car, sometimes striking up conversations with other passengers. This too is something special about train travel. On an airplane, one can only really talk with one’s seatmate or perhaps very briefly with someone while in line for the toilet or in the galley on longer haul flights. But on a train? One can really meet people. 

There was Jimmy, the guy who single-handedly ran the cafe the whole journey. It opens at 6 AM and closes at 11 PM. He took breaks here and there. One time when C and I were down there and he needed to leave the car he pointed at me and said, “Mom, you are in charge until I get back.” He had a great personality. He has been working for Amtrak for 17 years. Though he has done many of the routes, he has spent the last decade on the Southwest Chief. 

Sandy was taking Amtrak for the first time and she decided go big or go home and booked herself a sleeper car. She wanted to arrive in L.A. rested so she could watch her beloved Michigan team play in the Rose Bowl. 

A guy from Gallup, NM was heading to L.A. just to catch his friend, Chicano rapper Mr. Criminal, in concert. Then turn around the next day and head home. 

When I told an Amish couple from Michigan that my daughter and I had recently visited Lancaster, PA, they asked where we had stayed. When I told them we stayed at the Red Caboose Motel, the husband nodded knowingly and told me his uncle owns it. 

For our second evening dinner, we opted to eat fancy in the dining car. As it was just C and I, we were seated with young 20-something brother and sister from Kansas who both worked at their dad’s truck mechanic shop. According to them, Garden City was a bit boring, but they had plans. They were heading to L.A. with their parents to celebrate with their grandma before she moved back to Mexico, and maybe get matching tattoos with their mom, if they could convince her. 

We were supposed to arrive in Albuquerque around 3:30 PM on our second night. I was looking forward to this stop as it had been a highlight of the 1984 trip. I remember the light was bright and golden. While the station crew washed the train, I bought a pair of turquoise earrings from one of the Native American women selling on the platform. Unfortunately, this time we pulled into the Albuquerque station three hours behind schedule, long after sundown. C and I got off to stretch our legs during the 50-minute stop. And wouldn’t you know it, there on the platform was a sole vendor selling handmade jewelry! I happily bought C a bracelet. 

I did not sleep as well the second night. I kept waking to the loud whoosh and rocking reverberation of other trains speeding past ours. A nightmare caught hold of my brain and I awoke, feeling afraid of the train! But C, my world traveling buddy, slept on. 

Arrival in L.A. was scheduled for 8 AM, so we were up by 6:30 to finish up the last of our food for breakfast and pack up. Unfortunately, we had made up no time in the night and would arrive in L.A. several hours late. Though the changing scenery from the deserts to scrub then the San Gabriel mountains to the densely populated urban areas of California’s southwest were lovely, it did begin to feel as though I might have been on this train longer than two days. 

Finally, 43.5 hours after our departure from Chicago, the train pulled into Los Angeles’ Union Station. Though grateful to be off the train, I was very glad to revisit this journey from my youth. Though C only proclaimed the trip “okay,” I hope that she will remember this journey with her mom for years to come as I did. I might have begun plotting other long distance train trips.