This is the sordid saga of my recent "triangle" trip: Southwest Chief, California Zephyr, Coast Starlight. First leg, OXN-LAX-RAT-DEN, is the subject of this report, with subsequent legs to follow, along with a report on Denver itself.
The companion photos for this report may be perused here: Going To Denver
The journey actually began with a jaunt to L.A. Union Station, where I boarded the Southwest Chief.
Pacific Surfliner 784 departed Oxnard 6 minutes late on Wednesday, August 27, 2008. Passenger load was fairly heavy for a weekday afternoon. Soon after departure some serious snoring by somebody commenced. There was a young woman sleeping across the aisle from me, but I knew it couldn't be her; wrong physical type for belting out such high-decibel sawing of wood. Looking around, I spotted a really heavy dude cuttin' Zs right behind her. The culprit. The whole car could hear it, and there was much hilarity every time the guy emitted a particularly intense SCHNORK!
Some, however, were not amused, and quickly departed for quieter parts. The racket continued off and on, mostly on, all the way into L.A. Lame as it was, I found it preferable to enduring some of the howling rugrats I've encountered aboard trains.
On a more practical matter, I checked my baggage, a suitcase and sport bag, only as far as L.A. because there is no checked baggage service at Raton, New Mexico, where I would transfer to a connecting bus for the ride to Denver. This was mostly for the convenience of being unencumbered by the baggage while I roamed around taking pictures of any rail action before my train arrived. Because I was connecting at L.A., and couldn't check the baggage through, I had to sign a Notice of Limited Liablity for Checked Baggage. In my case it was basically a waiver and notice that in the event of 784 being seriously delayed, The Southwest Chief would not be held while I tried to retrieve my bags checked on the Surfliner. At least that's how it was explained to me. I signed without qualms. Anything could happen, but I doubted it would, and it didn't.
Arived at Union Station 7 minutes early. Took several pics on the platform before going to get my bags, then once I had them proceeded to the Amtrak info booth to check in. When MrFSS, MrsFSS, and friends boarded the SWC here in February they noted that upon check-in they were able to secure dinner reservations for the dining car. So I asked about it. You can't do that anymore, and I was told they stopped doing the dinner reservation thing about two months ago. Just a minor point so readers will be aware.
The Southwest Chief, Train 4, departed on time at 6:45 p.m. My sleeper attendant, a young man named Hermenio, was friendly, efficient, accommodating, and even energetic. Had the vegetable lasagna for dinner. It was good, but only ate about half; recovering from a cold, and appetite wasn't yet back up to par.
After Fullerton the Chief heads east, and the ride was pretty rough over jointed rail until the welded kicked in and the ride smoothed out. As night fell and we neared Riverside, hills of chaparral gave way to golf courses (serious waste of scarce water), warehouses, industrial parks, freeways, and vast expanses of tract homes. This is the Inland Empire, an L.A. exurb particularly hard hit by the subprime loan debacle and subsequent real estate collapse.
We rolled along at a pretty good clip until just outside Riverside, where there were 5 Metrolink trainsets apparently tied down for the night; 8 p.m., and commuting duties done for the day.
Following the stop at Riverside is a short run to San Bernardino (Berdoo), which is the last smoke stop before Flagstaff, Arizona. It was HOT out there!
Then it was over the famed Cajon Pass, which I'd really like to see in daylight, but was interesting even at night. Running parallel and crisscrossing with (I think) I-15, I enjoyed watching the changing relationship of highway and rail line from the Sightseer Lounge as we pounded over the pass to Victorville. Just before this stop Hermenio set up the bed in my roomette. I set up the laptop and began uploading and editing the day's pictures. We proceeded from Victorville at a quick pace, and it was around here that I began to fully appreciate just how busy BNSF's transcon really is. Westbound freights blasting by every few minutes. More on that later.
Big yards at Barstow, a town I remember from rail excursions behind Santa Fe Alco PAs as a kid. The Chief accelerated quickly out of Barstow, to a pace that somehow felt faster than 79 mph, though I don't know what the actual track speed is. I really liked gazing out from my darkened roomette; so many more stars visible from the darkness of the desert than one ever sees from cities blanketed at night with light pollution.
It was also fun to see the Chief often - not always - outrunning vehicles on the highway.
Needles was reached at 12:45 a.m., and we departed on schedule at 12:56. A crew change point?
Outside Needles I stopped taking notes and sightseeing to read and sleep. Lots of reading, no sleeping. The intervals between westbound freights roaring past were so short that just as I would begin to drift off, there came another one. Finally gave up and went back to reading and taking notes. No point in getting bent about the situation, so just accepted it and made the best.
Kingman, AZ, was kinda weird. Train respotted twice at what must be one of Amtrak's shortest platforms.
I eventually dozed off while reading "Post War, A History of Europe Since 1945," by Tony Judt (fascinating, but I was really tired), and missed Williams Jct. But I was up and at 'em in time for my nicotine fix at Flagstaff!
Breakfast in the diner consisted of scrambled eggs (which I suspect are powdered, and are more easily eaten with a spoon than a fork), sausage, croissant, hash browns, coffee, and cranberry juice cocktail. Between poor (though improving) appetite and lively conversation I only finished about half. Ate with an Arizona couple who had boarded at Flagstaff and were on their way to visit relatives in Iowa. Third companion was a guy who works at Kellogg's (the cereal outfit) and was returning from a meeting at L.A. He was riding Amtrak for the first time because recent eye surgery prevented him from flying for the time being - something about pressure in the cabin - and was not happy at all. Said he'll never ride again. He said that the really bad ride overnight (lots of bouncing and jouncing around, which I can vouch for, although it didn't bother me), coupled with the incessant parade of passing freights, had prevented him from getting any sleep. We all discussed fuel prices, the economy in general, and particularly focused on asking the Kellogg's guy about his company. I mentioned that I had toured the plant at Battle Creek, Michigan, as a kid, and he said there are no more tours. So I asked if that was because of safety and liability concerns. He said those were factors, but the main reason for no tours was to prevent industrial espionage, and explained this in some detail. Quite interesting.
He also talked about other Kellogg's brands (he's in sales), including Kashi, which he thought I would find particularly interesting merely because I'm from California. Another case of strange ideas about Californians. The lady from Arizona was thrilled, though, because Kashi is her favorite cereal. She wanted to hear all about it. Kellogg's guy told us about the acquisition of Keebler, and I got a laugh when I speculated that the Rice Krispies characters Snap, Crackle, and Pop musta been pretty unhappy about the Keebler elves moving in on their turf.
Apparently we were having too much fun for too long, as we were sort of given the bum's rush: "If everybody's done here we really need the space."
Went back to my cubicle and readied the camera for the day's shooting, Hermenio came by and reconfigured the bed, and I walked the train to my new favorite vantage point: out the back of the last coach. A striking, at least to me, feature of the New Mexico landscape is the abundance of little settlements seemingly out in the middle of nowhere. The Arizona lady at breakfast had noted that a good chunk of NM is reservation land, but still... What does one DO in a place like Don't Blink, New Mexico? Granted, this is the musing of an inveterate and dedicated city boy.
Jamming along, drinking in the vast and beautiful scenic vistas, getting shots of anything I found particularly compelling, I kinda lost track of time. That's a GOOD thing! So I was a little taken aback when we rolled into Albuquerque almost an hour ahead of schedule. ABQ is a major service stop, 43 minutes on the advertised. Add 52 minutes to that, and that's our Albuquerque stop.
With plenty of time for exploration, by habit I still stuck close by. Busied myself taking numerous pictures in and around the new transportation center and Amtrak/Greyhound depot, as well as of SWC fueling, and a Rail Runner commuter train that happened to be there; many shots included in companion Picasa photo album. Then, about a half hour before departure, and because I was still wearing the same stinky threads I'd started out with, I took advantage of the opportunity to shower and change with the train stationary.
Went to lunch as we approached Lamy. Seated with an older lady headed for Chicago, and a couple going to Lawrence, Kansas. I've forgotten where the lady and the couple were from, and rude to take notes over meals. Appetite finally back up to snuff, I devoured the burger. Don't care for potato chips, but the couple were chipaholics, asked for and received more, and I handed over mine, too. I brought up the isolated settlements thing, which they had also noticed, and we had an enjoyable talk about whether we could live that way. I maintained that such conditions as we had seen earlier would drive me more nuts than I already am. After Lamy, winding through hill country, we marveled at the obviously expensive architecture we could see from the train; mountain villas with a distinct southwestern flavor. Viewing these impressive dwellings reignited the isolation discussion, and it was generally agreed that short periods of isolation spent in such homes wouldn't be all that bad.
Back to shooting after lunch, I got what I think are some fine shots of the train threading the hills between Lamy and Las Vegas, NM. Las Vegas means "the meadows" in Spanish, and while it's difficult to see how that could ever have applied to Las Vegas, NV, it's obvious at Las Vegas, NM. Lush meadows, flowing creeks, and interesting rock formations everyhere you look. Beautiful area.
On to Raton! Leaving Las Vegas (the title of a Nicholas Cage movie, BTW), the hill country falls away and the SWC alternately races and struggles over rolling prairie, usually accompanied by I-25, to Raton and Raton Pass, both of more than passing interest to fans of rail history.
Everything had been great so far, but upon (on time) transfer to the bus at Raton for the ride to Denver the trip took a turn for the ugly. So ugly that I don't even wanna talk about it. Yuck.
Arrived about an hour late at Denver Union Station. As luck would have it, it was just at the time when all the people who had been at Invesco Field for Barack Obama's speech accepting the nomination of the Democratic Party for president were flooding into downtown Denver, via shuttle bus and light rail. It was a madhouse and mob scene of ecstatic Democrats. Much as I understood and sympathized with their sentiments, this was not good for me. It's no fun trying to lug heavy baggage through a seething throng, even a happy one. Plus, the DNC was the reason I hadn't been able to get a room in town at a reasonable rate that night (8-28-08).
As a result, I had had to book a room out by the airport, Denver International (DIA). A complication, but I had it figured out. Denver's transit agency, RTD, operates the SkyRide, a flyaway bus, from the Market Street station, a few blocks up 16th Street from Union Station. And there's a free 16th Street Mall Shuttle from Union Station. What I hadn't counted on was the happy riot. And when I saw one of the free shuttles packed to the gills with revelers I decided to walk the several blocks uphill to the flyaway. That was no picnic either. The SkyRide buses operate on several lines, and I needed the AF line. Unlike the flyaway bus from L.A. Union Station to LAX airport, which is nonstop, the SkyRide buses, on all routes, make stops at park & ride points. Add to this the fact that DIA is about 27 miles away from downtown Denver, and throw in the traffic situation as a result of the revelry. No fun.
Still and all, the bottom line is that the obstacles at Denver were successfully negotiated, and I got where I wanted to go, albeit more slowly than expected. Even better, the ride aboard the Southwest Chief (a first for me), had been outstanding in every way, and I won't hesitate to do it again - maybe all the way to Chicago next time - when the opportunity presents itself. And if for some reason the opportunity doesn't present itself, well I'll just bloody well have to CREATE an opportunity, won't I?
NEXT (new topic): Rails At Denver.
EDIT: Just cleaning up some spelling, punctuation, and style gaffes missed at first.
The companion photos for this report may be perused here: Going To Denver
The journey actually began with a jaunt to L.A. Union Station, where I boarded the Southwest Chief.
Pacific Surfliner 784 departed Oxnard 6 minutes late on Wednesday, August 27, 2008. Passenger load was fairly heavy for a weekday afternoon. Soon after departure some serious snoring by somebody commenced. There was a young woman sleeping across the aisle from me, but I knew it couldn't be her; wrong physical type for belting out such high-decibel sawing of wood. Looking around, I spotted a really heavy dude cuttin' Zs right behind her. The culprit. The whole car could hear it, and there was much hilarity every time the guy emitted a particularly intense SCHNORK!
Some, however, were not amused, and quickly departed for quieter parts. The racket continued off and on, mostly on, all the way into L.A. Lame as it was, I found it preferable to enduring some of the howling rugrats I've encountered aboard trains.
On a more practical matter, I checked my baggage, a suitcase and sport bag, only as far as L.A. because there is no checked baggage service at Raton, New Mexico, where I would transfer to a connecting bus for the ride to Denver. This was mostly for the convenience of being unencumbered by the baggage while I roamed around taking pictures of any rail action before my train arrived. Because I was connecting at L.A., and couldn't check the baggage through, I had to sign a Notice of Limited Liablity for Checked Baggage. In my case it was basically a waiver and notice that in the event of 784 being seriously delayed, The Southwest Chief would not be held while I tried to retrieve my bags checked on the Surfliner. At least that's how it was explained to me. I signed without qualms. Anything could happen, but I doubted it would, and it didn't.
Arived at Union Station 7 minutes early. Took several pics on the platform before going to get my bags, then once I had them proceeded to the Amtrak info booth to check in. When MrFSS, MrsFSS, and friends boarded the SWC here in February they noted that upon check-in they were able to secure dinner reservations for the dining car. So I asked about it. You can't do that anymore, and I was told they stopped doing the dinner reservation thing about two months ago. Just a minor point so readers will be aware.
The Southwest Chief, Train 4, departed on time at 6:45 p.m. My sleeper attendant, a young man named Hermenio, was friendly, efficient, accommodating, and even energetic. Had the vegetable lasagna for dinner. It was good, but only ate about half; recovering from a cold, and appetite wasn't yet back up to par.
After Fullerton the Chief heads east, and the ride was pretty rough over jointed rail until the welded kicked in and the ride smoothed out. As night fell and we neared Riverside, hills of chaparral gave way to golf courses (serious waste of scarce water), warehouses, industrial parks, freeways, and vast expanses of tract homes. This is the Inland Empire, an L.A. exurb particularly hard hit by the subprime loan debacle and subsequent real estate collapse.
We rolled along at a pretty good clip until just outside Riverside, where there were 5 Metrolink trainsets apparently tied down for the night; 8 p.m., and commuting duties done for the day.
Following the stop at Riverside is a short run to San Bernardino (Berdoo), which is the last smoke stop before Flagstaff, Arizona. It was HOT out there!
Then it was over the famed Cajon Pass, which I'd really like to see in daylight, but was interesting even at night. Running parallel and crisscrossing with (I think) I-15, I enjoyed watching the changing relationship of highway and rail line from the Sightseer Lounge as we pounded over the pass to Victorville. Just before this stop Hermenio set up the bed in my roomette. I set up the laptop and began uploading and editing the day's pictures. We proceeded from Victorville at a quick pace, and it was around here that I began to fully appreciate just how busy BNSF's transcon really is. Westbound freights blasting by every few minutes. More on that later.
Big yards at Barstow, a town I remember from rail excursions behind Santa Fe Alco PAs as a kid. The Chief accelerated quickly out of Barstow, to a pace that somehow felt faster than 79 mph, though I don't know what the actual track speed is. I really liked gazing out from my darkened roomette; so many more stars visible from the darkness of the desert than one ever sees from cities blanketed at night with light pollution.
It was also fun to see the Chief often - not always - outrunning vehicles on the highway.
Needles was reached at 12:45 a.m., and we departed on schedule at 12:56. A crew change point?
Outside Needles I stopped taking notes and sightseeing to read and sleep. Lots of reading, no sleeping. The intervals between westbound freights roaring past were so short that just as I would begin to drift off, there came another one. Finally gave up and went back to reading and taking notes. No point in getting bent about the situation, so just accepted it and made the best.
Kingman, AZ, was kinda weird. Train respotted twice at what must be one of Amtrak's shortest platforms.
I eventually dozed off while reading "Post War, A History of Europe Since 1945," by Tony Judt (fascinating, but I was really tired), and missed Williams Jct. But I was up and at 'em in time for my nicotine fix at Flagstaff!
Breakfast in the diner consisted of scrambled eggs (which I suspect are powdered, and are more easily eaten with a spoon than a fork), sausage, croissant, hash browns, coffee, and cranberry juice cocktail. Between poor (though improving) appetite and lively conversation I only finished about half. Ate with an Arizona couple who had boarded at Flagstaff and were on their way to visit relatives in Iowa. Third companion was a guy who works at Kellogg's (the cereal outfit) and was returning from a meeting at L.A. He was riding Amtrak for the first time because recent eye surgery prevented him from flying for the time being - something about pressure in the cabin - and was not happy at all. Said he'll never ride again. He said that the really bad ride overnight (lots of bouncing and jouncing around, which I can vouch for, although it didn't bother me), coupled with the incessant parade of passing freights, had prevented him from getting any sleep. We all discussed fuel prices, the economy in general, and particularly focused on asking the Kellogg's guy about his company. I mentioned that I had toured the plant at Battle Creek, Michigan, as a kid, and he said there are no more tours. So I asked if that was because of safety and liability concerns. He said those were factors, but the main reason for no tours was to prevent industrial espionage, and explained this in some detail. Quite interesting.
He also talked about other Kellogg's brands (he's in sales), including Kashi, which he thought I would find particularly interesting merely because I'm from California. Another case of strange ideas about Californians. The lady from Arizona was thrilled, though, because Kashi is her favorite cereal. She wanted to hear all about it. Kellogg's guy told us about the acquisition of Keebler, and I got a laugh when I speculated that the Rice Krispies characters Snap, Crackle, and Pop musta been pretty unhappy about the Keebler elves moving in on their turf.
Apparently we were having too much fun for too long, as we were sort of given the bum's rush: "If everybody's done here we really need the space."
Went back to my cubicle and readied the camera for the day's shooting, Hermenio came by and reconfigured the bed, and I walked the train to my new favorite vantage point: out the back of the last coach. A striking, at least to me, feature of the New Mexico landscape is the abundance of little settlements seemingly out in the middle of nowhere. The Arizona lady at breakfast had noted that a good chunk of NM is reservation land, but still... What does one DO in a place like Don't Blink, New Mexico? Granted, this is the musing of an inveterate and dedicated city boy.
Jamming along, drinking in the vast and beautiful scenic vistas, getting shots of anything I found particularly compelling, I kinda lost track of time. That's a GOOD thing! So I was a little taken aback when we rolled into Albuquerque almost an hour ahead of schedule. ABQ is a major service stop, 43 minutes on the advertised. Add 52 minutes to that, and that's our Albuquerque stop.
With plenty of time for exploration, by habit I still stuck close by. Busied myself taking numerous pictures in and around the new transportation center and Amtrak/Greyhound depot, as well as of SWC fueling, and a Rail Runner commuter train that happened to be there; many shots included in companion Picasa photo album. Then, about a half hour before departure, and because I was still wearing the same stinky threads I'd started out with, I took advantage of the opportunity to shower and change with the train stationary.
Went to lunch as we approached Lamy. Seated with an older lady headed for Chicago, and a couple going to Lawrence, Kansas. I've forgotten where the lady and the couple were from, and rude to take notes over meals. Appetite finally back up to snuff, I devoured the burger. Don't care for potato chips, but the couple were chipaholics, asked for and received more, and I handed over mine, too. I brought up the isolated settlements thing, which they had also noticed, and we had an enjoyable talk about whether we could live that way. I maintained that such conditions as we had seen earlier would drive me more nuts than I already am. After Lamy, winding through hill country, we marveled at the obviously expensive architecture we could see from the train; mountain villas with a distinct southwestern flavor. Viewing these impressive dwellings reignited the isolation discussion, and it was generally agreed that short periods of isolation spent in such homes wouldn't be all that bad.
Back to shooting after lunch, I got what I think are some fine shots of the train threading the hills between Lamy and Las Vegas, NM. Las Vegas means "the meadows" in Spanish, and while it's difficult to see how that could ever have applied to Las Vegas, NV, it's obvious at Las Vegas, NM. Lush meadows, flowing creeks, and interesting rock formations everyhere you look. Beautiful area.
On to Raton! Leaving Las Vegas (the title of a Nicholas Cage movie, BTW), the hill country falls away and the SWC alternately races and struggles over rolling prairie, usually accompanied by I-25, to Raton and Raton Pass, both of more than passing interest to fans of rail history.
Everything had been great so far, but upon (on time) transfer to the bus at Raton for the ride to Denver the trip took a turn for the ugly. So ugly that I don't even wanna talk about it. Yuck.
Arrived about an hour late at Denver Union Station. As luck would have it, it was just at the time when all the people who had been at Invesco Field for Barack Obama's speech accepting the nomination of the Democratic Party for president were flooding into downtown Denver, via shuttle bus and light rail. It was a madhouse and mob scene of ecstatic Democrats. Much as I understood and sympathized with their sentiments, this was not good for me. It's no fun trying to lug heavy baggage through a seething throng, even a happy one. Plus, the DNC was the reason I hadn't been able to get a room in town at a reasonable rate that night (8-28-08).
As a result, I had had to book a room out by the airport, Denver International (DIA). A complication, but I had it figured out. Denver's transit agency, RTD, operates the SkyRide, a flyaway bus, from the Market Street station, a few blocks up 16th Street from Union Station. And there's a free 16th Street Mall Shuttle from Union Station. What I hadn't counted on was the happy riot. And when I saw one of the free shuttles packed to the gills with revelers I decided to walk the several blocks uphill to the flyaway. That was no picnic either. The SkyRide buses operate on several lines, and I needed the AF line. Unlike the flyaway bus from L.A. Union Station to LAX airport, which is nonstop, the SkyRide buses, on all routes, make stops at park & ride points. Add to this the fact that DIA is about 27 miles away from downtown Denver, and throw in the traffic situation as a result of the revelry. No fun.
Still and all, the bottom line is that the obstacles at Denver were successfully negotiated, and I got where I wanted to go, albeit more slowly than expected. Even better, the ride aboard the Southwest Chief (a first for me), had been outstanding in every way, and I won't hesitate to do it again - maybe all the way to Chicago next time - when the opportunity presents itself. And if for some reason the opportunity doesn't present itself, well I'll just bloody well have to CREATE an opportunity, won't I?
NEXT (new topic): Rails At Denver.
EDIT: Just cleaning up some spelling, punctuation, and style gaffes missed at first.
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