CUS>WAS on the Cap:
Boarded early from Lounge — wish we’d waited, as we didn’t want to eat early enough to justify sitting around on the train for so long in the station, but we also didn’t want to miss the train. Unfortunately, we’re in roommette #11, so right by the door and the stairs again.
Somewhere near Gary, we stop for freight traffic for…so far maybe an hour or so? Supposedly the freights are having switching problems. There is something Chris Van Allsburg-y about the industrial landscape here, so after a little griping, I got out my sketchbook and did a rather ham-fisted drawing of the scene, which did pass the time. I think this might have to become my new habit for times when the train stops, as it makes a virtue of necessity. The train is going so slowly now that I could almost draw the rest of this — I believe we were just out-paced by a snowflake. If only I had fast enough film to capture the surreal video billboard of the casino we just passed, where pennies fly through the air, salad bars slide past plates of sliced steak, and women walk from office cubicles to Caribbean beaches, all on a glowing square aloft in the snowy sky.
Around 10 o’clock Eastern, we began to worry that we had missed hearing our 8:30 dinner reservation called. (This isn’t as crazy as it sounds. Dinner reservations were keeping Central time, so it was 9:00 according to the diner, and everything seemed to get delayed while we sat still.) We headed up to the diner to see and were sent back by a harried-looking crew member, who told us they would call when they were ready. When we apologized and said we’d only worried we hadn’t heard the call, she suddenly turned sweet, assuring us that they would not let us miss dinner.
The call came soon enough, and we joined a young couple who were taking a sleeper from Chicago to Pittsburgh because it sounded romantic. They were in a good mood, and by the time the attendant — Beverly — reached our table, so was she, clearly driven a bit punchy by difficult passengers at earlier seatings (including at least one set who wandered back to their sleeper without paying for their bottle of wine, and perhaps also including the good natured but rather tipsy women at a nearby table, who carried on about why anybody would ever live in Ohio and how they’d ever stood to live there so long. They later attempted to go down the kitchen stairs instead of to their car.) We had a marvelous time with her. She alternately praised three of us for being good, easy passengers and ragged on the fourth, scolding him for having filled out his order ticket before we could stop him. “Premium Ice Cream! He wants premium — do you even know what premium ice cream is? You tell me, what is premium ice cream?” He played along very nicely, and we all had a good time. (And he was glad he didn’t get premium ice cream, since that turns out to mean Ciao Bella Lemon Sorbet.)
What we did not have, I regret to inform, was a good dinner. Three of us ordered steak, and was I ever red-faced for having recommended it! I am certain they never saw a grill — in fact, I’m pretty sure they were microwaved. None was medium-rare as ordered; mine was well-done. Ugh. Mind you, these were meant to be steaks, not the braised beef I’ve ordered in the past. I suppose we should have sent them back, but I had no belief that something better would have followed. (And I couldn’t claim great hunger, given the pounds of fried potato I’d eaten in Chicago….) The succotash was surprisingly good, and the baked potato was as usual — a bit overcooked but basically good. Despite the menu’s promises of wine by the glass, only half-bottles were available, so we skipped that (since we prefer different kinds). We all four had ice cream — regular ice cream — for dessert, which was pleasant as usual. But oh, that steak! Rare are the occasions on which I send much meat back on my plate, let alone steak. In fact, I can’t think of another time it’s happened in my life, certainly not on our CL journey west, only a couple weeks back. A grave disappointment.
Our beds were turned back when we returned for dinner (making me feel a bit guilty for not straightening up the room before we left*), and we turned in soon after. Worn out by in-laws and travel, I slept very well, waking only briefly in Pittsburgh to watch the Carnegie Mellon cupola glide by overhead.
One thing I like very much about the brunch schedule on the CL is the freedom it affords to sleep late without missing breakfast. We stayed in bed hours later than usual, finally dressing and coming upstairs just before 11:00. We were in Cumberland then, still about an hour down. Beverly brought us breakfast — including iced tea for me ☺ — and let us sit over it, reading the paper and enjoying the view, long after the diner had stopped serving. Again, while the service in the diner was great, the food was unimpressive. My grits and sausage (I never really eat the eggs) were okay, though I think the sausage was microwaved, but my wife’s french toast was horribly tough.
It was a perfect day to ride along the Potomac. There was heavy snow and ice all the way to Rockville, and early clouds gave way to stunning blue sky. We saw many geese, crows and turkey vultures and also a black vulture and two glorious Bald Eagles, wheeling over the river. For a while, we sat in the SSL to get a little more light, but we were back in our room when the conductor came on the intercom to announce that we would be stopping outside of Germantown, MD, because, “our friends at CSX are having trouble with a broken road block.” Crew from our train had, by regulation, to get out and stand in the road to be sure it was clear for the train to pass, which took some time and made us even later coming into WAS. When we pulled in to WAS about an hour and a half late, the conductor mentioned in his announcement (and lateness apology) that we were at the mercy of freight dispatchers, making clear which lines we were on at each point in the trip. His tone was not overly harsh, but I think it’s wise to let riders know that lateness often isn’t Amtrak’s fault (and perhaps what names they should mention in any aggrieved letters to congressmen). Finally, he reminded us, “Elvis has left the building.”
*Post-Script: The attendant (Darryl) also made our beds into chairs while we were eating breakfast, again having left the room disorderly. I didn’t think much of it at the time — it was a bit weird to have it done without his asking us, but it was getting late, so his assumption didn’t seem unreasonable — but now I REALLY wish he’d waited. Upon our return to New York, we discovered that he must have tossed half of a brand-new (Christmas gift) set of pajamas onto the top bunk with the sheets. Since it wasn’t visible when we were packing up later, we didn’t notice its absence until we were headed to bed at home, by which point (according to the Lost and Found man at WAS, whom I called the next morning) it was long ago thrown away by a car cleaner.
I know we should have been neater and more careful, but it’s still a disappointment to lose something in this manner. Great thanks to Garnet Hill, the company that sold the pajamas, though. When I called to see if by any chance they could sell me just a top — factory second, whatever — they kindly offered a complete set at less than half the usual price.
