“Is that a drink?
No, it’s a band my mom went to see in concert”
-Amtrak 1:16am nearing Sacramento Ca.
Train 3 hours late, arrived in Oakland at 12:45am.
four old men, all with the same, top of a button mushroom-like hairstyle, old-sun-stained lace in color, sporting wiry yellow-white neck beards, black suspenders and copper-rimmed glasses the size of a tumbler glasses, filed into the dining car and spoke an unknown dialect. They were heading to Pennsylvania, I later found out by Eric, the snack car attendant who was wearing a nice, simple watch who joked with me about Mad Child from Vancouver. The old men were danish speaking amish going home.
Had a mimosa and breakfast in the dining car while circling mount shasta at sunrise, while passing a town called Dunsmuir where all the cars in sight were circa 1950’s, and mostly matte black.
There were many times where I had to restrain myself from prying open the emergency exit window to escape into the untouched forests that traversed crystal clear waters and a ripe pink sky.
I am saddened to leave a lifestyle where you wake up and you know everything you do will be different and unforeseen events will arise as you make your way through untried country. I will also miss the mexican food.