Riding an Amtrak train cross-country: A unique view of America

“Where are you going?” he asked, working on his second bloody mary.

“San Francisco,” I said, nearly bouncing in my seat with excitement.

More on this Story

• Riding an Amtrak train cross-country: A unique view of America
• Amtrak goes high-tech, expanding use of iPhones, WiFi, iPads and touch screens
• Amtrak cross-country trains: Pricing and other details

Rocky raised his eyebrows. “Goll-ee,” he said.

I made a dinner reservation, and when the time came, the maitre d’ announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the dining car. Keep in mind it’s community seating. You will make a friend.”

I was seated with a Colorado-bound mustached musician wearing a bowler hat and an orange bandanna around his neck. Train etiquette seemed to involve asking strangers where they were headed and why they’d chosen the train. Some people were fed up with flying, others loved the slower pace, and some were trying it for the first time — and were surprised by how many hours they could spend looking out the window. I found that buying a train ticket bought far more than a ride; it bought time to talk, listen, look and think — and time to ask questions you’d never ask otherwise.

“So what makes your mustache curl up?” I asked the musician.

“Hair glue,” he said, explaining that without it, the mustache would curl down, giving him a completely different look. “Then it’s less evil villain and more gold prospector.”

From the dining car, I peered through the window into a cozy-looking second-floor room in a house near the tracks, where a boy was jumping on the bed. “I feel like we’re watching a movie,” I said.

The musician said that his favorite part of train travel was passing through towns. “If you take away all the cars, it’s like you’ve gone back in time. Some of these places haven’t changed much.”

Back in my room, I surveyed the space: two facing chairs (which my sleeping car attendant, Art, converted to bunk beds), a fold-out table, a closet as wide as one shoe, a narrow mirror, electrical outlets, a temperature knob, towels and bottled water. There was barely room enough to pull a shirt over my head.

Sleep came easily — the train is surprisingly smooth and quiet. I woke up only when we stopped to refuel around midnight, in Pittsburgh. As we left the station, I sat up in bed, looking out my window at the glittering city lights. The route followed the Ohio River for miles, and the urban landscape turned rural. I felt as if I were seeing the world from backstage, a view reserved for those who dare to get out of their cars. I even marveled as we passed eastbound freight trains. I wondered where they were going, what they were carrying and which train was moving faster. Then I found myself reminded of those insufferable high-school math problems, with trains leaving at different times and traveling at different speeds. With that, I crawled back under the covers and fell fast asleep.

Early the next morning, Art slid the New York Times under my door. After breakfast, he told me that he’d been with Amtrak for 17 years. I asked whether he’d been on the California Zephyr.

“Pictures and postcards don’t do it no justice,” he replied. “You gotta see it for yourself.”

The Greek god Zephyrus is the god of the west wind, and the more I heard about the California Zephyr route, the more I was prepared to be blown away. I boarded train No. 5 at Chicago’s Union Station.