Celebrating Infrastructure and History Aboard Amtrak’s Southwest Chief
Music comes in many forms and sounds, all of them uniquely favorable to the individual on the receiving end. “Clickity-clack, clickity-clack,” a train rolls down the track. The repetitive sound of steel wheels cruising down steel rails isn’t for everyone, but for many the mystique found in the folklore of American railroading can’t be denied. The sound is a correlation to a history not just that of a nation, but the very fabric of a culture built on the backbone of the railroad.
Like most middle-class American boys, my love affair with the railroad stems from early years of giddy enthusiasm. I cannot tell you definitively why this enthusiasm almost unilaterally happens for boys in America, but I can tell you why it has persisted into adulthood for me. The railroad is not just a symbol of what was, it’s a symbol for what is — living history, if you will. The standard gauge separating the two rails and the technology of steel wheels on steel rails has remained unchanged for centuries. That “clickity-clack” sound has been a through-line of American existence.
Luckily, we live in a country that has preserved much of its railroad heritage, and that preservation is exemplified by Amtrak. Its perpetual lack of funding and ever-older equipment doesn’t stop the trains, although it has a notorious way of delaying them. My goal isn’t to dwell on that, but rather to focus on and share an experience that is fundamentally American. In spite of obstacles abound, my Amtrak experience on the Southwest Chief was in every way worth it — a bargain priced window seat for a journey back in time.
The journey begins — Los Angeles’s Union Station, Los Angeles, California
Always over prepared, I arrived to the station two hours before departure. My train, number four, the Southwest Super Chief bound for Chicago was set to depart on track eleven, but it wasn’t in position yet. This gave me time to enjoy an American masterpiece. For those that are not aware, the train stations from the golden age of American passenger rail service (30’s through 50’s) are like the cathedrals of Rome. Los Angeles’s Union Station, often finding its way in movies and commercials, has been kept in excellent condition much the same way the Vatican has. Sure there is noticeable age in and around the building, but there is also an unfailing sense of what was. With beautifully crafted windows beyond my ability to use superlatives, vaulted ceilings reaching to the heavens, and a meticulously preserved art deco ticketing booth, one can’t simply avoid being awestruck on a first visit (so long as you’re not looking down at your phone the whole time).
After milling around the station like a vagrant, and chowing down a giant hot dog cased in a half-cooked pretzel, I swallowed my shame and started working my way to track eleven. Los Angeles’s size is well documented, and, being that it was about 5 PM, Union Station showcased that fact. I pushed, pulled, and plowed my way through a bee-hive like underground people canal that passed under dozens of tracks full of waiting trains. By the time I reached the train and sat down I was exhausted, yet I felt this awesome exuberance overtake me, as this was the first time I was taking advantage of long distance rail travel and realizing a dream rooted in my youth.
The departure from Los Angeles was awesome. I sat on the edge of my seat peering out the window for at least the first hour, with my camera loaded up and ready to fire like a wild-west digital gun slinger(sic). The train left in the evening hours, so it wasn’t long and night put an end to my barrage of mostly mediocre photo taking. To my credit, those windows on the Amtrak cars do limit certain luxuries found in outdoor lighting.
We rolled across Arizona in the middle of the night and met the rising sun somewhere west of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Albuquerque is an interesting place, especially when you access it for the first time and your only vantage point is from the Amtrak station platform. It reminded me a lot of a trip I took to Mexico when I was just a boy, because in Albuquerque there were numerous vendors selling all kinds authentic-seeming southwestern things. There was a lady selling ponchos resembling the ones worn best by Clint Eastwood in his western silver screen hay day, and her backdrop was the unmistakable southwestern architecture of Alvarado Station which just might be one of the most beautiful American train stations you’ve never heard of. After 20 or so minutes of enjoying some fresh air, we got back on the train and continued rolling East through some of the most picturesque and stunning landscape not commonly seen outside of Amtrak Superliner cars.
The scenery and opportunity to “see America at eye level” are reason enough to choose Amtrak, but what makes it great is being on a train filled with relaxed people who freely move between the café, diner, lounge, and coach cars — a complete juxtaposition to air travel. It was a shared experience where I met a multitude of interesting people from all sorts of demographics; some of them are still friends and connections on social media outlets.
End of the line — Chicago, Illinois
Bittersweet, that’s the best word for the feeling of reaching Chicago’s Union Station. It’s the end of the line where my train was on time and I was stress free, which is not always the case when traveling great distances. If not for the prospect of seeing my family for the first time in months, I might have bought a ticket to DC, or Texas, or wherever Amtrak goes. In summary, I became a believer in the importance of the passenger rail system of this country the right way — firsthand experience. I admit to having my pre-existing concerns related to what I might find aboard the train considering the state of American infrastructure and the numerous funding challenges facing Amtrak. Needless to say, my expectations were met and even surpassed. Clickity-clack… Amtrak, I’ve got your back.