Earworm of the Day: Last Stop: This Town

It's getting dark a little too early…

Jeepers, we're stuck in such a happy mode, here, ain't we?

As I may have already mentioned, there's been some traveling going on, already, and Thanksgiving hasn't even rolled around, yet. There will, no doubt, be more highway time, and possibly even some rail time.

When I was a kid, our first jaunt of this season would be the very instant school let out on Wednesday before Thanksgiving Day. Pop would pick us up in the family van, and we'd hightail it upstate, to the farm where Mom grew up. It would also be just about the moment we got out onto the highway that the snow/sleet/snizzle would begin, so we'd be singing "Over the River and Through the Woods" (although, having only three members of our family of six who could carry a tune, it was nowhere as big a production number as this) until I'm pretty sure Pop was about one matchstick tip away from becoming an incendiary device. 

Or, maybe he was just trying to figure out how to abandon us kids at the next Bus Stop so he could have a peaceful drive with just Mom and the dog.

Either way, my family members have a lot of experience at being on the road, especially near holidays of all sorts. I am, therefore, now working on avoiding it as much as possible. But not working very well at it, it seems.

Catch you on the rebound, good buddy. Keep the bugs off yer glasses and the bears off yer… tails.

Tourism: a Retrospectable

All things considered, I am not at all sorry my friend followed through on her promise to get me on a cruise. I am sorry she was uncomfortable from the cold, but I'm glad we both got to see a whole new piece of America. Without her insistence that we go, I would likely never have seen the things I saw this summer. For that, above all else, I have to thank her.

Were it not for my own depressions, and the difficulty I have every day trying to overcome my eremitic leanings, I suspect I'd have been less of a disappointment to my friend and her family. I know she wanted for us all to have the wildly, extravagantly good time on this trip that she had experienced on her Caribbean cruises, and I also know that the party life was never attractive to me, even in my days of youth, when I could hold my liquor and act with some reckless abandon.  I wish, in many ways, I could have shown her how much pleasure I found in just sitting quietly and drinking in the scenery...even just to look out at the open, ever-changing  ocean, or the rolling waves of earth that are the Prairie. Even when I was in pain, the light reaching my eyes did ultimately touch my soul.

I wish, also, that my body and mind were not so much my enemies. What would, for any normal, healthy person have been two weeks of unequalled delight were brought lower, especially on the last two days of our vacation, in large part due to pain. That, of course,  is unlikely to improve.

In spite of myself, though, I brought home some memories I will cherish until the day my mind is gone, whether that be before, or after the rest of me leaves the planet. For all of this, I have my friend to thank.

Mary, you have been a very good friend to me, and I am grateful to all the powers that be, that we met.

(Click on any picture to embiggen.)

Friends, memorial, Nebraska

Happy mountain is happy

Tourism, Day Twelve: The Agony of the Seat

Friday, 5 June, 2014.  We arrived in the waters just offshore of Seattle sometime around dawn, but didn't get completely docked until breakfast was nearly over. Once docked, though, we were given instructions to line up on deck five, and wait for our release.

Apparently, my friend (in her wheelchair) was given an easier out, and everybody else from her cabin went with her. They were away from the ship and comfortably waiting on a bench on the other side of Customs within a half hour. I was still standing and wincing and wishing I could trade in my knees for just about anything an hour after the line-up began. Go chasing a city bus just one time, and you pay forever after…

Finally, after working my way through the system, I joined the gang again, with minutes to spare before my friend's niece saw her friend drive up. That was not only her ride, but the chariot for my friend to get back to the truck, parked at the Motel 6 in Renton. I said my farewells to the niece, telling her that, as soon as it was possible for her to come back to town, she should be sure to look me up. I might not be a party girl, but I did enjoy her company during my less cranky times, and let her know so.

They loaded up her bags, and the three of them left.

A little less than two hours later, the big red pickup truck arrived. We loaded up our gear, strapped my friend's wheelchair onto its platform on the back, and made our way away from the Pacific Northwest.

It was here that she informed me that, not only were we not going to stop overnight near Wall, SD, but we were going to drive straight through the night and get home Saturday night.

Yeh.

Well, at least we'd looked at printed atlases and Google maps, and plotted the fastest route from Seattle, WA, to Monmouth, IL: drive straight across the mass of the nation on Interstate 90 to Sioux Falls, then cut south on I-29, to Sioux City, where we could pick up I-80 to Des Moines, then angle down on US-63 to Ottumwa and, finally, home on US-34.

Easy peasy.

Sure.

A minimum of 29 hours on the road, without rest, without stops for any reasonable amount of time to stretch and unkink my already problematic knees. 29 hours sitting in a mostly-closed cabin, with three people who, when tired or stressed out, could not stop lighting up cigarettes, and my antihistamines already maxed out.

I was going to have a swell time.

We weren't even going to stop for meals. We had, I was told, enough crap loaded up, if we wanted to pick up foods, we'd have to pick out whatever the truck stops had to offer.

But wait – it gets worse,

The power converter my friend had originally bought for this trip, so she could plug in her computer and do her work for her graduate studies had been swapped out by one of the men in her household, and she was left with an old, unreliable one which, during the drive out was iffy, but by fifteen minutes into the drive home, was proven to be completely worthless. She effing couldn't do her effing homework, and she was effing…well, you get the picture. I had quietly, meekly tried to suggest we check out a truck stop, because places like Pilot occasionally carried odd electronic stuff, and we might find a working replacement I'd be willing to spring for with my remaining funds, but I doubt she even heard what I was saying.

There was zero conversation.

She drove, burning through cigarette after cigarette.

The boys, having spent the previous week consuming all manner of fatty foods and great quantities of beer, had become greenhouse gas factories.

On the open highway, a window rolled down was too noisy, and bothered the driver.

I stared out my window and prayed to whatever god might hear me. Mostly, I prayed for unconsciousness to take me for the duration of the drive.

Meanwhile, I took pictures to distract myself. You can embiggen them to see better, by clicking on them.

Yay! Leaving Seattle! And traffic vanishes!

Peek at the peak of Mt Rainier

Somewhere around Snoqualmie Pass

Uh. Mah. Gahd. We're getting run over by a train. Please please please…

All the pretty horses

Not far from Spokane

Near Coeur d'Alene

Toward Montana

And here is where the whole country becomes
one great, beautiful, terrible nightmare, in my mind.

Or, put more succinctly, 

I have no idea which state I'm in, by now

but I'm pretty sure I'm in or approaching Montana

because we were halfway across it at sunset

when she decided there would be a change of course. The light went out in my soul.

Darkness was coming when she looked again at the route charted, and announced, "I'm not gonna [expletive deleted]ing drive all the way across South Dakota. [Bad word]ing South [naughty word]ing Dakota!"

I still have no idea what she has against South Dakota. It houses Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug Store, and the most awesome Badlands. And the weather forecast over most of it was clear and warm. But she was, as usual, adamant.

So she reprogrammed her satellite guidance system to take us due south, toward Laramie and Interstate 80, instead of the easy slope southward we had originally been given.

Sure. No big deal. Except for two things: (1) under optimal conditions, the abrupt drop south would add roughly two hours to our drive, and (2) we were not looking at optimal conditions, with fog, drizzle, and construction along the first half of the trip down Wyoming, which added a couple of hours to the drive. So, now, we were looking at the likelihood of missing supper, and, unless conditions were to improve, not getting home until well after dark.

I had been in the car for ten hours, and would not have been looking forward to another twenty-four straight hours in that truck, even if I had been in a jolly humor. And I was far from that.

Aside from the knee and back pain, my restless leg had finally started to act up, my feet and legs were beginning to swell from lack of motion, and I was getting a migraine.

I suppose it could have been worse. I could have had the backhouse trots.

Tourism Day Eight: Skagway and the White Pass Rail

Monday, 2 June, 2014: a day I had been anticipating for months and months – ever since my seester had sent me enough money for my birthday to pay for a train trip. It was, in fact, the one thing she informed me I must not miss.

There had been two separate excursions available – at 9:30, and then again, at 11:45-ish. Knowing how likely it was that I'd be up late every night, I didn't think it wise to book the earlier trip, so I'd booked the lunchtime run up the hills. That gave me plenty of time, once I woke at an indecently early hour, to have a leisurely-paced and luxurious breakfast with a view of the train I would be taking,

My chariot awaits

followed by an easy fifteen-minute stroll from the pier to the town of Skagway.

I really did feel welcomed

Well, easy for most people. For me, it was a challenge, especially as it was sort of drizzling, making the footing faintly slick. But, since it was cool and damp, I was in heaven.

Along the path beside the road, the city had posted a sign encouraging people to enjoy everything Nature has to offer, there. I had to take a pic…mostly for the spelling error (or, was it deliberate?).

Pedal/peddle… It's nice to see that they encourage 
salesmanship over bicycling

I walked past most of the little shops, but I did, actually, stop in to see what postcards they had at the WP&YR book store and gift shop…besides post cards.

They had quite a bit of history

I found a book for Pop, a set of magnets for The Bat, and a couple of other items (plus, of course, some post cards), and, having had a pleasant chat with the store manager, I took my bag and wandered out to see the town.

I guess the early-20th-century architecture didn't really blow me away, and they had yet to open, that morning, the Red Onion Saloon and Bordello (which the boys were bound and determined to visit), I didn't take pics of the town itself. Well, not the buildings. Just the stuff which piqued my interest:

You know you're in trouble when this is your snowplow

I confess to being a foamer. Of sorts. I can't afford to follow my impulses very often, but give me the opportunity to put my grubby paws on a locomotive, or spend a night in a caboose, and you have me at "choo."

Seriously, cut through your snow in Virginia or Texas with this. Ha!

Well, after all, isn't the big draw for tourism today in Skagway that they have this rail excursion? The ships can't all be coming for the Red Onion…

Okay, well, maybe the scenery has a little to do with it.

Which is my other reason for booking the rail excursion. Besides being a train ride.

It wasn't cheap – it ran to $129 per person, when I booked. And, for a three-hour tour (a three hour tour!) that seemed a bit steep, initially. But my seester had told me it was a can't-miss, and she had paid for it, so, there I was, biding my time, hoping the weather cleared up enough to warrant the trip. After all, if the clouds are low and dropping drizzle the entire way up the slope, blocking my view of the landscape, there isn't much point to following my seester's instructions. 

But I was hoping I wouldn't need a refund. I wanted to brown-bag my lunch and see more of Alaska. 

And I wanted to ride that train.

Into the heart of town I went, to window shop some more, and to pick up the freebies and otherwise affordable items I could find for presents, now that the stores were finally opening for the day.  For the record, the people who work in those gift stores are well-informed, well-trained, very friendly, and, in a couple of cases, from Illinois. It was a lot of fun chatting with them, although I'm sure it would have been more fun for them if I'd brought them some hefty commissions. Instead, I brought home about $30 in stuff, not including the postcards and gear I'd picked up for the parents.

By 10 a.m., the clouds seemed to be breaking up, but so did much of my energy. I was shopped out, and needed to get back to the pier, to catch that train. I stopped in at the office of tourism and asked about procedures and costs for the local buses. The ride around town and to the end of the pier was a couple of dollars, easily accessible right out the front door to the office, there, and, at that hour, all mine. A few people were riding inbound, but most were still just strolling into town. I chatted with the young woman who drove the bus – she, too, had come up from the lower 48, for a summer job, and had been considering staying to become a permanent resident.

Small towns, no matter where they are, have a certain appeal.

Now we're rolling

Well, I made it back to the ship in time to get a little lunch at the buffet, then catch my train. The next three hours were a magical ride, punctuated by narration from the loudspeaker, giving snippets of history of Skagway, the Alaska/Yukon gold rush, the trail, the rail, and the geology. (Click on any picture to embiggen.)

Here are a few impressions from the ride:

There were many, many locomotives built, used, and, occasionally, lost on this rail run. Some of the best, classic ones have been rescued, and are either already restored or are in the process of being restored. # 52 was in progress as a restoration project.

Steam Engine 73 had already been run, this particular morning, and was cooling down in the yard as we went past.

Yonder lie locomotive parts. You may detect a trend, here

Just a reminder: my locomotive had a diesel engine. It's slightly less sooty.

We started our ride at sea level, where the stream widens out

gradually climbing

and climbing…

Well, that escalated quickly…we're nearing the mules' & horses' point of no return.
When they fell off the higher trails, there was no rescuing them.

Oh, good. A trestle bridge. That looks sturdy.
Unless Clint Eastwood is nearby with Eli Wallach.
And a lit cigar.
Please don't let me fall please don't let me fall…

And how darling! it comes with a tunnel!

Yippee. Another, bigger trestle bridge. 

Gulch. No foolin'. But that bridge…it's literally 100 years old!

Yeh, we're not crossing that.

We get another, newer bridge. And, oh, joy! another tunnel. 

We're nearing the top.

Small glacial lake. Rumor is, some tour guides skinny dip here in August.
I'm betting they don't have kids in May. Unless they're Scotsmen.

The pass narrows

Finally at the end of the line. White Pass station. Technically still in US, but semi-functioning RCMP/customs station.

The train's locomotive disconnected at the end of this line, turned around, and reattached at the other end of the train, so it could lead us back downhill (brakes on the front end! I like the logic of that!). We were given instructions on how to flip the backs of our seats, so that we could reverse our own positions, and still be facing the direction the train was heading, instead of being left to Look Back in Anger (see what I did there?).

At the same time, the pair of docents switched positions, too, so that the young woman who had been taking tickets and handing out leaflets on the way up, did the narration over the public address system on the way back down. Meanwhile, the young man who'd been talking all the way up, was now offering free bottled water and selling video, hats, and other souvenirs on the way downhill. I wouldn't have minded being able to get video or hat – or both – but I was saving my money for tea and memorabilia at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, come Thursday.

So I just continued to enjoy the view and take my own pictures.

Looking back downhill…

Heading back downhill…

Getting back downhill…

No horses or mules buried in the old city cemetery…
but maybe a coupla dawgs (wink wink)

Bit of the best graffiti…
there was plenty to see, near the shoreline

When I got back to the ship, there was enough time for me to get to my cabin & dress for dinner, but not much time to stretch out on the bed and relax…well, I'd have had to move this little guy that Adi left for me, anyway.

I moved it eventually. 

We set sail again from Skagway around 6 p.m., and we moved outward until sometime just after dark (somewhat past midnight), when we turned up into Tracy Arm Fjord, heading for a glacier.

Geology lesson: the round-topped mountains were
severely eroded away by glaciation.

The pointy-topped (sawtooth) were too tall from their uplift
for the glaciers build up enough to scrape them down.
Or so I'm told.

I was asleep for that turn. But I'd set my phone alarm clock to wake me by 5 a.m., so I could be up topside when we arrived at our great honkin' slab of ice. 

I was a little excited, so my sleep was fitful.