Rails to Trails: Part I

I pry my eyelids open and stumble down the aisle from the coach car to the observation car. It’s 7am and the Rails to Trails park rangers are about to begin their presentation.

When the conductor announced last night that our train was participating in the Rails to Trails program I made a face kinda like this one:

“It’s a dream come true,” I whisper to my mother.

“What is?” she says.

“I’m going to find them,” I say, rising from my seat.

“Find who?” my mom says.

“The rangers.” I say.

“Why are you whispering?” she says.

Rails to Trails is a collaboration between Amtrak and the National Parks Service wherein National Parks Service rangers ride the train and tell passengers about the surroundings lands starting in Seattle, riding through Glacier National Park, and all the way into the badlands of Montana. Rangers Jim and Cameron verbally annotate the landscape by pointing out the mountain goats high up on the rocks at Goat Lick Overlook and the monument that marks the continental divide. They lay out the exact definition of a glacier (year round snow pack of at least 25 acres with at least 100 feet of depth that is either advancing or retreating), and tell us about the time a train carrying wheat went off the rails on a sharp turn and as the wheat beside the tracks fermented and the scent drew black bears and grizzly bears who proceeded to get drunk on a “smorgasbord of grain alcohol.”

I want this job. Just in case this needs to be said, I would make up at least 50% of the stories and animal sightings and both of the above would get *very* weird but I guarantee an attentive audience.

During the talk, my mom and I make friends with the ladies in the seats across from us, one of whom is reading “A Year of Bible.” It’s tough to know in 2017 whether it’s a contemporary or historical book so I bite my tongue and keep the conversation pleasant as we rail on through the Cascade mountains and Eastern Washington.

That night, my mom and I pull out our first bottle of train wine and my always present moleskin notebook.

“Mom,” I say, “Have you ever played MASH*?”

“Marsh?”

“No, MASH*.”

“No, what is it.”

“A game that decides your future for you.”

We spend the next hour playing MASH*, the full results of which are as follows:

Mom:
Living in a: House
Marrying: Taye Diggs
Honeymoon: West Haven, CT
Kids: 3 (one more than she currently has)
Profession: Weaver
Means of transportation: Roller Skates
Next Educational Endeavor: Online Certificate in Pottery
Book Title: Nopalope
World Problem To Solve: Muffin Tops
Fashion trend Repopularized: Go Go Boots
Flavor Combo Popularized: Sweet Potato and Clams
Pet: Labradoodle

Me:
Living in a: House
Marrying: A Well Established Triad
Honeymoon: Antarctica
Kids: 7
Profession: Anti-Duck Rape Advocate
Means of transportation: Squirrel Suit
Book Title: Mom, Catch Up on the Wine Please
Next Educational Endeavor: MFA in Silent Poetry
World Problem Will Solve: Headgear Pain
Fashion trend Popularized: Hoop Mini Skirts
Flavor Combo Popularized: Rhubarb and Roasted Garlic
Pet: Mountain Goat

According to the rules of the game, the player only get to choose three of the four possible options for each category , the other being chosen by the person keeping track of the game. I can assure you I did not choose 7 children as an option for my future self. Which is how you know your mom is angling for grandchildren. Good thing my brother’s getting married next week.

“How far to go until Idaho?” I ask a conductor as he passes by our seats.

“Are you getting off there?”

“No, but I’ve never been to Idaho before, I just want to touch the ground there.”

“It’s worth more than your life to get off the train at Idaho if it’s not your stop.” he says. “I’ve seen conductors kick people off the train for stepping off at an unsanctioned stop.”

“Okay,” I say, “but, roughly how far is it? … Knowledge for knowledge’s sake...”

After last summer’s Southwestern cross country train trip I’ve been dying to take the northern route across America so when my Mom invited me along to Seattle I delicately suggested that we consider taking The Empire Building home. “We’ll hit four states you haven’t beeeeeen tooooo,” I tease out, knowing my audience like the back of my hand. Four months later, here we are, lounging in the viewing car with a bottle of train wine, fleece blankets across our laps like the old biddies we are, blissfully without phone or internet service for the next four days as we soak in Big Sky country.

With just one pit stop to make…

Glacier Motherf*cking National Park.