Tristan Whisenant ’14
Over winter break I had the opportunity to go out to Salt Lake City for some skiing and other winter fun. Some of my family decided it would be frugal and wise to take the train back from this vacation. Unwisely, I agreed. We were much anticipating our 17-hour journey, which we assumed would be easy compared to our usual 13-hour drive in the Summer. Then, disaster struck. I’m not really sure what delays trains, but whatever it is, it happened. Our departure was moved from 11:00 PM to 3:30 AM.
When we got to the depot in SLC, it Train travel never goes smoothly.smelled like a cigarette butt. There was a lady entirely clad in leather (Let’s call her the “Lone Ranger"). She stood next to her son who found great joy in picking the gum off seats. Then I fell asleep and woke up to the glorious sound of “I’m gonna put ya inna headlock so tight you’ll pass out!” Someone had struck up a conversation with the Lone Ranger and things were turning ugly.
For breakfast, I had a cup of noodles. This proved to be a worse idea than playing two slow songs back to back at a Winter Formal. As I ventured back to my seat, I contemplated the intricacies of “The Impossible Road.” In my dreams, I ate candied waffles, candied ginger, and my candied feelings of despair. Hysteria set in. At that point, no amount of money could justify the torture. We crawled through Tahoe at an alarming 20 mph, and finally came to our destination. After “de-training,” I fell to my knees and kissed the sweet ground of Emeryville. Thanks, Amtrak.
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