This wasn't the A train

Barbara has been in Oak Harbor helping out with Linda and Eric’s new baby and looking after Tyler, Jared and Alex. When I called and asked how much longer she would be needed, she said about fifteen years. She said she could talk for a few minutes because they just got back from the beach and she had the boys in the tub. Five seconds later she said she had to go. The exact words were…”the boys just came in from the garage and they each have a hammer, I have to go.”

Since Amy was playing with a band at the Indian casino in Anacortes I decided to take the train, spend the night at Eric’s and then take in the show at the casino before returning the “Fun Grandma” to Olympia. It seemed like a good idea at the time. My experience with trains is limited to a couple of trips back to Illinois as a kid and lots of trips on the SNCF in France. French trains with the exception of the TGVs are not necessarily clean, overbooked but usually on time, except for the frequent strikes where the workers load up a train in some large town, pull out of the station, travel to some small village that has a bar-tabac and then go on strike for seven and one half hours. I always traveled 2nd class which meant sitting on my luggage in the vestibule between cars from Lyon to Marseille or anywhere else for that matter.

The Cascade which travels between Portland and Bellingham is the local equivalent. My misfortune was that it was two hours late leaving Portland and I was thirty minutes early at the Lacey station. It’s obviously a government enterprise because although you can purchase a “reserved” seat ticket online you have to go the station to pick it up. The stations is manned by volunteers who know nothing about the schedules, requirements, or amenities and whose only qualifications are deafness, boorish attitude and proof of ownership of a Lionel train set as a kid. Oh I forgot the incontinent part. Having finally got on the train I found out that “reserved seat” means that you go from car to car until you find a vacant seat that does not have a tag on it. Only once you set your butt on the seat itself does it becomes your “Reserved” seat. All in all it was a nice trip and I saw the industrial section of almost every town we passed. What a thrill. No one threw themselves in front of the train and no one tried to beat the train to the crossing so it was pretty uneventful.

Public rail transportation is becoming popular again. Seattle just opened a train line from downtown to the airport. Originally the line was supposed to end two miles from the airport but Sound Transit reconsidered and the new station at the airport will open soon. Seattle also has a short line that goes from Lake Union to downtown. Originally the city, in typical French fashion, decided to call it the Seattle Lake Union Trolley. So… it has now become known as the SLUT. Next time you visit, let’s go ride the slut.

Thanks for listening, I feel much better.