ALL ABOARD!

They strip us down, x-ray us, go through our stuff, subject us to foot fungus, and force us to put our gels in a small plastic bag. They have confiscated my toothpaste, admonished me for taking my plastic bag out of my carry-on, admonished me for NOT taking my plastic bag out of my carry-on, asked me to turn on my computer, unhook my iPod, and throw out a perfectly good bottle of water. They make me sit for hours in a seat ripped out of a miniature doll house next to a child with a live mouse under his cap. They charge me for food, wine, coffee, carry-ons, checked bags, blankets, peanuts, and restroom use. They change my gate after I have walked several miles to change planes. I live in fear of being forced to shamefully exit the plane for being too large or being stranded for 12 hours without air conditioning. Everyone in my row looks like a terrorist.

"ENOUGH!" I said. And I Googled Amtrak.

My friend Char dropped me off that night about 2 hours before I was scheduled to board the Empire Builder, from Winona, Minnesota on the Mississippi River to Edmonds, Washington, just north of Seattle. The little depot was locked but the sign said it would open at 6:30 PM. I waved nervously as she left me there with my piles of luggage, my IPod, Kindle, computer, and bags of food and drink.
At 6:30 PM, as the second hand passed the 12, I entered the Winona Amtrak Depot. Little did I know that at that door, I passed through a tear in the space-time continuum as we know it and entered a parallel universe.

The Amtrak universe is a great place. Everything and everyone is just a TEENY BIT DIFFERENT.

No Amtrak depot has been updated or remodeled since the Roosevelt Administration (that would be Teddy). Benches are sticky dark wood with 90 degree angle, arranged in church pew formation to discourage visitation. The most modern convenience is a 40 y/o Mr Coffee; tar sputtering in the carafe. Pop machines serve cans with a mechanical lever, not a little gizmo that goes to your selection and drops it gently into a padded chute. Restrooms have doors made from the same dark wood, substantial toilets and powdered soap.

All the people throughout the trip were wonderfully friendly except the dining room host who kicked me out when I showed up for an 8:30 dinner reservation at 8:27. (I would guess he trained with TSA and gate agents at the evil airports.)
The seats were comfortable, the scenery was spectacular. The food was amazingly fresh and well-prepared. Other passengers were friendly but mostly kept to themselves. Park rangers boarded the train and guided us through Glacier National Park and the Cascades in Washington. No derailments, no robbers on horseback, no murders or cows on the track.

Apparently there is a federal regulation that all dead, rusty cars and wrecked heavy machinery must be stored within 200 feet of a railroad track. If this is an art form, the Empire Builder track is the Louvre.

There are many 5 minute stops in small, sagebrush-encrusted ghost towns. Looking like colorful cardboard posters against the sepia-toned platform, 40-50 people waited to board, and an equal number of folks got off, disappearing back into the universe as we know it.

About 40 hours after I left Winona I, too, re-entered life as I knew it. My brother was there to take me to the nearest Starbucks, then home to shower.

So, if you are not restrained by time (a retired lady guilty pleasure) and if you are damn sick of pilots dictating the position of your tray tables, take a bold step into the Amtrak Universe. Live long and prosper.