Sometime during the spring of this year, I decided to take a cross-country train trip. Why, you ask?
1. I work too much and had vacation to burn.
2. I hate to fly.
3. I hadn't seen much of America (I'd never been west of the Black Hills, actually).
4. A friend of mine took a successful 30-day trip a few years ago and recommended it.
5. It was only $389 for a 15-day rail pass (coach class).
But mainly, it had been ten years since I taught in Japan, and it was simply time for another adventure. So I checked the Amtrak routes and then reached out to people in cities along the way: a former roommate in Portland, a cousin in Monterey, a former coworker in Denver, and a college buddy in Chicago. One big loop.
I also decided to take the trip solo, primarily because it was a large chunk of time to take off work, but also because there was the remote possibility that my chosen mode of transportation would completely suck, and I didn't want to spend my vacation worrying whether my traveling companion was comfortable or having a good time. Plus, I knew being alone would force me to be more social.
I'd never been to any of the places I was going, and I hadn't seen any of the people I was visiting in several years. I had absolutely no agenda for anything beyond experiencing the train, seeing some country, and spending some quality down-time with cool people.
There were a great many unknowns going into the trip, but one thing was for sure: I was going to cover 5,527 miles in 14 days. Little did I know that, along the way, I would get kissed by a conductor, survive a passenger revolt, Purell my own ass, and nearly be force-fed a hot dog by a Nigerian.
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