By JoEllen Collins
I am writing from the tabletop in an Amtrak train car.
One of the delights of my current experiment in living for a winter in California is the rediscovery of the joys of train travel. Part of this happiness is the sentimental recollection of the rare times in my early years of railroad trips and then, more recently, enjoying European trains. The most prominent reason, though, is the ease and relatively small expense of a mode of travel I had almost forgotten.
I decided to spend the first three months of this year in order to be with my grandchildren and others of my family who live in the Bay Area and farther south. Through the help of my son-in-law raised in Stanislaus County, I have rented a small but very efficient apartment about 90 miles from their home in San Francisco. Even though the distance seems daunting, the rent is affordable, and my dogs are not only welcome but actually enjoy a small dog park and many pit stops and litter bag locations in the complex. We three are happy: I especially enjoy their affection. I’m not lonely.
At first I imagined driving up to SF or part of the way to Pleasanton and then hopping on the BART to the city. Both options involved difficult parking, expensive fuel costs, and my reluctance to experience angst over traffic speeds and driving times. I have friends and families within just a couple of miles from my apartment, and they suggested I use the train. Thank god I listened. In three hours, from start to finish, I leave my car in the station’s free parking lot near my apartment, board the train, get to read, use my laptop or just rest all the way to Emeryville, the next town to Oakland, and then take a lush Amtrak bus over the Bay Bridge to Salesforce Plaza, the transit center in SF. Easy, breezy. As a result of this and a cost that is less than the other options, I am a happy camper.
I have also discovered that my current town, Modesto, where my cousins and family have lived most of my life, has good movie theaters, a poetry evening once a month downtown, the Gallo Center presenting high-quality productions, big parks, and terrific markets with inexpensive and very fresh food, featuring fruits and vegetables from nearby farms. Every person I have encountered has been polite, most accommodating, and friendly. The latter positive reminds me of the Wood River Valley.
A parting anecdote: Last week, the loudspeaker voice of the agent announcing the train’s arrival sounded like an “old-movie” version of railroad personnel of the Forties and Fifties—deep, strong and delivered in a joyously exaggerated, rhythmical cadence. A couple next to me and I shared a gentle laugh, feeling as though we were hearing actors like Charlton Heston or Gregory Peck instead of the young woman actually delivering the message.
Chattanooga Choo Choo, here I come!