Our layover time in Chicago was diminished by the tardiness of the Lake Shore Limited (I really like using the names of the trains, it sounds so knowledgeable and official). The baggage claim process was tedious in the humidity of the station, our bag appearing only after a search by an angry attendant. We re-checked it through to Portland and made our way to the Metropolitan lounge. It was packed. We found seats eventually and Lydia once again foraged. She returned with snacks, from a small buffet line, and wine! We were lulled into complacency. When our departure announcement came, the entire room stood and began talking. We elected to follow the herd, but were soon out distanced. Several people, all looking semi-official, had conflicting opinions where Gate 19 might be. I grew frustrated, Lydia grew angry. (I grew up with a stoic father and a mother who was probably bi-polar and given to sudden, loud and irrational bouts of ranting. I tend to become stoic like my father in stressful situations. Lydia comes from a much calmer and more rational upbringing. She is prone to share her emotions, unafraid to tell someone when they are being lazy or stupid). Finally, a sweet little African-American lady took us in hand and forcefully led us to our destination, nowhere near any other place we had been directed, charging through the line, leaving us with the conductor. Once up the tiny spiral stairs and into our room it was several minutes before we collected ourselves and spoke. No relationship is perfect. We handle small stresses differently. She honks at rude drivers, I call them names under my breath. It’s okay. It’s small. We handle the big things alike.

The train rolled north through Wisconsin and later, Minnesota in the dark. We shared the lower bunk with the curtains open so we could watch America pass by us. Now and then we woke to the lights of a train station, or the blinking red of crossing guards at an intersection. It was comforting in a way to know that we progressed across the country even as we slept.

The sky was a dark gray overcast worthy of Oregon when we woke, the land was flat to the horizon where a scarlet line of dawn marked the difference between cloud and earth. We sat up to watch it glow but did not stir ourselves from the bunk. We had reached the immense, flat grasslands of the northern Midwest. Only an occasional farm, abandoned truck, or the sagging fences of barbwire, interrupted an eternity of small hills and grass. Travel does this occasionally, just throws something in front of you that is neither a goal nor is it expected. A serendipitous bonus, an extra gift for making the effort.

It was daylight before we began to get ourselves ready for the day. For a while we were just quietly together and it was just like seeing the ocean for the first time. It felt like the expanse was a reminder of our own smallness and it seemed to freeze us in place.

We were almost late for breakfast.

The Road