It was dark when I woke, as it usually is. From the other end of the bunk, Lyd said we were in Pasco. My watch said it was 5:30 West Coast time. Sleep had been intermittent. The heating system had alternated between a balmy 90 degrees and a more comfortable 32 degrees. It was a Zen lesson, one cannot know heat without also knowing cold. By midnight I had attained enlightenment. By morning I think I had reached Zen sainthood. Lyd curled up to get some more sleep. I got up to use the restroom just as the train began to leave the station. (I have only once mentioned this topic, not wanting to be indelicate, but there is something uniquely challenging about using a commode while a train is moving, particularly if you are a male of the species and inclined to stand while taking care of business. The train moves and in so moving it tosses the participant around his little kiosk, resulting in an alarming degree of inaccuracy. The train stops suddenly, again resulting in inaccuracy but in a more vertical direction. The train bounces and lurches somewhat simultaneously, causing the lid to close! One could, of course, hold the lid up with one hand, but that too has its difficulties. The only true alternative is to assume the more sedentary position of the female of the species. Alas, given spatial considerations, the internal angle of the receptacle has specific reflective capabilities not unlike a pool ball being aimed directly at the opposite cushion; it tends to return to the location whence it came. I offer no solutions, only a caveat to male travelers.)
I spent the next hour and a half watching the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge go by. At some point I dressed. Lydia got up, dressed, and went for coffee and muffins in the café car, the diner having abandoned us for the Seattle route during the night.
We watched the Oregon side of the gorge anxiously, looking for signs of the fires that had raged there while we were gone. The opposite woods still smoked significantly, filling our car with the smell of burning pine and fir, normally a comforting and pleasant smell, but not then. The sun was not yet fully up, the far side was dark. Whether it was just tree shadow or charred timber was impossible to tell.
By the time we reached Vancouver Lyd had us packed and organized. We looked forward to being home in a few hours, but we were stunned that our adventure was coming to an end.
We had no sooner settled onto our benches in Portland, than we were offered the option of catching an earlier bus home. Tired and ready to be done, we accepted, though it felt a bit inglorious to finish our great train adventure on a Greyhound.
We knew that Josh would be waiting for us at the station. That was the comfort of going home, so like any well-seasoned travelers, we spent the time on the bus deciding where we’d go next.

The Road