Transportation Daze

August 21, 2006

As a child, my brother and sisters
and I rode our bikes fearlessly up and
down our road. I grew up in the country.
There was little traffic on our road. We
weren't supposed to ride out of sight of the
house. That was the rule. Some days though,
we were given permission (and some days we
did it without permission) to go around the curve
and down the hill past the nearest neighbor's house
to the east. What a thrill it was to speed down and
then coast up the other side of this little hill,
going as far as we could without any pedaling.
We would then make a u-turn and repeat the process,
perhaps stopping on the bridge at the bottom to check
for frogs, snakes and the occasional fish in the creek.
We could ride nearly two miles in the opposite direction
of our house and still be visible. There was little challenge
or thrill in going west. It was all level road. Naturally,
we whined, begged and pleaded for the privilege to ride
around the curve and down the hill, pouting and grumbling
when limited to the safer alternative.

I just got back from Chicago. I did NOT ride my bike.
I took the overnight train. It seemed like a good idea
at the time. The price was right. The seats looked
comfortable in the online pictures. They were not –
at least not for sleeping. If I ever take the overnight
train again, I will spring for a sleeper. The motion of
the train moving along the tracks feels like one is
rocking in a hammock – quite gentle and soothing
unless you are trying to walk down the aisle or use
the restroom. Unfortunately, the seats are
nowhere near as comfy as a hammock would be.
Sleep comes in fits and starts. The footrest is too
far away for short legs. I was told, it was too close
for long ones, too. The leg rest is sloped and left my
feet dangling in mid-air. The seat slopes and short
bodies slip slide down and must keep scooching back
up. Bringing one's own pillow and blanket are a
must which I did NOT know before I left.

There is a Lounge, a Bar and a Dining Car where one
can go for a change of pace and position. Betsye and
I lumbered down the aisle, balancing ourselves like
tightrope walkers, and made our way to through a few
passenger cars, then through the Lounge to the Bar.
I got a bottle of water which cost $2. We tried to scare
up some card players for a round of Euchre, but there
were no takers. We settled into a booth and dealt the
cards to play two handed. We had played exactly two
hands when we were informed that the lounge was
closing and we would have to return to our seats.
The train was overbooked and the lounge was used
for passengers the rest of the trip. I was trapped in
my uncomfortable seat, in the dark with a sleeping
seat mate. My friends were in the front of the car.
I had boarded in Rochester instead of Syracuse.
My assigned seat was in the same car but
not close enough for conversation. We arrived in
Chicago around 8:30 am – twenty minutes late, a bit
stiff in the joints but grateful to walk on solid ground.
Getting our luggage took awhile but we were
soon standing on the curb of Canal Street in the big
city of Chicago.

Our next transportation adventure was a taxi. Betsye
had a strap on her side of the cab. I did not. I learned
it was best not to watch traffic as the driver weaved
and bobbed with impunity and a recklessness that was
scary to me, but appeared essential to making any
headway in the busy city streets. We were dropped off
at the hotel where we unloaded our luggage and
navigated the revolving door with everything intact.
At the registration desk, we discovered that we were NOT
expected though all three of us had made reservations.
Surprise! There is more than one Hyatt Regency Hotel
in Chicago – and we were at the wrong one. Back through
the revolving door, back into a taxi and soon we were at
the right hotel. But our rooms were not ready. We
could not check into the hotel until after noon.

We could, however, check into our conference. We
checked our bags at the front desk and followed the
signs for the Conference Registration on the other
side of the hotel. It would be Thursday, just before
we left, when I realized that the Convention Center
was across the street as well as across the hotel.
The walk across the street was much shorter than
the route we had to take across the hotel. Oh well,
I got more exercise walking across the hotel.

Betsye was brave and took the El to one of our
dinners at the oldest United Methodist congregation
in Chicago. Others took the bus. I opted for sharing
a taxi ride. Shared with others, it was reasonable
cost-wise, and driving styles varied widely – some
more sane than others.

Betsye did get the three of us to take the El on
Thursday. The conference was over at noon
and our train did not leave until 8 pm. The El
is the elevated railway that takes folks all over
the city of Chicago economically and quickly.
You must know where you are going, be able to read
a train schedule and be prepared to stand
at rush hour. If I lived in Chicago, rather
than visiting, I would ride the El daily.
An automobile is not practical. Parking is expensive
and limited. Apparently, the citizens of
Chicago are not deterred by these facts,
for cars fill the streets at all hours. The lights
at crosswalks actually have a countdown. The
number 20 comes up in red when you have 20
seconds left to cross and goes down – 19,18, 17,
etc... It is quite the adventure to cross the street.

Our next transportation was a trolley. I think
it was a bus made to look like a trolley. There
are lots of them traveling the streets transporting
tired tourists. There are free trolleys to take you
around the block. Then there are trolley tours.
We paid $25 for an all day pass which meant
we could get on and off wherever we wanted.
It was a two hour tour of the whole city. We
got seats – big comfy window seats. Except
that there was no window – just open space,
great visibility and a welcome breeze. We
took pictures, craned our necks to see what
the tour guide was talking about along the way
and occasionally dozed off.

We got off one stop before the end of the tour,
about a block from where we started, and struck
out on foot across Millenium Park. We heard
a Jazz Band rehearsing in the outdoor band shell.
We heard and saw the Navy's Blue Angel fighter
jets doing maneuvers over our heads. We watched
children laughing, playing and splashing in the
wading area. We saw ourselves reflected in the
Cloud Gate sculpture – known locally as "The
Bean." And finally we found the public restrooms.

Bedraggled and sorry looking, we nonetheless,
made our way to the elegant Russian Tea Room
for afternoon tea and scones. Gennett and I
ended the day at the Art Institute. It was free
admission after 5 pm. Betsye took the El back
to the hotel, gathered up our luggage, engaged
a cab and came back to the Art Institute to pick
us up and we headed for the train station – and
our journey home..

It was crowded. It was noisy. It was hot.
I was tired. I was grumpy. I was not looking
forward to another 13 hour train ride. First
there was the line for checking luggage. It
was only a 20 minute wait but to my feet,
it felt like an hour. Thanks to Betsye for
saving my place in line and letting me sit down.
Then there was the boarding line. It filled
the waiting room which was meant to hold
half the number of people who were there.
Three other friends taking the same train
had been wise enough to get there an hour
early. They were at the head of the line.
Betsye and Gennett got to go to the head
of the line because they were both over 62.
Which left me, standing alone – well, as
alone as one can be when packed into a
room like sardines – and waiting for another
forty minutes. The train was supposed to
leave at 8pm. We did not even start boarding
until 8:20pm.

By Cleveland, we were an hour and a half
behind schedule. There was construction on
the tracks. We kept having to pull off and
stop to let freight trains go by. I was supposed
to arrive in Rochester at 8 am. It was 11 am
when we pulled into the station. At least on
this trip, I had been able to spend time in the
Lounge stretching out my back muscles.
A young man who had been on the train since
Tuesday – he was traveling from California
to Massachusetts – struck up a conversation
and we played cards for a few hours. It made
the time pass more pleasantly. And I had
brought my own pillows, too.

My friends and I ate breakfast in the Dining
Car. That was enjoyable. But I praised God
when I was finally able to get out of the train
and into my sister's Tracker – with its open sunroof.
And happier still, when I got behind the wheel of
my own car and headed for home.

As a child, riding my bike up and down our road
was effortless joy. I could do it for hours and not
feel the slightest bit tired. Mom had to threaten
punishment to get us to come home.

As a college student traveling across Europe
by planes and trains, my journeys were adventures
that I could not get enough of – and didn't want
to end. Lack of money usually determined
when the trip was over.

As an aging adult, I wish traveling was effortless
but I'm old and achy and it takes much effort.
Journeying is still an adventure but I quickly
get enough of it and periodically need a big
comfy bed and a good night's sleep.

The conference – 1500 United Methodist Women
Clergy celebrating 50 years of full clergy rights
for women – was awesome! More on that another
time. The traveling to and from reminded me
that I am no longer a child, no longer a fearless
adventurer and would return home in a heartbeat
if I heard Mom calling me.