The California Zephyr

Union Station, the marble and brass speaks of an affluent past.
The Zephyr, more than a train a stainless-steel-statement.
Up a spiral staircase and on through spacious carriages to
our cosy cocoon, with luggage stowed in thoughtful spaces.

Nadine - thin like a stick-in-a-coat - she was not content -
cursing her luggage passed our compartment - life had been good
but those days were gone - only her expectations lived on;
they cloaked her character as a cataract might close an eye.

The sun bent low over the fast-flowing Mississippi as we entered
the dining car - luminous white linen lent an aire of luxury.
The wire-wool haired waiter looked as though he had ridden
the Zephyr forever - so immaculate in dress and demeanour.

Nadine perused the menu as if parsing some secret script;
Are there any specials?
No Ma'am, no specials, they're all special
Are there cheese burgers without cheese?
No Ma'am, they would not be cheese burgers
Are there any other vegetarian options?
No Ma'am, just what it says on the menu.
Are the fresh fish frozen?
Not frozen, fresh Ma'am, line-caught today
Are you serving caesar salads?
No Ma'am, just green salads as the menu says
Are there any off-menu options?
No Ma'am, just the on-menu options.
Alright, I'll take Lake Trout, chips and green salad
Now, anything to drink? Oh, I'd like a pineapple juice.

Tuning in to the nurturing-night-nuance of the train, our snug capsule
made more-so by the rattle of rails and mechanical mash of steel
crossing steel and the distant wail of the horn as the Zephyr passed
through nameless sleep-torn-towns punching its way west.

At breakfast we grazed over
omelettes and grits
aware of the tedious tone of
nasal Nadine's gravel voice
how do the Grits come?
Grits are Grits Ma'am
they come as Grits -
they are just Grits Ma'am
Do you want Grits with Scrambled Eggs?
What sort of Grits are they?
There're Quick Grits Ma'am.
No just Coffee and the Continental -
Oatmeal brown sugar and raisons,
greek yogurt, fresh fruit and wheat biscuit
No Grits.

Looking out on Iowa with grey-green plains and a hanging emptiness
where imagination makes shapes to run across the rolling expanse only
to break against the grey-grizzled skies which rake the distant ground
and a weather front side-steps and slips passed our window.

Jane applies a mean-mascara as we wait for fractious freight to pass.
The clouds of grey cotton merge with grim-green and beat-brown fields;
and tooth picks of telegraph poles pull god from the sky
and god spits on our window, and we are in love with the rain.

An annoying nuisance, that was Nadine - as the train navigated Nebraska she
laboured over lunch - Amtrak was not nurturing her nutrient need - menu mutiny
- no brown bread, black bean burger or side salad - the waiter did not appease -
there was no way to please - threatening a veggie vendetta she settled for biscuits
and blue cheese.

At every station-stop a stepping-stool placed on the platform help us to step
down from the Zephyr's silver-storeys which, though improbable seem
vulnerable in such an expanse - the train track trails into the remoteness like a
ladder runs a stocking, with scant regard, threads trace and lie lonely as America.

The sparse brown grass, on which, black cattle feed between angular slabs of stone.
Upwards patches of old snow are cradled in out-crops of grey granite as we crawl
up into the Rockies, to look down on Denver. A persistent mist hangs off
lodge pole pines which poke through to puncture the sky.

A first sight of the fast foaming rolling rapids of the Colorado,
with white water spewing over rocks with a grey hue melding with the mist.
Looking up, pillars of grey-pink rock like statues jut into the air - and back -
the stainless steel silver snake is spat out of torturous tunnels like tooth paste.

Settling down for sustenance - a signature steak and Jane with a pasta salad
Nadine pounced and proceeded to pronounce that the food did not meet standards.
My steak now losing succulence by the second I suggested she speak to the staff;
with some sixth sense the waiter wondered whether service was to our satisfaction
suggesting our table might care for complimentary cocktails -
ambushed by the after dinner Amtrak Amaretto her whining was washed away
and Nadine was won over by the Waiter's winning way.

The earth rose up and pulled the sun down under its thick quilts - with only a few
dangling threads of reddish pink remaining we patrolled the observation car.
Thundering into the dark - window-wipes of light cut the solitary soldier miles
- a courting couple stared into the black - finding illumination in love.

Later, intimate as only a train over great expanse can make -
strapped in the bunk with a bullet of light strung out of the overhead lamp.
It didn't matter where we were or where we were going with
no control of time, place or distance - the train was our world.

A pink glow tinged the horizon sky as the sun rose like an orange-white sore
poking spikes into the departing night and the rocks turned from dull grey to burnished
terracotta. Looking out on the desolate arid flats of Utah, the sparse earth with tufts
of course grass poking through in protest. A meaningless rain storm hangs in the distance.

Enjoying breakfast served as the sun rose up over the salt flats, Nadine was tucking
into buttermilk pancakes with lashings of maple syrup and a fruit compote.
Far from finding fault with the pancakes she struck-up conversation with the welcoming waiter.
To our astonishment Nadine asked him for the recipe for the pancakes. The waiter responded
that the pancake recipe was a closely guarded Amtrak secret but he would see what he could do.

The Zephyr on a prolonged passage of descent stepped down from the Serria Nevada spur
with the judicious application of brakes - wheel steel biting track steel - and the train
screaming across the ranges of exposed beige granite baking under the searing sun
and blazing blue of the Nevada sky. Lakes of grey blue dressed with fleeces of green.

End-of-the-line at Emeryville, out of earshot, a couple arm-in-arm walking with an easy
pace. She content, and as if from the silent screen she spoke with a smile, which she
dropped into conversation - her sincerity he picked up and blew it back cool and complex
- a carefully placed end-of-line California caress from Mr Zephyr forever - our waiter.