Grand Junc Railroad

Like my high school senior class motto, I'll say "It seemed like a good idea at the time."  Flying sucks.  Sitting around in airports with a mask on totally sucks.  I like trains, and despite several lackluster Amtrak journeys of yore, I decided to take the (historically) renowned Zephyr from Grand Junction, CO, to Chicago, and then the Blue Water Limited to Kalamazoo.

columbines perched on Crag Crest

Kelly perched on a big rock in the river at the Black Canyon

impossible-to-steer kayak perched on the shore of the Blue Mesa Reservoir

There are lots of canyons in western Colorado, and we were entreated by the conductor to savor the views as track work necessitated our creeping along at 20mph for hours at a stretch.  The rock walls were pretty, and my mind subsided to a depth of abstraction that is only achievable on trains, with their regular motion, white noise, voyeur window views, and simultaneous immersion in and detachment from the environments they pass through.

My coach car wasn't very populated, and the passengers were quiet nearly the entire time.  No one struck up a conversation with the lady that brought her own hard-boiled eggs, steamed broccoli and cabbage and black bean salad, with olives and dates for snacking.  (To be fair, I was also kind of sweaty.)  Perhaps I should have sprung for a sleeper berth.  I was able to pretzel-wedge myself on two seats to sleep most of the night.

And then, after the dissolution of undifferentiated hours of transit, the reconstitution of self and assignation of identity upon arrival.  How lucky am I to get picked up by my brother and whisked to a domestic haven of leafy trees, an excited nephew showing me where the praying mantises hatched, baby niece drinking from the cat's water dish, and sister-in-law picking just-ripe tomatoes.

And then family on steroids, helping my mom (some) with watching my nephew, back at our house.  Now mom is "grama," and fantasy and invention are prized over my pragmatism and matter-of-factness.  For some reason, the usually dormant strict moral stickler in me is awakened by small children, and generates sanctimonious praise of teeth brushing and neatly put away toys.  But we had lots of fun swimming, where the energy you expend in the waves is transferred right back to you.