Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Midnight Train to Georgia

All of my trail gear is covered in cat hair.

Mike and I are currently on an Amtrak train from Boston to Atlanta. We have one stop to change trains and pick up Nick in Penn Station. I have a feeling it will be very surreal being in New York for an hour. Though that surreal feeling may arise from having only 3 hours of sleep last night. I'm not entirely sure that I'm on a train at all right now and not on the Catbus from My Neighbor Totoro. Frankly, I have no evidence in either direction.

It's strange to watch the landscape fly by, knowing I will be back here again sometime in the coming year. I won't be moving nearly as fast, even though I'll be a lot stronger.

I saw a bit of handwritten grafitti in a bathroom stall in South Station this morning that said,

"I believe Sherlock. MORIARTY WAS REAL."

Nothing like a bathroom stall wall for literary declarations.

Mike and I are both in our trail clothes, because there's no point in bringing other clothes with us at this point. After we got dressed this morning, my dad saw us and started laughing openly.

"What?" I asked, looking down at myself, trying to see if my fly was unzipped or if I had mustard all over myself. Not that I had any today. It just finds me somehow. Only three things in my life are certain: death, taxes and mustard.

"You two look like you're part of some kind of cult."

I looked over at Mike and immediately agreed. We're both wearing brown hiking boots, tan hiking pants and black long-sleeve wool shirts, tucked into our pants. Separate we look fine, but together we're a bit creepy. Anyone who meets us might be wary of any paper in our pockets, worried it could be literature. Luckily we'll be filthy in a few days, so we might not match so perfectly.

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A word regarding public travel:

I have some feelings regarding the reclining of seats. My father always said that there's a special place in hell reserved for people who recline their seats on trains and airplanes. His argument is that it only makes a slight difference for the person who reclines; that there is no real increase in the level of comfort. However, it makes a significant difference to the person sitting in the seat behind. Particularly if that person happens to be using the lowered tray table as a place to rest a jacket to make a pillow. When the seat comes back, it pins that person's skull between the seat back and the tray table. Only a concerted effort, involving flailing and squealing, will un-vice the head. Then the owner of said skull (me) has nothing to do but try in vain to fix her mussed up hair and stare daggers at the back of the seat. At least I have this box of Cheez-Its for cold, cold comfort.

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I want to take a moment to acknowledge how much help my parents (John and Liz) were in getting Mike and I prepared for our departure. It was wonderful to be with them for our last bit of regular life. We love you!


1 comment:

  1. Be safe you two!!! I miss you! Can't wait to hear your story! Love you guys!!!

    ReplyDelete