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Vacation, when the kids were little, always meant camping in the mountains. Camping for us meant driving far enough away from civilization that we had at least one hundred yards in every direction with no one else around. It meant sleeping bags, with a tent for Mom and Dad, but the two kids out under the stars. It meant collecting downed wood for an evening campfire, and hot cocoa in the morning to help us warm up. It meant hikes, relaxing by a stream, and listening to all the quiet sounds you never hear in the city; sounds of water, and wind, and animals and birds.

When the kids got older they became very involved with their friends, their part-time jobs, and their high school related activities. For a few years, there, we really didn't take any vacations. Then, four years ago, our daughter got married. Our son tied the knot two years ago, and we suddenly had an empty nest. Marsha and I looked at each other and had that devastating realization that comes some time in your late forties, the realization that our life was probably at least half over.

Last year we knew it was time to take a vacation again, just the two of us, and we decided to do something totally different -- we went on a cruise. Well, it was different, all right, and sort of interesting as a one-time thing, but we knew it wasn't really us. We both grew up in Colorado, and had raised our kids in Colorado Springs, right up against the Rockies. We were mountain people, not ocean people.

This year, clear back in January, we started thinking about our vacation for the year. We were determined that it would have something to do with the mountains, and yet, we agreed, it would not be camping this time. The ground seemed to have gotten much less comfortable to sleep on than it used to be; the thought of isolation with no kids around seemed spooky, somehow; a tent would be cramped and smelly and not very private; cooking over a tiny gasoline stove on a chilly morning no longer sounded like fun. Yes, we were getting old.

It was Marsha who came up with the winning suggestion. "Ron, have you ever been to Yosemite?"

"No, but I've wanted to go there. Have you ever seen it?"

"No, I haven't either. Why don't we go there this year?"

If you draw a straight line from our house to Yosemite it's about 800 miles. There are many very high mountains along that line, and the few roads in the area aren't the sort you'd want to drive on for 900 miles, so flying appeared to be the obvious way to get there. On the other hand, neither of us have ever liked flying, and the conditions seem to get worse every year, with long lines for security checkpoints, cramped seats, few meals, and no movies. Once we realized there were no major airports anywhere close to Yosemite, we ruled out flying.

That left driving, and I started planning the trip. The best I could come up with on decent roads was a 2600 mile round trip, which Google told me would mean 45 hours on the road. I knew we wouldn't want to drive all day, so I spread the trip out over four days each way. Marsha groaned when I showed her my plans, and we almost abandoned the idea right then.

The news got worse as winter started to give way to spring. This was the year that oil first went over $100 per barrel, and gas prices were shooting up at an unbelievable rate. We were hearing predictions that it was likely to cost $4 per gallon by summer, probably even more in California. With our car that would mean five or six hundred dollars for gas alone, not to mention wear and tear, and the eight days on the road eating in restaurants and sleeping in motels. On top of that we'd have some hefty expenses in Yosemite once we got there.

That would stretch our budget to, or perhaps beyond, the breaking point, and we reluctantly decided we would have to give up on our Yosemite dream.

We were moaning to one of our friends about this, when he said, "Have you thought about taking the train?"

The train? What does he think this is, 1900? Do they even have passenger trains any more?

Our friend assured us that they did, that they were very comfortable, and surprisingly cheap. He told us he had ridden one, and really enjoyed it.

A little time on the internet convinced me that he was right on the price, but there did seem to be some problems. They didn't run very frequently, so we wouldn't have any choice about what time of day we went. They didn't run very fast, so we would have to be on the train overnight. And they didn't always run on schedule, so we would have to live with possible delays.

We would be able to get to Yosemite, but only by transferring to a second train in Sacramento, and later to a bus. Transferring didn't appeal to me, given what I'd read about the trains sometimes being hours behind schedule. Perhaps worst of all, there wouldn't be any rental cars available once we got into the park.

"It looks like we'd be better off flying than taking the train," I grumbled to Marsha.

She had been looking over my shoulder for part of my research, and disagreed with me. "But, Ron, didn't you notice the picture of the seats on the Amtrak web site? You'd have to fly first class to get a seat like that on a plane. And how about the meals? They have a dining car with real tablecloths and plates, not TV dinners on a tiny shelf at your seat. And you're free to walk around anywhere, any time. No seat belts! They even have an observation car."

"Sounds to me like you're sold."

She nodded. "You know what else? We wouldn't have to take the train all the way. We could rent a car in Sacramento and drive from there. That way we wouldn't have any transfers."

"But what about having to sleep in the seat?"

"We've slept on the plane before; it wouldn't be too bad. Besides, didn't they say they also had sleeping rooms?"

"Yes," I snorted, "but those have got to be just for rich people."

Marsha chuckled. "I don't think many rich people ride on trains. Why don't you at least see how much it would cost."

OK, back to the web site to get a quote. I couldn't believe the answer. Round trip Denver to Sacramento with what they called a 'roomette' would only cost $1200 for the two of us, and the kicker was that all meals were included. The drive from Sacramento to Yosemite didn't look all that far, and that would give us the car we thought we needed. We'd have the cost of that car even if we flew, and we'd probably have to drive all the way from San Francisco.

Compare that to gas, food, and motels for eight days if we drove, or the discomforts and costs of flying, and it looked like a real bargain. Sign me up!

So it was that on a bright June afternoon we made the short trip up to Denver, the back of the car filled with suitcases containing everything that we would need for the next ten days. Marsha's brother lived in Denver, and we stayed overnight with him, then he drove us to the train station early in the morning.

I had some real misgivings when we pulled up at the station. It was a relic from the 19th century -- I felt as if there should be horses and buggies out front, not cars. The place was huge, both inside and out. We walked into a cavernous hall with an impossibly high ceiling and a giant mural on the wall. On the floor were rows of old-fashioned straight-backed wood benches, rather like church pews, but in pairs facing each other. In place of airport ticket counters we saw ancient teller windows with ancient men issuing tickets.

I'll have to admit, though, that there was another way of looking at that picture. There were no rope-constrained baffles with long lines of people snaking through them; no metal detectors to pass through; no uniformed agents screening carry-on luggage; no signs saying 'passengers only beyond this point, ' 'no entry, ' or 'remove your shoes.' We were free to wander wherever we pleased, even out onto the tracks. Out there we were met by a sharply dressed black porter who courteously answered our questions and showed us where to stand for best access to the sleeper cars. We had truly fallen through a time warp into a different world.

The train itself, once it arrived, was sleek and shiny. The appointments were as plush as the web pictures had made them appear, apart from narrow aisles and a claustrophobic twisting staircase leading to the upper level. Our roomette on the upper level was mostly filled by two super wide reclining seats facing each other with a fold-down table and adequate foot room between. It had a very solid sliding door with a large glass window and a curtain for privacy. Two more large windows gave us a panoramic view of the scenery outside -- no little portholes here.

It wasn't nirvana, though. There were the toilets, which were down the hall and just as cramped as the ones you find on airplanes, and the 'closet' which was wide enough for two garments if you slipped them in very carefully. More significantly, no one told us about the swaying train, exaggerated on the upper level, and the 'drunken sailor walk' the swaying caused as we tried to make our way from place to place.

Then there were the beds. We really found what the '-ette' part of roomette meant that night when the porter converted it to the nighttime configuration. The two seats reclined all the way flat to form a bed, but it was a bed about the size of an army cot. There was obviously no way two adults could sleep there, no matter how friendly they tried to be. A bunk bed swung down from the ceiling, but it was even narrower, more like a high ledge. And once the bed was down, there was just about room to twist your foot in sideways between it and the sliding door.

The meals were definitely on the plus side of the ledger. There really were white tablecloths on the tables, and the freshly prepared food, brought up from a kitchen on the lower level, was served by friendly waiters. Amazingly, it actually was free -- no hidden charges, and anything we wanted. Well, anything on the menu, that is. That gave us about five choices of entrees for each meal.

We did get one surprise, though. The tables, which were really booths, held four people each, and the waiters insisted on seating four people at each table. Because of this we ended up sitting with two strangers for each meal. That seemed a bit awkward at first, but we quickly caught on to the nearly universal passenger solution to this strange situation. Our meal partners became new acquaintances, rather than strangers. We were, after all, sharing a rather unique experience. Coach riders ate at one end of the dining car, and sleeper riders at the other, and most people who paid for sleepers were couples. We met couples who were train enthusiasts, and others like ourselves who were on their first ride. All of them had interesting stories and were pleasant to talk with.

It was actually with some reluctance that we got off the train in Sacramento the next afternoon, loaded our stuff into a rental car, and pointed it toward Yosemite. We arrived there, very tired, about 9:30 that night. The park's fabled wonders would have to wait. All we wanted was a real bed in a real room, and my reservation at Yosemite Lodge fit the bill perfectly.

Yosemite was awesome, and we spent a happy week exploring it. We gazed at the towering cliffs and thrilled at the waterfalls; we drove up to the rim and looked down into the valley; we spent hours walking in hushed reverence among the giant Sequoias; enjoyed picnics beside the roaring Merced river; and yes, we saw several bears.

One thing bothered us a bit. There must have been thousands of people in Yosemite Valley, but they were all strangers, all tourists locked up in their own worlds. No one wanted to make new friends, and we basically didn't talk to a soul the whole week. We found ourselves pining for the random mealtime pairings on the train.

Finally our vacation in that magical valley was over, and we drove back to Sacramento one afternoon, staying in a hotel there that night. The next morning we caught the 10:09 train -- which didn't arrive until after 11 o'clock.

As we climbed the twisting steps, slipped down the narrow aisle to our little roomette, and settled into its comfortable recliners, we almost felt like we were home again. Marsha and I smiled at each other, and agreed it was a very successful vacation.

At lunch that day we sat with a couple about our own age, and soon were chatting like old friends. We all enjoyed ourselves so much that we agreed to arrive together for dinner at six.

When we got back to our roomette, Marsha said, "Oh, I really like Tom and Jan, don't you?"

"Yes," I agreed, "they're a great couple, and we all seem to have so much to talk about."

It was true, I did like both of them, but I found myself especially attracted to Jan. I really wished we could get to know them better, but I knew it wasn't to be. Our time together would have to end no later than the next evening, when we got off the train in Denver. They had already told us they were going on to Omaha.

Our little roomette was only a few steps in front of the dining car, and Jan and Tom went on forward from there when we separated after lunch, so they suggested we could meet at our roomette before dinner. Surely if the four of us showed up at the dining car together we would be seated together.

The call for the six o'clock dinner seating that we had agreed on triggered a little flutter in my belly. I couldn't wait to see Jan again. The flutter grew into a knot as they didn't show up immediately. What if they had changed their minds, and decided not to join us? Fortunately, we had to wait less than five minutes, then Marsha and I both broke out in huge grins as Jan and Tom poked their heads into our little hideaway. They seemed as happy to see us as we were to see them.

We were so happy to be together that Marsha and Jan gave each other a big hug while I shook Tom's hand, and then Jan and I reached around each others' waists for a squeeze while Tom and Marsha did the same. I caught a glimpse of the start of their squeeze, but then my attention was focused on Jan. We didn't hug, really, but as we stood side by side for the squeeze, we bumped our hips together, and we looked into each others' eyes. Oh, God, I so wanted to take her into my arms.

The moment passed quickly, and we were all talking and laughing as we pushed through the doors into the dining car. The women sat by the windows, and Tom and I by the aisle, but I found myself frequently looking diagonally across the table at Jan, and she at me. It seemed like Tom was also looking at Marsha a lot, but I was too busy looking across the table to pay much attention to him, or to pay any attention to where Marsha was looking.

For the life of me I can't remember much of what we said during that meal, but I know that we told each other funny stories about our marriages and families, and we teased each other a lot. I don't mean cruel teasing, of course, just light teasing that led to lots of laughs. One thing I do remember talking about was the tiny beds in the roomette. I described climbing up on top and trying to twist myself end for end with no room to sit up and no room to turn sideways. I expected them to agree with my experience, but instead they surprised me by bragging that they had gotten a larger room.

We were still laughing and toying with our desserts when we noticed our waitress starting to hover, and ask repeatedly if there was anything else she could get us. We finally realized that they were hoping to reuse the table for late diners, so got up with apologies to the waitress.

"Hey," Tom said, "why don't you two come on up front and see how much bigger our bedroom is."

Marsha and I quickly agreed. I, for one, was in favor of anything that would keep us together for a while longer. They led the way to the front half of the car we were staying in, which was set up very differently from the back half. In the back the aisle ran down the middle of the car, with roomettes on each side. In the front the aisle ran along the windows with larger rooms on one side only. We expected them to stop at one of those rooms, but they kept going, cutting back to the middle at the very front of the car so they could push through doors into another sleeper car. This one was set up the same, with roomettes at the back and larger rooms in front. No wonder it had taken them a while to join us before dinner!

Was I ever impressed when they motioned us into their room! It had a large sofa on one side of their picture windows and an armchair on the other. Beside the armchair was a wash basin and an enclosure that turned out to be a toilet and a shower! The sofa was easily big enough to seat three and Tom motioned me to sit there. I slid to the window end and Marsha sat next to me. I expected Jan to sit next to Marsha, but Tom sat in the armchair and patted his lap. Jan grinned and snuggled up against him.

We started chatting again, but kept being distracted by some very noisy neighbors down the hall. Tom whispered in Jan's ear, and she jumped up to close the sliding door. Poof! Noises gone instantly. While she was up, Jan pulled the curtain across the door, to point out how light and airy the room was even when totally closed off. Leaving it that way, she sat down on Tom's lap again.

It came out, somewhere along the way in our conversation, that Jan and I had both been working with community theatre groups, so we started comparing our experiences.

Out of one ear, while really focused on what Jan was saying about having had a couple of supporting actress roles in musicals, I heard Marsha groan to Tom, "Oh, no, they're going to be talking about theatre forever."

"It's a hopeless cause," Tom agreed, "but we're both teachers, so wouldn't you rather talk about that?" I picked up a few phrases of their subsequent conversation, as they enthusiastically shared experiences with each other, but the truth is I was fascinated by what Jan was saying.

"You're kidding!" I told her. "I love musicals. I've been in several, but mostly chorus and minor roles."

"Did you ever dream that you could be a lead?" she asked.

"Dream? Yes, doesn't everybody, but even if I could do it, which I can't, I'm too old for most leading roles."

"Not all of them. How about Fiddler on the Roof?"

"Oh, God, yes! Now there's a dream, to be Tevye."

Jan laughed. "I'll bet every middle-aged actor dreams of singing 'If I Were a Rich Man.'"

"True, but even more, I'd love to sing 'Chaveleh.'"

"Oh, yes, it always make me cry ... Ron ... when you play Tevye I want to play Golde."

"Ummm, 'Sabbath Prayer' -- One of the most beautiful pieces ever written. Now that's what always makes me cry. Do you think we could get through it together without breaking down?"

"I doubt it," she said, looking at me with tears glistening in her eyes.

We stared at each other for a while without speaking, then Jan broke the mood by turning to her husband and cutting into what he and Marsha were saying.

"Hon, Ron and I would like to go get some cokes. Would that be OK with you?" She turned back and winked at Marsha. "I'll bet he's going to find it a lot easier to talk to you if he doesn't have to crane his neck around me to even see you."

Jan and I hadn't said a word about getting drinks, but the moment she mentioned it I thought it was a great idea. I turned to look at Marsha, who was blushing, apparently from what Jan had said.

"You don't mind, do you," I asked her. "We'll just be gone a minute."

"No, I, ... no, of course, ... that ... that would be fine," she finally got out.

"Can you bring us a couple, too, while you're at it?" Tom asked.

Jan had stood up by now, and was pulling the curtain away from the door as I nodded to Tom and told him we would. She ducked behind the curtain and slid the door open, then held the curtain while I also ducked behind it. That seemed like an odd way to do things, and I wondered why she didn't just open the curtain, but I didn't say anything. Once we were out in the aisle she also slid the door shut, pointing her thumb at the still noisy neighbors.

After we made our way down to the middle of the sleeper car, Jan leaned close to me and whispered, "Wanna know a secret? I'll bet that before we get back Tom and Marsha are going to be doing more than talking."

I looked at her with shock and concern. I realized for the first time that we had two sleeper cars to go through, then the dining car, then to the middle of the club car, and finally down the stairs there to get to the soda stand. We were going to be gone a lot longer than the minute I had promised Marsha.

"No! ... You mean he might try to put the make on her? ... This is terrible! We should go back, Jan. She would never let him do anything, but it could get awkward."

"Don't worry, Tom won't try to pressure her."

With that, she left my brain whirling and continued back through the car. I caught up with her as she was going through the doors into the next sleeper.

"Are you trying to suggest that she is going to come on to him?"

Jan shook her head. "It's too noisy to talk here," she said, and indeed the sounds of the wheels on the tracks echoed loudly through the accordion material where the cars were joined together.

We walked on back to the middle of that sleeper, where there was an open area, and the staircase leading down. Then she turned and looked at me.

"Look, you couldn't see it from where you were sitting beside her, but she was getting stars in her eyes while they were talking."

"You're crazy," I blurted out. "We've been married twenty-seven years, and she has never shown the least sign of..."

"There's always a first time. But let's not talk about them. I want to talk about us; that's why I suggested we go get the cokes."

"What do you mean, talk about us?"

"Well, like, for example, the way my heart was going thump, thump, thump, every time I looked at you, or the stars I saw in your eyes when you looked at me."

"Jan, stop that!"

"Why? We can't deny it, either one of us. Here, follow me."

She ducked down the narrow stairway that twisted its way to the lower floor. At the first landing she turned to face me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled her body against me as she gave me a quick kiss.

"I've been dying to do that for the last hour. Now it's your turn. Show me how you would like to kiss me."

"Oh, God, Jan," I moaned as my arms went around her waist and my mouth reached out to hers. The kiss lasted a long time.

Suddenly I pulled away. "We've got to go, or they'll be wondering why it's taking us so long."

Jan laughed. "I seriously doubt that. If I'm right, and they're not just talking, they are going to lose all track of time. And if you're right, they'll be enjoying their talk so much that they won't care how long we take, especially if we tell them we got involved in a discussion ourselves."

Staring into my eyes, she added, "Of course, we won't tell them the details of our discussion."

With that, Jan melted into my arms again.

We did finally separate, only to have her grin slyly and ask, "So what was that hard thing I was feeling rubbing against my belly?"

I blushed bright red, then turned and started up the steps without answering. When I got to the top, though, I stepped back to let her pass, and said, "I think I'll follow you, if you don't mind."

With a broad grin, Jan said, "I don't mind a bit. You can follow as close as you want; the closer the better."

I did try to leave a few inches between us as we swayed our way past the open roomettes. When we got to the doors where the cars were joined, I 'accidentally' bumped into her, and she wiggled her ass against my hard-on. She seemed to be having trouble getting the door into the next car to open, so the contact lasted longer than it really should have.

Then we swayed our way though the nearly empty dining car, maintaining a proper distance between us, only to find she had even more trouble, and we had even more contact, getting through the doors to the club car.

The club car, or observation car, didn't really have any walls. It had nearly continuous windows, end to end on both sides, starting about two feet from the floor and arching up over our heads. The effect was like riding on top of the train, but protected by a glass bubble. There were little groups of seats on both sides, mostly facing out. None of these seats were assigned to passengers; they were available to anyone, first come, first served.

We had to behave in the club car. People were scattered all around, looking in all directions. We couldn't even get away with anything while we were going down the narrow stairway to the refreshment stand, because someone was waiting for us to get off the stairs so they could come back up. Once downstairs we realized that the sodas came in cans along with cups containing ice. We had all we could manage, juggling four cans and four cups of ice as we drunkenly swayed our way back through three cars to Tom and Jan's room.

Just before we got there, Jan turned and whispered, "Let's not barge in on them; who knows, we might catch them ... well, let's just say they might be embarrassed. Can you kind of knock on the door with your elbow or something?"

I did, and Jan called, "Can you help us here? Our hands are very full."

We heard Tom's voice, "Just a minute."

As we waited, Jan mouthed, 'I told you so, ' but it was actually much less than a minute before the curtain was pulled back a bit and Tom's head appeared through the window in the door. I saw him look quickly over his shoulder, then slowly slide the door open.

"My god, you really are loaded down," he said, taking a cup from each of us. "Marsha, get the table folded down so we have a place to put all this stuff."

At that point I caught my first glimpse of Marsha, but only from the back. She seemed to be trying to do something to her blouse with one hand, while fighting the pullout table with the other. Both tasks accomplished, she turned, and looked demurely down at the table as the rest of us deposited cans and cups there. My eyes bugged out when I saw that Marsha's blouse wasn't tucked in properly, but I held my tongue. Jan had certainly been right, but I was in no position to accuse my wife of anything.

This time Marsha sat down first, scooting to the window end of the sofa. I sat down next to her, and Tom sat in the armchair again. Jan gave me a wink and sat down next to me. I glanced quickly at Marsha to see how she would take that, but she was giving Tom her rapt attention.

We told each other additional bits of our life stories while we drank the sodas. The feel of Jan's body touching me was driving me crazy, but I tried not to talk directly to her. I did watch Tom, and saw his eyes going repeatedly to Marsha, but he also seemed to be trying not to talk specifically to her. His efforts and mine kept us from breaking up into separate conversations this time, but I could sure feel the sexual tension.

Once the sodas were gone, Tom changed the subject. "Look, I feel a bit awkward bringing this up, but Marsha and I were starting a serious discussion while you two were getting the cokes, and I wonder if there is some way we could continue it."

He looked at me, and then at Marsha. "I know Marsha wouldn't want to discuss it in front of you guys, so I was wondering if ... well, if you guys would mind if she and I went for a little walk somewhere. You would like that, Marsha, wouldn't you?"

I heard a quiet little gasp from Marsha, and she didn't say anything, but I looked her direction and saw she was nodding her head slowly while biting her lip. Marsha saw me looking her way and gave me a quick look, almost a scared and guilty look, but I just smiled at her and nodded.

"Sure, it's OK with me," I managed to get out. My brain was boiling with thoughts of what Jan and I might be doing while they were gone.

Tom looked across at his wife on the sofa. "Jan, is it OK with you?"

"Of course," Jan bubbled, "and don't worry about Ron and me. I'm sure we can find lots to talk about while you're gone."

Tom stood up and reached across the little table for Marsha's hand, pulling her to her feet. She slipped out past my knees and stood close to him.

"It may take us a while to work this out, and I don't know where we'll be, but if possible I'd like to find some place where we don't have too many distractions. Don't worry, though," he added with a grin, looking down at Jan and me who were still sitting side by side, "we can't get lost, and we promise not to get off the train."

I glanced up at Marsha, to see how she was reacting to Jan and me sitting together, but her eyes were only on Tom. He put his hand on her arm and started to pull her to the door, but then turned.