IBE The Days Of WanderingAddendum Houston
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IBE: The Days Of WanderingSarasota free porn video
That evening, Jake and I were sitting in a decent restaurant for once. Well, it wasn’t decent, but the grease content by weight was under 25% which was a massive improvement over the previous joints we had eaten in. It was an Applebee’s, and to be honest, Jake seemed to find the food a bit lackluster. I felt sorry for the big man- he was going to die of some kind of cholesterol problem, I swear.
That has always disgusted me, actually. I like eating, I really do. I enjoy eating. I often eat high-energy content food. An example is peanut butter. It contains a lot of calories and nutrients, and is usually pretty cheap. But when I can afford to do so, I usually eat really really nice.
I don’t understand eating at grease pits when you can afford to do otherwise. I’m not on a diet, mind you. But the food there is limited in taste. You can’t SAVOR it. You can’t savor a McDonald’s double quarter pounder. It tastes like shit. It’s bland, all of it tastes the same, and its not a nice taste. I swear the major thing I taste is the prune puree they used to cut the cost.
On the other hand, one of my favorites isTournedos Beauhernais which is tournedos of beef wrapped in bacon, in a sauce made of clarified butter, shallots, watercress, chicken stock, and Madeira. Trust me when I tell you it’s no better for you than that McD’s burger. But it is a vibrant dish, full of wonderful conflicting tastes of sweet, sour, bitter, and even salty. You can close your eyes and just bask in the symphony of flavors.
I don’t just like extremely complex dishes, either. Once, Rachel, who is not religious, made me a delicious dish. It was basically pork cubes stewed in onions and beer. It was absolutely delicious. The variety of tastes involved, the multitudes of texture, the filling nature of it. Fantastic.
“You seem to ride Amtrak a lot,” Jake said to me after a while. My touchy brush off earlier had made him rather quiet, which was against his character. It was nice that he had finally managed to talk again.
“Yeah, I do,” I told him, “It’s a very easy and sensible way to get around. It’s increasingly cheap to use, and its comfortable. The best part is you meet people.”
“Do you really?” he asked.
“You really do,” I told him, “Like for example, take the trip from Duluth to Sarasota I mentioned to you earlier...”
I boarded Amtrak’s Capitol Limited. This was back in the day when the Capitol Limited was ran with the Broadway Limited. It used single-level Heritage equipment, including coaches. It even carried a few dome cars, unlike the Broadway Limited which couldn’t handle them due to its running to New York.
They split in Pittsburgh with the Broadway Limited heading along the old Pennsylvania Broadway to Harrisburg, Philadelphia, and New York, and the Capitol Limited following the Baltimore & Ohio route of its namesake to Washington, D.C. We used to have an extensive and functional long distance train system in this country. Now it’s largely been disbanded because we don’t care about infrastructure in this country. Never have and probably never will.
I had booked sleeping accommodations on this train, and since they didn’t offer the economy Slumbercoach cars at this time of year, I booked a first class roomette. I found myself in ex-Union Pacific Budd 10-6 Pacific Slope. It was a comfortable room, done up in Amtrak’s outrageous orange, brown, and beige scheme.
In Chicago, first class passengers are entitled to wait for their train in a first class lounge called the “Metropolitan Lounge”, which is a really nice place to wait. It wasn’t as nice as the one they had before they demolished the passenger concourse back in ‘69, but it was still nice. Free soft drinks, snacks, and comfortable arm chairs. Plus checked luggage and ... priority boarding.
Since we were leaving Chicago late, they boarded us first class passengers early and we were eating dinner long before the train left. I had a steak and mashed potatoes, which were quite edible, and an apple pie that practically blew my mind with how good it was. I was exhausted so I quickly returned to my room.
The attendant had provided me with a bottle of wine, cheese, and crackers, which I quickly consumed. I guess he didn’t bother to check if I was 21 or not. I got into bed using the time-tested method of zipping the curtain before pulling down the bed itself, and fell promptly asleep- it was much more comfortable than coach.
In the morning I woke up. We had already ditched the Broadway Limited a few hours back in Pittsburgh. I had never seen Pittsburgh, but I heard they were going to renovate its Pennsylvania Station and turn the tower into condos. Better than tearing it down, but I hoped they would leave the great hall open to passengers. America has lost too many of its great train stations already. Seriously.
I went to the dining car again and had a delicious breakfast. Amtrak has always made an awesome version of pain perdu au chemin de fer de Santa Fe, more popularly known as “Santa Fe Railroad French Toast”. It’s an absolutely delicious version of a usually good dish.
In the dining car, I met a sweet girl a little older than me named Brenda. We had some interesting conversations and then the two of us went back and found an ex-Great Northern Great Dome lounge car, Mountain View. We sat in the upper level and kept talking. The scenery over the Maryland mountains was quite impressive. I had not yet been out west, so I couldn’t compare them to the Rockies, but the beautiful flora and streams painted a picture no artists brush could fully capture.
She was headed to Cumberland, Maryland. Soon it was time for lunch and we headed back to the dining car to quickly eat it. In those days, Amtrak, as now, provided an excellent cuisine. We were running a tad late so she got the opportunity to share my enjoyment of it. When we were done, I wished her a farewell. She told me if I was ever in Cumberland to make a point of looking her up. I told her I would.
I went back to the dome car to enjoy the rest of the trip. The view was quite spectacular. In all actuality, the Capitol Limited is second only to the much longer Cardinal for scenery in Amtrak’s western routes. You could make a case for the Adirondack, but I’d disagree. I’d place it third.
We pulled into Washington Union Station a bit late. Nowadays, Its always been a debate in my mind, which is more grand and beautiful- Grand Central Terminal in New York City, or Washington Union Station in Washington, D.C. However, at that point the station had fallen in to such disrepair, it had been closed.
I milled around for a while awaiting my connecting train to Florida. Washington D.C. is and has always been an unpleasant place to be. It’s full of self important Mandarins. Politics comes from the Latin; poly meaning many, and tics meaning small blood sucking insects. Washington needs a bloody truckload of RAID.
In those days, there were two trains that ran from New York to Florida- the Silver Meteor and Silver Star. They both ran to Miami, actually. Both trains followed the same route in the north, Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor to Richmond. New York, Newark, Trenton, Philadelphia, Wilmington, Baltimore, Washington. Both stopped at Alexandria, and the Silver Star stopped Quantico and Fredricksburg. They both stopped at Richmond, Petersburg, and Rocky Mount. From that point they diverged for a while.
The Silver Star went more inland through the Carolina mountains. It stopped at Raleigh, Southern Pines, Hamlet, Camden, Columbia, and Denmark. The Silver Meteor hugged closer to the coast, stopping at Fayetteville, Florence, Kingstree, Charleston, and Yamassee. The trains met up once again in Savannah, and continued together to Selma and Jacksonville, where they split again.
The Silver Star actually split in Jacksonville, with part of it swinging inland. The other section of the Silver Star ran closer to the coast. The inland section of the Silver Star ran to Waldo, Ocala, and Wildwood before its route once again converged with the Silver Meteor in Winter Haven. The more coastal section served Palatka, Deland, Sanford, Winter Park, Orlando, Kissimmee, Lakeland, and Tampa.
The Silver Meteor also served Palatka, Deland, Sanford, Winter Park, Orlando, and Kissimmee. At Kissimmee, it too split up. One section went inland to Lakeland and Tampa, although it was just a snack coach, sleeper and baggage-dorm that did it. The whole rest of the train continued to Winter Haven, Sebring, Okeechobee, West Palm Beach, Delray Beach, Deerfield Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, Hollywood, and Miami. The Silver Star did the same, except it skipped the Okeechobee and Delray Beach stops.
While the trains served much of the same markets, Amtrak regarded them differently. The Silver Star was the economy train. It ran on a slower schedule north of Kissimmee, carried between two and three 10-6 sleepers, one or sometimes two slumbercoach cars, a twin-unit Buffet-diner, an Amfleet II lounge car, and usually ran with Amfleet II medium-distance coaches.
During the summer months, the second slumbercoach went to the Capitol Limited, and the third 10-6 went to the Broadway Limited. During the winter months, two or three coaches, a slumbercoach, a 10-6 and a baggage-dorm ran to Tampa, while a baggage car, four to five coaches, a slumbercoach, and two 10-6 sleepers continued to Miami- and Orlando, more importantly.
As under the Seaboard, though, the Silver Meteor was the more premium train. It ran most of its run as one train, concentrating on Orlando- it was sometimes referred to by Amtrak employees as the “Walt Disney Express” or “Mickey Mouse Limited”. Serving primarily wealthy vacationers, the train ran with a vastly different consist of cars.
At the front of the train was usually a baggage dorm, followed by a single 10-6 sleeper, and a snack-coach. Following this were usually two or three 44-seat leg rest Heritage coaches. Then there was a twin unit buffet-diner, which served as a dining car and lounge car for coach passengers. This car was followed by three or four additional 44-seat Heritage coaches. Following the Heritage coaches was a single slumbercoach. Then there was a full service Heritage dining car. This was followed by two 10-6 sleepers, an 11-bedroom sleeper, a Heritage lounge car, another pair of 10-6 sleepers, sometimes even a fifth. Trailing the train was another baggage car.
The coach passengers could purchase meals in the buffet-diner. slumbercoach passengers could purchase meals in either the buffet-diner, or, at greater cost, in the full dining car. First class sleeping car passengers got meals in the full diner included in the cost of their ticket, and exclusive use of the Heritage lounge. As time went on, the Silver Meteor would lose its premium features, and by the early 90’s it would be basically the same train as the Star but on a different route.
My reverie was ended when I saw the Silver Meteor pulling into the station. It was dressed up with a full five 10-6s, and nine coaches. In fact, based on the location of the snack-coach, I think there was an additional coach intended for Tampa. Since I am a cheapskate, I was booked in a single slumbercoach to Kissimmee, and coach to Tampa, followed by a bus to Sarasota.
When I boarded the train, an attendant pointed me in the direction of of my room, which was one of the upper rooms. Uh, perhaps I should explain that. A slumbercoach came in two formats, 16-10 and 24-8. There are three types of rooms, sold as two types. The type called a “double slumbercoach” contains two relatively narrow seats and a toilet, one bed is made by folding down the seats, and the other folds down from the roof. The 16-10 has ten such rooms, the 24-8 has eight. The other two are called “single slumbercoaches” and consist of a toilet, seat, and pull-out bed. One is upper and the other is lower. They are staggered lower-upper-lower to fit in more rooms.
I got into my room, placed my backpack on the toilet lid, and sat down to relax. Keep in mind that compared to my standard level of accommodation, these were pretty nice surroundings for me. I sat in my room looking out the window as the train started pulling out of the disgraceful mess that was Washington Union Station, and the more disgraceful mess that was Reagan’s Washington.
“Hello,” came a gravelly female voice from across the hall. There was an older lady, mildly heavily set, with white hair. She looked to be in her early to mid 70’s.
“Hi,” I said, turning from the window to look the woman in the face.
“My name is Sadie,” she said.
“Mine is Johnny,” I told her.
“Where you headed?” she asked me.
“Sarasota,” I told her, “And you?”
“Of all the places, same place as me you go?”
“Guess so,” I smiled.
Her accent was fairly thick. It had the timber of a New Yorker but the way she talked suggested she either was born in Germany, or her parents did not speak much English at home. She was clearly Jewish. I wasn’t, but Susan was. Knew the type.
“You have relatives in Sarasota, maybe?” she asked.
“Nah.”
“So why you go to Sarasota?” she asked, arching her brow.
“Why not?” I came back.
“Who goes to Sarasota? You want to watch the old people die?” she said with a snorting laugh.
“I’m a wanderer, Sadie,” I told her, “I go to all kinds of places all the time. Don’t have a home. I picked Sarasota blindly with a finger on a map. I needed to get out of the cold up north and I had the money to go this far south, so I took the opportunity.”
I was speaking big. I was trying to hide my anguish over Marty’s death. Everything had been so perfect, and now it was all in disorder. I needed a friend. I didn’t want to seem like the basket case that I was.
“Why the wandering you’re doing?” she asked.
I explained to her the circumstances under which I had been forced to flee from home. I also explained the plans I had made with Marty, and how his death had dashed them terribly.
“With the old goyim you spend the time,” she said, “No friends you have?”
“Not in Sarasota,” I admitted, “Or anywhere else, really.”
“Where are you going to stay with no friends?” she persisted.
“I don’t know. Wherever. Doesn’t matter.”
“No place you have to stay?”
“None.”
“At my place you could stay,” she offered.
“Sure.” I was a trusting young man, and she seemed like a nice old lady. I couldn’t imagine what harm staying with her would cause. I was naive in those days, and I had not yet really learned the skills I needed to defend myself. Fortunately, malicious intent was not part of her plans.
We sat and discussed my life and her life. She was 72, her husband had died last year, and she had decided recently to move to Florida to get out of the cold Long Island winters. It was a common enough decision, even back in the mid 80’s. I’ve never understood it; next to California, Florida is my second most disliked state. Especially south of Lake Okeechobee. It’s like California except it’s not even a dry heat.
Her children were grown and she had a bunch of grandchildren, one of which was only a year younger than me and would be coming down with her parents soon for Chanukah and winter break. She thought we would get along pretty well. I doubted it, but I didn’t want to spoil a potentially good thing, so I let the words be unspoken.
An announcement for dinner was made and Sadie and I made our way to the buffet-diner. We both selected large but not very tasty helping of chicken and mashed potato. We ate it in companionable silence. The people sitting across from us were bragging about the accommodations they were getting in Disney World, and how much they cost. They practically included the number of cents. Like we cared or something.
We went back to our little rooms and chatted some more across the hallway about her granddaughter, who from the way she told it, seemed like a really nice girl. Of course, she would, because this is her grandmother talking. Grandmothers always say great things about their grandkids. I bet my grandmother would say I was the best thing since sliced bread even now.
“A wonderful granddaughter I have,” she said for the millionth time, “I wish she’d meet a mensch like you, and stop with these meshuge goyim. All the time with the meshugana schmucks she runs with, in trouble she gets.”
This was the first time she said anything negative about her. “Why? What kind of people does she run with?” Susan’s family were Jewish, and there was a enough yiddish sprinkled in by her grandparents that I knew a lot of the more common words. She was talking about crazy non-Jews and crazy dickheads.
She started. I don’t think she realized she had been speaking aloud, “Sorry, so much kvetching I’m doing and you sitting here listening.”
“No problem. Sometimes you just need to talk about things going on that upset you. I don’t mind,” I told her, “What’s her name?”
“Daphne,” she told me.
“Pretty name,” I said, “What she doing?”
She explained that her granddaughter had more or less stopped talking to the “nice Jewish boys” in her area. I knew from Susan that Jews were often highly averse to their children marrying non-Jews, not as a matter of prejudice as much as a desire to not lose their roots. Still, Sadie didn’t think that part was a huge deal. So long as Daphne was happy and healthy, if she married a non-Jew that was ok.
It was ok until a month ago when Sadie had caught her.
“In her own room, with that Chris boy, all the meshugas going on,” she explained, “They were kushn and arumnenmen and makhn a tsimes fun. Farkakt and balagen and farblondzshet. They were naket and looked like geshlekhtik they were going to have.”
So basically, she walked in on her making out with a guy naked.
“I don’t mean to discount you, Sadie,” I told her, “But at that age this is kind of norm-”
“Don’t give me that shmontses!” she screeched, then managed to calm herself. “Not just what they were doing, but how they were doing it! No love he has for her! In her pleasure was he interested? No! He’s shmate!”
We went on to talk about it for a while. She wasn’t as old-fashioned and such as I thought. She really didn’t think the guy was worth two shakes.
“Not that I want my granddaughter to do that,” she pointed out, “She’s 17 and sex she has to have? But eh, if she’s going to, it should be with someone who cares and loves. Not some schlokschlump schmo.”
After a while, I got very tired and told her I was going to bed. She did the same.
The bed wasn’t exceptionally comfortable, but it was good enough. I slept pretty soundly. Soundly enough that I almost missed breakfast.
Sadie woke me up when they made last call, and we decided to try the actual dining car. The food was of a much higher quality, and I could really see how the Silver Meteor rated first class status on Amtrak’s network.
I remember being told about how Amtrak used to run both lower class and upper class trains when they ran more than a single train on the general route. For example, the Broadway Limited was marketed as premium to the Lake Shore Limited. Also, when they ran more trains, the Texas Chief was higher end then the Inter-American, the Empire Builder was higher than the North Coast Hiawatha, and the Super Chief-El Capitan was higher than the Chief.
All the food was fresh cooked and to order. It was also significantly more expensive! But the food was worth the price. When we were done eating, we went back to our rooms and talked some more. I agreed to go with her to her house. We didn’t bother eating lunch since we were full from breakfast.
The train pulled into Tampa Union Station at 3 o’clock. It was about 20 minutes early. The bus was a standard-run Greyhound, but there were few people on it. When we finally arrived at the bus station in Sarasota, I was about ready to accept her offer to live there. She was a really nice woman.
We got her bags from the baggage room, and there were a lot of them, loaded them into a taxi, and set out for her home. It was a nice sized condo unit, nicely decorated, with two bedrooms. She was too tired to cook, so I helped her start her 1975 Cadillac Fleetwood. It was a huge sucker, with the 500 cubic inch V8 engine.
I had always admired the old, full size cars, the ones before “downsizing” had become the name of the game. I could appreciate the advantages of the smaller packaged cars. In fact, I truly admired the engineering and design of the 1977-vintage GM B-bodies. They almost captured the essence of the larger cars in a smaller package.
But the bigger cars had that sense of pure Americana. Excess for excess’s sake, a statement that our conspicuous consumption was a way of life. A full size C-body Cadillac Sedan De Ville in 1972 was only about 25% more expensive than a comparably equipped B-body Chevrolet Caprice. The trappings of luxury and status was available to all reasonably successful Americans who wanted it.
The end of the Full Size American Land Yacht, like Sadie’s Fleetwood Talisman, was the end of America being great. It was the end of compressed incomes, strong equality from anyone willing to work to the wealthiest of men. The end of taxes discouraging obscene salaries. It was the end of the fairly treated unionized workers getting fair pay for their back breaking work.
It was the beginning of a different era. The era of such nonsense as Reaganomics. The era of better-faster-cheaper. The era of Americans starting to hate other Americans. The end of our unification in the spirit of being free. The beginning of the end for freedom itself. It wasn’t just the end of the big cars that did this, of course. But it was symbolic of all the rest of it.
Lynne
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