Big Easy and the Sunset Limited

Humidity be damned; New Orleans was a breath of fresh air!
Two evenings rolled by there with my old college chum, Damian Tatum. He's a gentle spirit of a genius (an aerospace engineer)- always excellent company. As chance would have it, our mutual friend and genius from another mother, William Winters, was also passing through (so perfectly timed, I even got to catch a ride into town!) We ate at a po-boy stand and sat on a patio along with several new friends to discuss it all. We were even graced with a brief hard rain. It lasted only ten minutes or so, but the leaves and roofs chatted about it for the next hour while we forged on with too many topics to count.

At the Amtrak station I checked one bag and carried on a back-sack and guitar. My seat was number 4, an aisle seat, and in seat 3 was Herbert......
(It just came to me that number 4 should have been the window seat... it doesn't make sense for it to have been the aisle.... that man stole my seat! I could have gotten sleep after all! Darn you, Herbert!)
Herbert is a gray headed 60-something who lives in a retirement community in Long Beach. He was journeying home from visiting family in New Orleans. He bought me a cup of coffee right off and I listened to his stories (some pretty funny) for about two hours. He has an excellent laugh and will live a long life, I am certain. For the rest of the trip, Herbert pretty much stayed in that seat (my seat?) and I stayed in the observation car.

Next, I met Thomas and Shorty. Thomas is a gabber and a tile-layer from L.A.. He'd spent a year in New Orleans cleaning up a messy situation for his sister and was eager to get back home. He's the same type of silly that runs in my family. When the train took a 2-hour break at 4 a.m. we walked together to the Denny's in SanAntonio. At our booth, he folded the to-go menu into an airplane and went on about how good his kids are and how he's looking forward to getting home and biking mountain trails. His enthusiasm about life oozes from his pores, and sometimes causes dry patches on his elbows. I loaned him lotion, and he thanked me ten times.
Thomas brought a Slamwich back to Shorty, since Shorty couldn't make the 4 block walk himself. Shorty is a big man, build like a CMU balanced on popcycle sticks. I don't remember his real name, but his height is exactly the height of the train's interior, so he had to walk around with his head slightly bent. He told some great bad jokes.

There was a couple on their way to a wedding, a mean old lady bent almost in half from carrying around so many bad wishes from people she'd cut, a 20-something named Matthew who opened his own paintball fantasy camp in Arizona, and some brilliant children. We all watched the landscape passing by and changing, and made light conversation to kill time. At one point, on the second day of the journey, I pulled my guitar out and gave the crew some entertainment- and the crew sang along, provided back-up vocals and table-top-beats, and were, to date, my most captive audience ever.

I loved walking back toward my seat from the observation car. On the way, I got to see the sweetest sleepers; couples using each other's shoulders as pillows, babes grabbing each other for warmth, infants asleep on their mothers' breasts. It was beautiful.

Around 10 p.m. on the second evening, a kid named Andrés boarded in Tuscan. We hit it off fabulously and stayed up til the wee hours talking about and sharing music. I liked his company the most out of all my train-buddies: Hope we manage to stay in touch. Maybe when I'm in Arizona visiting Staci I can swing by and jam with his 9-piece band; make it an even 10.

My only regret is checking that one bag. For, you see, inside that bag was my toothbrush, toothpaste, long sleeves to protect me from the vicious air conditioning, fresh clothes and undies, facewash, and a travel pillow... all things I lamented not having with me for that 47 hour trek.

And then, there was L.A.

(to be continued...)