March 15th, 2020 at 8:13 AM
The Ides of March Have Come, But Not Gone
On the Texas Eagle after departing Poplar Bluff,
Arkansas
Luckily, Google Maps downloads to my cell and
the location beam reaches the phone, no matter where I am in the United States.
So I could tell that our train was running parallel to the Black River. Our
train towered above it, tracks elevated over its eastern bank. I could have
done a swan dive into the muddy waters, coffee with milk colored.
A swan dive into waters of uncertain depth means
a dangerous leap of faith. Glad the windows of the observation car keep me from
an attempt. It's good to see rivers that are full and untamed. Through the San
Antonio Riverwalk, the river looks more like a swimming pool than the Black
below my perch. I see the Black raising up sand bars and eroding banks. Unfortunately,
when a river exercises its water muscles, it can cause great harm, tragic
drownings.
I'm having difficulty, though, knowing what to
call the land outside this passenger car with a panorama. The hills have begun
to roll, arising from the flat furrowed land of first light. Am I now passing
through the Ozarks on the way to St Louis? Have we entered the Mark Twain
National Forest? The Mississippi River passes between Tennessee and Missouri to
our east. We'll follow that river closely as we draw closer to St. Louis, but
not long enough or close enough for my druthers.
I think of my friend Jim, who I nicknamed Jesus,
this is Jim because he's a praying man. He lives in Missouri somewhere. I'll
send him a text and apologize for failing to come see him personally. If only
the Texas Eagle behaved like Uber, making carefree and brief visits possible. I
see these small towns, the tiny church next door to the just as tiny funeral parlor
and cannot stop. It's more T.V. I think of Lulu, who bought a block in downtown
St Genevieve on the Mississippi River and sold antiques and painted on her wide
balcony. She and I hung out for the weekend, dined at the nice restaurants and
explored the French roots of the city. I've tried to text Jim and Lulu and my
cell scoffs, "Check your network connection". This run of the Texas
Eagle goes forth without free wireless.
I keep thinking of Hemingway helping to film the
Spanish Earth. I have passed through Texas reviewing the Texas Earth, wondering
just how Live Oaks could propagate so quickly by acorns, covering the
undulating hills like grass. The Arkansas Earth has too many syllables. I
wonder if the town Texarkana is really a place where Texans meet to execute
secret rituals passed down from the Steve Austin days. I want to ask Amtrak to
apologize for putting me on a bus from San Antonio to Fort Worth by giving me a
round trip to San Antonio so I can try again.
I see the foundations of a factory on the north
fringe of Piedmont, Missouri. Knocking flat the walls brought down the roof but
a solid foundation could save time erecting a more modern building on the
footprint. The Culinary Institute of Michigan located in downtown Muskegon
arose upon the foundation of the Occidental Hotel, which never should have been
knocked flat in the first place. The Missouri Rain works slowly but just as
effectively as a wrecking ball. I've seen a few houses melting in the rain, a
tin roof over the shingle roof, held up by a scaffolding.
A few on the Amtrak staff have grown tired. At
Popular Bluff I stepped off to take a TikTok. The station could use a coat of
paint; the station sign needs a visit from a sign painter. A bronze marker
bolted to the door frame told me what it once was called, but I didn't have to
focus. "You need to get back on the train, sir!" The conductor has
four people to check in and board. "No smoke breaks until Saint
Louis". We're six hours behind schedule!" I decided to stop causing
trouble and failed to get a picture of the marker.
I nominate Dan the cafe man as the hero of this
Amtrak run. He's my age, fifty-six, and he looks like Christopher Walken. He
rode the bus with us from San Antonio, sitting by the charming Barbara.
Although I like the comfort of the bus, nicely air conditioned, the loo became
a horror because it grew hot and gassy with fumes. I locked the door to be
polite and regretted it. I couldn't unlock the door and the fumes made me
panic.
In the heat, my head grew lightheaded and I
imagined myself in a grain silo, overcome by methane. Death in a grain silo
happens as soon as you fall inside. My body shook. I pulled down on the lock
and it wouldn't give. I pulled out the bottle opener, hoping it would give me
leverage. Still wouldn't work. I pounded on the door, hoping somebody would
realize I was in there before I passed out. "I can't get out of the
bathroom". Dan shouted, "Pull up on the lock". I did. It worked.
It's amazing how a panic will take away your mind. I went to my seat and my
body shuddered for five minutes.
Dan the Amtrak cafe man has politeness so
perfected it has become his superpower. Have a handful of hamburgers and sodas?
Dan has the time to run it up the stairs to the observation car. Train has
fallen six hours behind schedule. Dan's the man on the intercom, offering
bottled water and snack packs as a peace offering. I spilled my coffee. I had
to insist on cleaning it up. He gave me a fresh cup and made a big ceremony
about adding a java jacket. I have a hard time hating on Amtrak for this flawed
run from San Antonio to the Illinois prairie because of the courtesy of Dan the
man.
Picture credit to Pierre Vogel - www.r7al.ch, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82626427
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