Saturday, March 14th, 2020 at 10:25 AM
PI Day
San Antonio Amtrak Station
Hemisfair Park, San Antonio, Texas
I woke up at Four in the morning to pack up my
things, including placing food and drink into my duffel. I took a quick shower.
I had a five-dollar credit, reducing the rideshare fee to the train station to
a frugal amount. I could have taken the buses, but the bus stops were
unfamiliar to me. I sided on safety.
A man named Keith picked me up in a Mitsubishi
with visible rust edging the doors. The idle sounded irregular, sounding like a
car revving its engine. Before Five in the morning, one must be grateful for a
ride. Keith chatted, although he had his music up high and I could barely make
out enough words to understand him. "This is my last ride for the night.
I'm going home and my wife will make me breakfast".
I checked the hours of the station in advance.
It stayed open Midnight to Seven AM, closing for a few hours after sending the
Texas Eagle off to points north. Keith kept an eye on me as I tried to the
door. The night air felt nice, so I sat outside the station, empty of people,
two agents standing at the counter. I must have thought I was flying because I
had arrived two hours early. I had taken a few short videos to load into
TikTok, so that kept me busy. I made videos of the lovely house with old pine
floors, built in 1901. Can't get wood like that anymore.
I half expected to be asked to give a
temperature or allowing the swabbing of my inner cheek, a test of my health
before being allowed in enclosed quarters, close to fellow passengers. We lined
up. Hard to establish social distance in a line. A conductor issued seat
numbers and I stepped onto the magic yellow step stool and boarded the
superliner. Climbed up the stairs, took off my shoes and napped.
We weren't underway when I woke up half an hour
later. On the intercom, the conductor explained, "Plenty of freight
moving. We must wait until the dispatcher gives us leave to back up a mile and
a half and then roll forward. I'll keep you posted"
An hour later it seemed, the conductor assured
us, "I just heard from the dispatcher. We can leave in five minutes".
Five minutes became a half hour as the power went on and the power went off,
taking the air conditioning down and up with it. We were permitted to exit the
Superliner. "Stay close to the train, please. Don't wander off".
The conductor came on the intercom in a half
hour, "We're fixing an issue with the locomotive. We'll keep you
posted". Time passed. I began to read The National, the extraordinary
magazine published by Amtrak. I bought beverages and food at H-E-B last night
for the overnight journey that would last until Noon Sunday. I was still
hopeful to reach Pontiac, Illinois by Sunday afternoon and see the prairie city
in the daylight.
I got off the train. A few passengers talked
with the conductors and gleaned information. "I guess they are looking for
a freight locomotive to pull our six superliners. It will be yellow, but it
will do the trick". I wondered how that would be possible on a day when
freight traffic was higher, stocks in warehouses needing to go to distribution
stores and replenish empty shelves. I sat on a picnic table, shaded by a live
oak and waited for official word. The idea of spending one more night in San
Antonio, especially at my own expense, made me writhe. I began to feel fear and
uncertainty.
A man in his eighties departed the superliner
with his baggage rolling behind him. He wore a white face mask covering his
mouth and nose. "Are you giving up?" "Nope, we're going on a bus
to Fort Worth. The train can't back up". I was glad for the information.
The pollen from the tree made me sneeze. I covered my mouth and sneezed in the
opposite direction. "Sorry sir. It's an allergy sneeze. Don't worry. The
droplets went right".
Finally, the station manager brought us bottles
of water and news. I got an email from Amtrak customer service assuring us that
we would be on our way soon. "Two buses are coming. They've been
dispatched. They should arrive in an hour". I took the manager at this
word and went to writing. My laptop screen has been covered with pollen since I
heard, and I'll need another bottle of water soon.
The manager checked for my name on a list and
verified my destination, Pontiac, Illinois. "It's between Saint Louis and
Chicago". Luckily, it seems all the rail traffic from the west passes over
the Mississippi at Saint Louis and then heads to the rail hub in Chicago.
I am cautiously hopeful that I'll be crossing
the Hill Country with the light of afternoon bright enough to see the buildings
by the road, the springs gushing up from fissures in the plateau.
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