The Beginning of the Beginning

If you’re actually reading this, it’s a miracle. because it means that, not only did i figure out how to get this site online, but you found it. It is probably January 2017 by now, but that’s ok.

SO. This trip has officially begun.

This morning was all the excitement and more predicted by my roommate when I told her yesterday that i hadn’t packed yet, and she said: “Oh boy. I sense another half-hour Emily packing special coming on” (um, those may or may not have been her exact words). Anyway, we did it, and the only major crisis (besides the amount that I spent on toiletries, which I’m not going to talk about, because it could feed me for a year) was the disappearance of a hairbrush that has become quite significant to me over the years. I miss it already. Well, there’s a lot of other stuff/people that i miss more...but we won’t talk about that now :-P

Anyway, we did make it to the train...and then to the other train...right on time. And we made it to Albany/Renssalaer EARLY (and escaped the crazy man mumbling about ice cream and record temperatures). Yaaaay Amtrak.

Now, it sometimes happens in Albany/Renssalaer that one’s father sends one out alone into the streets of Renssalaer, and one is not really sure of what to make of it. Renssalaer is a sad kind of place, not a past-its-heyday Richmond kind of sad, but a lonesome, never quite loved enough kind of sad, sitting there in Albany’s shadow. I walked up and down a few streets, remotely hoping to find some sort of central area but not really succeeded. There’s a big Amtrak yard by the station that you could pretty much walk right into if you wanted to. Lots of activity and trains being shuffled around, very exciting, even some of the 700-series engines that run of diesel and electric. Oh, trains - how i love thee.

Walking down the street after i crossed over the tracks, i found one of those signs with the binocular symbols pointing to this area under the highway bridge into Albany, and i was like, dude, there can’t possibly be anything exciting under an overpass, but, as it turned out, there was. A lovely riverfront park with a lively bandstand full of musicians and a lawn full of old people to match, and all of the overpass pillars painted in all kinds of murals - an old map, horses, a fighter plane - my favorite was of three standard poodles sitting by a hearth - and all right along the river, looking across at Albany and the riverboats. There are two morals to this story, i think - a) beauty is often where you least expect it, and b) those little binocular signs know what they’re talking about.

Back at the station, we met a very nice, beautiful 11-year old service dog, and then got on the train. With the rest of the world, apparently. Including, but not limited to, the dude with the garbage bags and the ancient cammo backpack (although i think i’d call it a rucksack), a large contingent of Young People With Funny Accents (they’re from lots of different places. I don’t even know where) and Todd from Chicago, the crazy ice cream man. Yes. As it turns out, the crazy ice cream man works with autistic children on the south side of Chicago. Hmm. Eventually, another fascinating fellow with gold teeth from Iowa who’s been talking a lot about tractors distracted Todd from Chicago, and we were spared to hang out with our new best friend, Chuck the Lounge Guy (he’s AWESOME). He even illicitly gave us ice to keep my live typhoid cold. Chuck is so awesome, in fact, that, even though everyone else has been kicked out of the lounge car, he let us stay because we were all set up. So now it’s just us and the conductors, and we’re spying on top-secret (not really) radio information that reports things like our speed, as calculated by somehow using the number of axles on this train, which, it turns out, is 48. And listening to the train people talk about how much they hate Bush. (He’s bad for trains.) (Chuck really doesn’t like Bush. He’s voting for Hillary just to see Bill back around.) Also, they’re looking for someone named Donna Smith. Has anyone seen her?
I could pretty much live on a train for the rest of my life. I guess a boat will have to do.

Although, as Elmo says, I’ll miss all the places and people i love. Oh Elmo, i already do.