#7 The California Zephyr, Day Three, into Chicago

 May 5, 2023

Colorado and Nebraska slipped by in the night, as we whistled and rattled through the sleeping towns.  I awoke to the flatlands of Iowa.  To farms, fields and scrubby trees.  

Most of what I post is scenery, but what I really enjoy looking at is the little towns that we go through.  Train tracks go through towns like a rip in a map.  There are rarely any fences or walls to hide the home-life from those peering out the windows of the train as it roars past, whistle wide open.  Life is raw and open along the track.  Toys in the yards, carefully tended flower gardens, rickety chairs with a couple of old men shooting the breeze.  Just life.  At home in my neighborhood, some things belong in the garage, some tucked tidily away in the side yard behind the fence, and some in the house.

Of the hundreds of towns the route goes through, it only stops at a few.  Some, like where I get on in Vancouver, are one minute stops.  Whether we stop or not, day or night, the whistle is blowing.  I'm assuming that at some point people get used to it, but some houses are just a few feet from the tracks.

I took breakfast in my room again, and remembered back to the first time I had grits.  It was on the Coast Starlight, and I was traveling to somewhere in California with a couple of my kids.  I've been in love with them every since.  Grits, and the kids.  Both are better with butter and bacon.

The morning slipped by, and then we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River.

By midafternoon we were rattling our way into Chicago's Union Station.

After gawking like a tourist in the Great Hall of this beautiful old station, I checked my roller bag into the luggage room, then found a place in the lounge to connect to wifi and catch up on downloading pictures and blogging.  When it got a little closer to dinnertime, I checked my backpack as well, and went out for a very brief walk to see the city.  A city where I wouldn't want to live, but I find a bit thrilling.  So many tall, tall buildings, and busy people everywhere, doing the important things that they need to do.  A real life, Richard Scarry Busytown.  

Just catty-corner from the station is Beggar's Pizza.  I'd been thinking about this every since I left home.  Union Station takes a whole city block.  In the great hall of the station, there was a huge squash tournament going on, that blocked the logical path to the exit for the correct street corner, so I had to ask a friendly policeman for directions.  He knew the pizza place I was talking about.

The air was so warm compared to last year in February, and soon I was in Beggar's, located on the ground floor of one of the high-rise buildings.  I was thrilled to see that they had deep-dish pepperoni by the slice, and got one to go, before retracing my steps back to the station.  

Last time, I had to order a whole small pizza.  It took nearly an hour to get it.  Back at the station I could only eat half of it, so gave the rest to a man from Ethiopia, who happily ate it with a spoon he procured from the snack counter.  This time, I ate every cheesy, indulgent bite.