I’ve  been meaning to tell you a little about our trip to Iowa for my mother’s funeral, but it would have to be done in installments.  I’m doing this because I’ve never experienced a week wherein everything that could go wrong, did. First of all, for those of you who don’t know me, at times my sense of humor tends to be a BIT sarcastic, so bear with me. Get the salt shaker out to use a grain or two for this. So here goes….
 
Days 1 and 2:
 
It all started in the hospital when my brother and I were talking about how to get to Iowa. He and my son, Daniel, and I talked about flying, but such a short notice thing would cost a lot. There was a storm coming, so we didn’t want to risk driving across Nebraska and Wy(oh why did I come to this state?)oming. Too many bad experiences in winter driving there, folks. Then Don came up with the idea of taking the train…probably brought on by lack of sleep and a strange sense of nostalgia…the romance of the rails and all. Our dad, who had been a railroad engineer, would be proud.
 
So the time came to make a decision and we booked three seats on the train. We almost upgraded to a sleeper car, but decided to be frugal instead. Mistake #1.
 
We were supposed to be at the train station by 3:30 a.m. to pick up the tickets and board the train, so I decided I’d book a hotel room downtown so that we wouldn’t have to go so far in the middle of the night. My brother thought it was such a good idea that he asked me to book him a room as well, even though he only lived about 15 miles away. We met up at the hotel and checked in. Daniel went over to a girl’s house whom he has dated from time to time so that they could watch a movie. I took a bath and settled in for the night since Dan would be gone for a while.
 
I picked up the stack of print-outs on the train ride to make sure everything was in order. Then I noticed something about their new Identification policy and to view it on the website. Well, I didn’t have internet access at the hotel, so I called Amtrak to see what was going on.
 
Much to my dismay the lady said that I had to have a govt-based photo ID. Problem. BIG problem. A few days earlier and while I was preoccupied with my mom being in the hospital, I misplaced my driver’s license. I had searched high and low for it, but I figured I could take care of it once I got home. I told the Amtrak agent that I had my SS card and a photo ID from a store, but she insisted that if I didn’t have the DL, I’d have to show my birth certificate and SS card or passport, etc. They were really strict on it and no exceptions or substitutions would do! It was now after 11:00 p.m. and panic set in big time! I couldn’t get on the train, and Daniel and Don would have to go without me? Then what would I do?
 
My other son, Kevin, had driven us up there because he had to be in class near there by 7:00 a.m. I didn’t feel he could drive me home to look for my birth certificate. Who can instantly place their hands on their birth certificate in the middle of the night anyway??
 
I called Dan and his friend Heidi offered to drive us home to look for it. So that’s what we did — drove 55 miles home at midnight. They tore my car apart looking for my license and I went in to find the birth certificate. I looked through a file in my filing drawer that I hoped had it, but couldn’t find it. Then I started looking everywhere else — boxes, drawers, files, everywhere!  More panic setting in. Dan said he wouldn’t go without me. Last gasp chance, I looked through the same file I had earlier and there it was! So we raced back up there to get to the station before the train left us.
 
We all went to the “station” — they ain’t what they used to be in the old days, that’s for sure. They’re sort of a step-down bus station now. Anyway, Don went up to get the tickets and guess what??? They NEVER even asked for my ID!!! I was livid, to say the least. I had lost a night’s sleep and the cost of a hotel room because they had insisted I needed to show that blasted ID.
 
Anyway, we boarded the train — the California Zepher — in what we found out later to be the oldest car on the line. No electrical outlets like the rest had and just a generally an overall rundown feeling. We each had our own double seats which was nice to try and get a little rest. The seats weren’t that great and people going by all the time made sleeping difficult. Then my son stopped by after using the restroom. “Mom, you’re not going to like the bathrooms downstairs. They’re tiny and not that clean.” Was he suggesting I try holding it for 24 hours? As it turned out, if that had been an option, I’d have done it. I’m not sure all Amtrak cars are built like this, but these were two story numbers with a steep winding staircase going up to the seats. The bathrooms were in the “basement” I guess you’d call it. Indeed they were tiny. They made airline bathrooms look like master bathrooms. Plus the neato thing was that about 8 hours later, they all backed up anyway and were unavailable. I told the conductor about it, but his answer was, “Really? Yeah, they do that. I’ll have someone check it in Denver.” DENVER?  Ten whole hours away Denver??  We had to use the bathrooms in the other cars.  I’m sorry to go on so much about the bathrooms, but when you’re trapped in a slow-moving vehicle, you think about them a lot.
 
As I said it took 24 hours to get to Omaha because as we wound around through the Rockies, at times it was so slow that I pictured them asking the occupants of the last car to get out and help push. That would be us. I have to say the food in the dining car was pretty good but pricey. The observation car was nice, but I kept thinking how the mountains outside looked exactly like the mountains at home. That only left me thinking about how much longer I could hold it till  my next bathroom run.
 
It seemed to really annoy the conductor that most of us had our own 2-seaters becuse he frequently stopped by to tell us that once we got to Denver, the party was over. There would be throngs of people getting and nobody got their own set of seats anymore. They even started making announcements about it over the loud speaker. OK, I got it already, sir! I’ll move over!
 
So Denver was a major disappointment to the conductor as people got on and found seats and we really didn’t have to share. Even as they were boarding, he was warning us not to take two. This guy had serious sharing issues.
 
The trip from Denver to Omaha was much flatter and therefore much faster. Little did I know I was headed for a week of life in an arctic meat locker!
 
More on that later….