Passengers
Crossing the Continental Divide in the hopes of finding Don
Don’t gamble in Reno, especially at lunchtime
We are all passengers here, abandoned to our singular devices
The howl of a train whistle instantly places me in the moonless bedroom of my childhood, its distant sob unlocking in me a loneliness I have no answer for. We are halfway to Iowa before I realize that I am, in fact, inside the sound that I am hearing. I am a passenger on the train. We left Chicago at 2 this afternoon, slipping past the backs of countless gray shipping warehouses and through the late-September cornfields of central Illinois. You see people’s outdoor punching bags and above-ground pools, their fabulous collections of seemingly useless cars in their driveways and backyards. Sometimes they even come out and wave as you pass. Just after sunset in Ottumwa, Iowa, is when you get a chance to smoke. From there it’s all downhill until tomorrow. The California Zephyr is the second-longest train route in America, a 2,438-mile journey through the Great Plains and into the Rocky Mountains, along the Colorado River and past the Great Salt Lake, through the Great Basin Desert and …