The Balloon-Blowing Couple on Their Way to Ústí nad Labem, Tokyo Banana World & Three Major Train Stations

On the afternoon of March 12, a gray, chilly day, Jay and I arrived at the Main Railway Station in Prague (Praha hlavní nádraží) to catch the EC 170 back to Berlin, leaving at 4:28 pm. We were early, and had time to look around the station.Praha hlavní nádraží

A grand edifice. “One of the final glories of the dying empire,” notes the 2002 Rough Guide to the Czech & Slovak Republics, though perhaps “ramshackle empire” might have been more apt, since who knew the catastrophe of WWI would play out quite the way it did.

“It was designed by Joseph Fanta and officially opened in 1909 as the Franz Josef Station,” the guide book continues. “Arriving in the subterranean modern section, it’s easy to miss the station’s surviving Art Nouveau parts. The original entrance on the Wilsonova still exudes imperial confidence, with its wrought iron canopy and naked figurines clinging to the sides of the towers.”

The grand hall interior is grand indeed.Praha hlavní nádraží Praha hlavní nádraží

But largely empty. The crowds were at the more modern lower level, where a long tunnel connects all the train platforms, ticket offices and a fair amount of retail. We boarded our train without any problem and found that our car was nearly empty too. Not many people were headed for Berlin that Wednesday evening.

At one of the suburban stations, however, a young man and young woman got on and sat across the aisle in our car. They had that contemporary Euro-look: casually dressed, visible tattoos here and there, a few studs and earrings for both, and the mandatory beard for the man. They were in a merry mood. Not obnoxiously loud, but making happy-sounding conversations in what I assume was Czech, complete with the universal language of giggling; clearly a couple headed somewhere for some fun. Someone’s wedding, or maybe just a few days off work.

None of that was unusual. Then the woman removed a small air cylinder from her backpack and started using it to blow up balloons, which she and the man proceeded to swat around the car. I’ve been on a lot of trains in a lot of places, but I have to say, that was a first.

That didn’t last long. Soon they got off the train at the last station before the border with Germany, Ústí nad Labem, and the car got quiet again. I hope they continued to have a good time in that town.

On the trip down to Prague on the 10th, in a mostly full car, we had passed the same way going the opposite direction, and it was still daytime. So we got a good look at the hilly territory of the Elbe River Valley south of Dresden, where the train mostly follows the river. A picturesque spot, even in winter.

As for the German-Czech frontier, crossing was perfunctory. Hardly worth calling it a border. No officious or menacing border guards roamed the cars demanding Papers! (Reisepass?) Not in the 21st-century Schengen Area. We were on an Evening Train to Berlin, not a Night Train to Munich. The only indication of entering a new country (either way) was that after crossing each time, our tickets were checked again, electronically, by fairly laid-back workers of the respective railway companies on either side of the line.

The 175-mile trip to Prague began and ended at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof, a massive station that didn’t exist the first time I went to Berlin. A predecessor station on the site had been badly damaged during the war, and the new station wasn’t developed until the 2000s, as Berlin’s fancy new main multi-modal transit center. Besides intercity trains, Berlin S-bahn and U-bahn trains go there, along with a lot of buses. There is also enough retail at the station to qualify as its own mall.

Berlin Hauptbahnhof isn’t an old style, but it is impressive.Berlin Hauptbahnhof Berlin Hauptbahnhof Berlin Hauptbahnhof

One more impressive rail hub on this trip was a continent away: Tokyo Station, the busiest one in passenger numbers in that urban agglomeration, which is saying something. It too is a multi-modal facility, with various intercity rail lines meeting there, along with subways and buses. The Shinkansen from Osaka goes there, which is how we arrived. The structure dates from 1914 and amazingly survived war in the 1940s – and just as threatening – urban renewal in the 1960s. In more recent years, the station was restored to close to its original design.Tokyo Station Tokyo Station Tokyo Station

Under the main dome.Tokyo Station Tokyo Station

Plenty of retail at Tokyo Station as well. Including some places I’d never seen before. We should have stopped to get something from Tokyo Banana World.Tokyo Banana World

Per Time Out: “Tokyo Banana opened its flagship store called Tokyo Bananas inside Tokyo Station on December 8 [2022], and it’s stocked with exclusive goods. Two of the exclusive products are the Legendary Curry Bread and Cream and Red Bean Paste Doughnut — and yes, banana is the hidden ingredient for both.”

Ex Nippon semper aliquid novi, eh?

Palm Monorail, Dubai

What was the monorail pitch like, for the line that now runs along the trunk of the Palm Jumeirah in Dubai? The Palm Monorail, it’s called.

Well, sir, there’s nothing on Earth like a genuine, bona fide, electrified, six-car monorail!

What’d I say?

Monorail!

What’s it called?

Monorail!

That’s right!

Monorail!

There probably wasn’t that much singing, or that much English, but whatever happened, the line has been up and running for about a decade and a half now. A go-to source (Wiki) tells me that it is the only monorail in the Middle East, which if true ought to spur the likes of Saudi Arabia into some monorail development, maybe in lieu of grander projects.Palm Monorail Palm Monorail

Sleek styling, as monorails ought to have, built by Hitachi Rail. Driverless.

I rode its entire 3.4-mile length and back on March 2, as part of my excursion to Palm Jumeirah. Levity aside, I can report a wholly positive experience. The ride didn’t cost much, the wait wasn’t long, the cars were busy but not packed, and the vantage offered some terrific views of the artificial islands that comprise Palm Jumeirah – the trunk and fronds, as they’re called, and their linear neighborhoods spreading out, always along the ocean.

I also wonder whether the monorail was an important enough component of the overall Palm Jumeirah project for decision-makers toward the very top – even the emir himself – to focus on it. Hard to say, since Palm Jumeirah was an epic project that involved creating a palm-shaped island with seven miles of coastline from 120 million cubic meters of sand and other material dredged from the sea, along with mountain rocks, putting a breakwater mostly around it, plus adding roads, bridges, utility networks and sundry infrastructure.

What set all that in motion was the pronouncement, “So let it be written, so let it be done.”

What’s one monorail in all that?Palm Jumeirah Palm Jumeirah

First stop, Nakeel Mall, named for the company that developed the Palm Jumeirah. Large enough, but nothing on the order of Dubai Mall, except for the high count of carriage-trade stores. The mall also provided access, down an outdoor staircase, to Al Ittihad Park, which runs part of the length of the trunk under the monorail.Palm Jumeirah Palm Jumeirah

Two walking-jogging trails run the length of the park as well. I walked.Palm Jumeirah Palm Jumeirah

The park is hemmed in by sizable structures on each side whose first floor (ground floor) is populated by high-end service providers, such as Petsville Palm Jumeirah, The Blowout Bar, The Golden Mile Gallery, Bedashing Beauty Lounge, and KIBERone IT school for children.

There were a fair number of benches for idlers and old men, but not a lot of occupants. I accessed a bench and for a little while watched a steady trickle of people walking the path, and mothers (or nannies) with young children visiting the playgrounds. Foliage blocked part of the sun, which was borderline intense that day.Palm Jumeirah

Quite the place, this neighborhood: created out of nothing not long ago, then Money was invited to live here. Money from wherever. And so it has, with an estimated population of about 25,000 out on the trunk and fronds.

You can speculate about some soggy future for such low-lying territory, but for now, it’s prime real estate. That means that engineers, who are paid to do so, are thinking about upgrades. I can’t pretend any knowledge of hydrology, so for all I know, their efforts will match those of King Cnut, but the abstract makes for interesting reading.

The end of the line for the monorail is at the tip of the Palm. A district of resorts, hotels and more upscale shopping.Palm Jumeirah
Palm JumeirahA short walk takes you from the station to a seaside path within sight of the storied Persian Gulf.Palm Jumeirah Palm Jumeirah Palm Jumeirah

Very storied. Going back at least to Sumer, up the coast a long way, but still on the shore of this sea.

Madsen Drive Walk

It was an odd ambition, and fairly minor, but I’m glad I fulfilled it. Namely, a 20-minute or so walk along Madsen Drive, a street in Bloomingdale, Illinois. Also glad I did it when I did: October 24, for the colors.

Bloomingdale is a sizable burg in DuPage County, but there’s nothing conventionally distinctive about Madsen Drive. It isn’t on anyone’s list, such as Ten Best Can’t-Miss Bucket List Don’t Get FOMO Travel Faves, etc. I know about it because I’ve been driving on it for years as a shortcut to a warehouse store we often visit. For quite a while, I had this idea that it would be a mildly scenic walk, since the drive is nice, but things whiz by. I also noted that a sidewalk runs all the way along it.

I was right: mildly scenic. Not everywhere gets Grand Teton-level scenery, but a lot places have enough for a nice-day stroll in the suburbs.

The street is industrial, which in this case means businesses located in distribution warehouses, which also means they might pay attention to who is in their parking lots. So parking somewhere near the street and then walking around might not be a good idea. The street is small, so no parking allowed on it either.

As we headed for our warehouse store that day, I told Yuriko that I was dropping myself off at the intersection of Madsen and Covington Drive (blue box), and she could drive on to the store. I would walk Madsen and meet her there (red box). She didn’t share my minor ambition in this case, because who would?

Near the dropoff.Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale

Though small, the road is surprisingly busy, something you notice when on the sidewalk, but not usually when you’re driving the road. Traffic is somewhat spaced out. Still, I saw a number of trucks headed for the warehouses along Madsen.Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale

Not much in the way of original or ornate design, but I’ve come to appreciate the modern warehouse as workaday marvel that it is. An vital sinew of retail trade.

Note on the map that besides warehouses, there are wetlands. Could have been at the insistence of local authorities that they were left alone. I hope so anyway. This unnamed, driftwood pond was close enough to the street to get a good look.Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale

Warehouse districts also mean rail lines.Madsen Drive, Bloomingdale

All the many times I’ve crossed the line at this point by car, I’ve never had to wait for a train. No trains either when I crossed on foot. There must be some traffic, but even so I’m reminded of a Charles Addams cartoon about an abandoned line, from one of the collections we had around the house when I was young. His work sticks with you. Wonder how many people who watched the Addams Family movies knew about the originals.

Bloomington Ramble ’24

Want good soft serve ice cream in an unpretentious setting? Look no further than Carl’s Ice Cream, a plain-looking shop deep in the heart of Bloomington, Illinois. Also, look for its anthropomorphic soft serve cone rising over the parking lot.Carl's Ice Cream Bloomington Carl's Ice Cream Bloomington

Yuriko and Ann had strawberry, I had chocolate. Carl’s in Bloomington – there’s also one in Normal, with an ice cream muffler man outside – was an early afternoon stop on Saturday. We spent part, but not all of the weekend, in Bloomington.

Something we (I) also had time to do was take a better look at the impressive three-legged communications tower in downtown Bloomington. It’s visible for quite a distance, and makes me wonder, why aren’t more communication towers this interesting?Bloomington Eiffel Tower. Well. Sort Of

Much of the day was hot, or at least very warm, and sunny, a prelude to heavy rains early Sunday morning. So Yuriko was content to stay in the car – with the AC running – when I took in a few closer views of tower.Tower Center Bloomington Tower Center Bloomington Tower Center Bloomington

Pantagraph articles about the tower are paywalled, but snippets poke through from search engine results:

In the last 30 years of telephone, radio and other network service, the Tower Center became a sort of landmark for downtown Bloomington, lovingly nicknamed the city’s “Eiffel Tower.”

Bloomington’s ‘Eiffel Tower’ changes hands after 30 years

The McLean County Center for Human Services Recovery Program is gaining a new home beneath the iconic 420-foot communications tower in Bloomington…

Another source tells me that the tower dates from 1989. The Tower Center is the two-story building under the tower, now belonging to McLean County.

After the rain cleared away, late Sunday morning was as toasty as Saturday had been, but more humid. I decided against a walkabout at the Park Hill Cemetery in Bloomington. It’s good to ration your time under those hot and copper skies.Park Hill Cemetery, Bloomington

Still, we drove around a bit through the cemetery. Not a lot of memorial variety, but not bad.Park Hill Cemetery, Bloomington Park Hill Cemetery, Bloomington Park Hill Cemetery, Bloomington

Now I can say I’ve seen Mike Ehrmantraut’s grave. But not that Mike Ehrmantraut, of course. The fellow offed by Walter White, being fictional, must have an equally fictional grave.

Adjacent the cemetery is the sizable Miller Park, which includes the Miller Park Zoo. We didn’t want to use our ration of intense sunlight at a zoo either, but in the park itself.Miller Park, Bloomington

When you see a steam locomotive in park (and its tender), you really ought to get out and look.Miller Park, Bloomington locomotive Miller Park, Bloomington locomotive Miller Park, Bloomington locomotive

Three million miles. So the train could have, with the right track, gone to the Moon and back a number of times, provided it took its own oxygen to keep that engine going.

And what would the display be without a caboose? Partly because that’s just a fun word to say.Miller Park, Bloomington caboose

Ignorant fellow that I am, I didn’t know the Nickel Plate Road, so I looked it up later. Once upon a time, it was a major regional RR, spanning northern Ohio, Indiana and Illinois.

Miller Park features a sizable war memorial.Miller Park, Bloomington war memorial

In its vicinity are some retired weapons of war, such as a captured German 210 mm Krupp Howitzer (in better shape than this one).Miller Park, Bloomington German Cannon Miller Park, Bloomington German Cannon

As well as a WWI tank. Created for that conflict, at least. An M1917 light tank. Apparently none made it to the front during the war, but were put in service for a few years after the war by the U.S. Army.Miller Park, Bloomington WWI Tank Miller Park, Bloomington WWI Tank

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one of those on display. I’m reminded of my great-uncle Ralph. I understand — from my mother, and maybe even grandma told me this — that he was in a tank corps in France, with the American Expeditionary Forces. Such a posting is said to be fairly dangerous, and I believe it. Supposedly, Ralph was poised to go to the front at the time of the Armistice, which might well have saved him.

Moonsky Star ’94

On September 11, 1994, we boarded a train in Beijing that would take us to Ulaanbaatar, which is about 1,200 miles. That was the first leg of taking the Trans-Siberian, though the company which arranged our trips called the route the Trans-Mongolian, as it didn’t originate in Vladivostok. A quibble.

One thing do to before the train left was visit the engine.

And stand on the front, to pose for pictures. I think the woman stepping off the front was Iris, a Swiss we met on the train and corresponded with for a few years afterward. Of course, I had to pose as well. Yuriko didn’t want to do anything that silly.

The booking company was called Moonsky Star, located in Hong Kong, as noted on the self-printed booklet we received when we booked passage from Beijing to Moscow, about 4,880 miles all together. After Ulaanbaatar came Irkutsk and then Moscow.

The booklet was most informative about the trains, the accommodations, the cities and other places along the route, visas, and more.

The chimp was the company’s cartoon mascot. Formed in the late ’80s, as passage across Eurasia had become somewhat easier, Moonsky had offices in the warren-like Chunking Mansions in Kowloon, which I understand is still there, and about the same as it ever was. Looks like the potential for a terrible deadly fire.

Some years ago, I checked, and Moonsky Star was still doing business; but today I checked again, and it seems to have closed up shop. Could be too many other ways to get tickets these days; or the pandemic as last-nail-in-the-coffin; or the fact that Russia’s at war at the moment, and demand to ride the Trans-Siberian might be in a slump; or who knows what else. Maybe the proprietor retired or died.

Too bad in any case. I don’t have a bad thing to say about the company, which delivered the goods for us, allowing us to spend about two weeks getting from a remarkable point A to a remarkable point B with much in between.

Turtle Creek Parkway, Tanks and White Line Frankenstein

Tooling along one of southern Wisconsin’s two-lane highways a week ago Friday, the radio station I happened to be tuned into – I’m not giving up terrestrial radio on road trips – introduced a new song by Alice Cooper, with a few words from the artist himself. That got my attention. Alice Cooper, shock rocker of my adolescence, is still making records?

He is, at the fine old age of 75. I never was a big fan of his, except of course for “School’s Out,” but I was glad to hear that all the same. Keep on keeping on, old guy.

For my part, I kept on driving, passing the greens and golds of high corn and the utilitarian buildings that support farming, intersections with gravel roads, hand-painted signs and, now and then, another vehicle. It was an obscenely pleasant July day, clear and warm and not nearly as hot as much of the rest of the country.

The new song came on. Title, “White Line Frankenstein.” Remarkable how consistent Alice Cooper has been through the years. What does he sound like, now that he’s a senior shock rocker? Sounds a lot like young Alice Cooper. A good showman finds something that works and sticks with it, and there’s no arguing his showman abilities.

About half way through the song I was inspired to pull off to the side of the road near where a rail line crossed the road, and take pictures.rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin

Missed the last half of the song, but oh well.

Near Beloit, Wisconsin – close to the town of Shopiere, but not in any town, is a spot called Turtle Creek Parkway, a Rock County park. At four acres, it’s the rural equivalent of a pocket park, with its star attraction across a field next to Turtle Creek: the Tiffany Bridge, or the Tiffany Stone Bridge, vintage 1869, which as far as I know is still a working railroad bridge. (Tiffany is another nearby town.)Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

More than 20 years ago, I visited the bridge, accompanied by small child and pregnant wife. It wasn’t a park then, just a wide place in the road to stop. Enough people must have stopped there for the county to get a hint, I guess, and acquire and develop the land by adding a boat launch on Turtle Creek, a small rental event building, and a small parking lot.

Regardless, it’s hard to take a bad up-close picture of the structure.Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

Just a hunch: the arches are too sturdy to destroy in a cost-effective way, so it abides.

Rather than return to the Interstate right away, I headed out from Shopiere onto the small roads where I eventually heard about Alice Cooper. Not long before that encounter, I spotted a tank in the hamlet of Turtle, Wisconsin.Turtle, Wisconsin

Another former Wisconsin National Guard tank, an M60A3.Turtle, Wisconsin Turtle, Wisconsin

It’s part of a plaza honoring veterans of the area. Interesting to run into another tank in southern Wisconsin so soon after the last one. I decided to keep an eye out for tanks on the rest of the drive, and sure enough I spotted more as the drive progressed.

Thurmond, West Virginia

I was thinking ghost town, but the data says otherwise. Someone lives in Thurmond, West Virginia — five people as of the 2020 Census. They must be in the few houses perched on the enormous slope over the historic core of the town, which is formed by a string of commercial buildings and railroad structures at a flat place next to the New River.Thurmond, West Virginia

Thurmond was a small railroad town at a waystation, back when that meant coal-burning giants among locomotives, which came to pick up shipments of coal, or acquire coal, water and sand for their own use. Maybe the shades of long-gone people wander Thurmond, if you believe that sort of thing, and if so, the rattle of pouring coal, the venting of steam, the screech of metal on metal, are echoing on as well.

What does every railroad town need?Thurmond, West Virginia Thurmond, West Virginia

The National Bank of Thurmond failed in 1931, but there were successor banking entities of some kind in the building into in the 1950s, when the town essentially shut down. The fact that the last bank paid 3 percent reminds me of a shorthand for the way mid-century savings and loans did their business: 3-5-3. Pay 3 percent to depositors, charge borrowers 5 percent interest, and close up to go play golf at 3 pm.

Other commercial buildings fronting the tracks, with the river just a little beyond them.Thurmond, West Virginia Thurmond, West Virginia

The mostly hidden ruins of a grand hotel on the slope. Burned down.Thurmond, West Virginia

The bridge that brings trains and motor vehicles to Thurmond over the New River. One track, one lane.Thurmond, West Virginia Thurmond, West Virginia

The station. I thought it was merely for tourist use now, but no: it’s an active Amtrak station, reportedly the second-least used, after one in West Texas. So not that active.Thurmond, West Virginia

The steam went out of Thurmond pretty much when the steam went out of Thurmond. That is, coal-fired steam locomotives disappeared, replaced by diesel, and the contracting coal industry as natural gas gained a foothold nationally probably didn’t help either.

Trains still transit Thurmond, but the land around — most of it, anyway, as boundaries are invisible — belongs to the national park. The star of modern Thurmond, I believe, is the ruin of the coaling tower.Thurmond, West Virginia Thurmond, West Virginia

Near the coaling tower. Maybe where the crew boss stayed, and members of the crew when no trains were in town.Thurmond, West Virginia

Both are full of the ravages of time, but still standing. Barely? I’m not engineer enough to make an assessment, but my layman’s opinion is that chunks of stone drop off the tower now and then, so watch out.

A selection of graffiti.Thurmond, West Virginia Thurmond, West Virginia

Bleak, O.G. Bleak.

Ohiopyle State Park

The curious name Ohiopyle has naught to do with Ohio, which is apparently from a Seneca word meaning “big river” – but rather apparently a Delaware (Lenape) word meaning “frothy waters.” Standing on the banks of the Youghiogheny River, looking at Ohiopyle Falls in Ohiopyle State Park in southwestern Pennsylvania, that’s easy to see.Ohiopyle Falls

For its part, Youghiogheny, also Lenape, apparently means “flowing backwards,” and so it seems to at times, as it twists along, including in the park. I say apparently each time because I only know what I read, and am not an authority on any Native American language, or the place names that evolved from Indian words, which have a long history of being mangled or given over to (apparently) fanciful translations.

The state park is large – more than 20,000 acres – and Fallingwater is just outside its bounds. After visiting Fallingwater, we sought lunch in the town of Ohiopyle, which is actually the borough of Ohiopyle. Pennsylvania has counties, cities, boroughs and townships, but not towns, according to the Pennsylvania Manual, Volume 125, page 6-3. Boroughs form a middle rank of populated areas between cities and townships.

Anyway, the borough of Ohiopyle is only a few blocks in any direction, and clearly a tourist town, but not on the order of Gatlinburg in Tennessee or Wisconsin Dells or Hannibal, Mo. Rather, it caters to visitors to the park, who are mostly there for rafting, kayaking, and canoeing on the waters, and hiking, horseback riding, cross-country skiing, mountain biking and snowmobiling on land. I have a feeling the place is best known to Yinzers and unpleasantly crowded on summer weekends.

Mid-March is low season, and so pleasantly uncrowded. Only one place that served food seemed to be open, and we got sandwiches to go. There must be some full-time residents. Someone goes to Ohiopyle United Methodist Church.Ohiopyle

Across the street from the church is a former train station, these days a tourist office with public bathrooms that serve recreational travelers on the Great Allegheny Passage. I don’t think I could think of a more Pennsylvania-y name than that for a trail. If we had a mind to – or more to the point, time for it – we could have walked to Pittsburgh. Or to Cumberland, Maryland, going the other way.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the trail was formed from a series of abandoned railway lines: Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad, Union Railroad, and Western Maryland Railway. Standing in Ohiopyle, all you see is that the trail crosses a cool old railroad bridge.Ohiopyle State Park Ohiopyle State Park Ohiopyle State Park

Love locks. Not many, though. Guess that beats graffiti. Ohiopyle State Park

Yuriko and the dog went on ahead. I paused here and there to push my camera button, and take in the views of the Youghiogheny in that better way, with your eyeballs.Ohiopyle State Park

I’d just planned to cross the bridge and come back, but they found a trail at the bottom of the stairs, one leading off onto the Ferncliff Peninsula.Ohiopyle State Park

Looked easy enough. Mostly the trail followed the river.Ohiopyle Ohiopyle State Park

Eventually the trail lost its through-the-woods vibe and offered us rock surfaces and large underfoot stones and mud patches, which slowed us down.Ohiopyle State Park Ohiopyle State Park

Better shoes and our walking sticks were back at the car, so eventually we turned around, but not before getting a close look at the top of Ohiopyle Falls.Ohiopyle Falls

Just another bit of turbulence destined for the Gulf: Youghiogheny, Monongahela, Ohio, Mississippi.

Thanks, Grandma

Fifty-five years ago, my grandmother — Grandma, always — took me on a train ride from San Antonio to Austin. I found evidence of it tucked away in an envelope at my mother’s house some time ago.

train ticket 1967

Grandma thoughtfully made a note of the fact that it was my first train ride, and the date: July 8, 1967. I was visiting Grandma for a while that summer, as I did in the years before we lived in San Antonio.

Come to think of it, the next summer while I visited her, my family moved from Denton to San Antonio. (Not the stuff of a sitcom; I knew perfectly well we were moving.) Grandma was the one who first took me to visit the house that my mother had bought, and would live in for nearly 50 years.

I find it amusing that a child counted as half a person for the purposes of train fare. Grandma thus paid fare $4.41 for one and a half riders. Adjust that for inflation, and she paid more than $38 in our current, beleaguered dollars.

Good old Missouri Pacific. Mopac.train ticket 1967 train ticket 1967

We must have been visiting someone she knew in Austin, but I don’t remember anything about that. I do remember wisps from the ride itself, mostly the view out the window. I’m sure she knew a train ride would be a thrill for a six-year-old.

But there was more to it than that. I also remember that she told me that it might not be possible for me to ride a train when I was older, so she wanted to take me. Certainly Grandma knew, by 1967, that the writing was on the wall for U.S. passenger train service, or at least Mopac. Maybe she wanted a last ride herself, before passenger trains went the way of the buffalo.

(Outdated analogy. Like the buffalo, passenger trains came to a population bottleneck known as Amtrak, rather than total extinction.)

I imagine an older version of myself — not even now, but perhaps from mid-90s — appearing to her and saying, Grandma, I’ve ridden a lot of trains. In Europe and Asia — and once across Russia from Asia to Europe. I’ve taken the bullet train, and even Amtrak from San Antonio to San Francisco in 1990, though it was distinctly second rate.

And those are just the intercity trains. I’ve lost count of how many different subways and light rail lines I’ve taken, but it would be dozens.

She probably would have been a mite skeptical of those assertions.

It was a one-way ticket. We returned by bus the next day.bus ticket bus ticket

Go Greyhound. Grandma also noted that it was my first bus ride. She was being thrifty in not taking the train back, I think. The bus fare is recorded as $1.35 (just short of $12 now), though I don’t know whether that was for the two of us or just me. Even if she paid double that herself, that would have been less than the train.

She probably didn’t think buses would quit running. I don’t remember the bus ride at all.

Future me could pop up again: Grandma, I’ve been on a lot of buses, too, in lots of states and countries. I took one across Australia once. But even in America, I’ve gotten around — all the way from Boston to Los Angeles, once, and that was just part of the trip!

Isn’t that nice, she’d say, thinking at least that her grandson has a healthy imagination.

The Road to Salt Lake City

On the afternoon of May 20, we drove from Canyonlands NP to Salt Lake City by way of U.S. 191 (including a short stretch of I-70), U.S. 6 and I-15. The reds and oranges of southern Utah were soon left behind for a more monochromatic sort of desert.Book Mountains, Utah

We stopped briefly in Green River, Utah (pop. a little less than 1,000), to find a bathroom and change drivers. I also spotted something unexpected in the small but green O.K. Anderson City Park.Green River Utah Athena Missile OK Anderson Park

An Athena missile casing, a relic of the nearby Green River Test Site, where the Air Force shot off 141 such missiles from 1964 to 1973, all aimed at the White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico (though one hit Mexico once. Oops).

“The program was developed to study missiles’ re-entry behavior and test anti-ballistic missile defenses through the simulation of the full flight dynamics of an ICBM within the confines of the U.S.,” notes the sign near Green River’s missile. Later (until 1975), the Air Force tested 61 Pershing missiles from Green River and trained U.S. and West German troops on their use at the site. Bet that was a plumb posting for the Germans.

Also in the park: a memorial to Bert Loper, whom I’d never heard of. A pioneer in whitewater river-running. Died at 79 on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon doing exactly that.Green River Utah Bert Loper Memorial OK Anderson Park

Further north, we made a spontaneous stop in Helper, Utah. Originally a railroad junction, and supposedly named after helper engines kept there by the railroad, Helper thrived on coal mining for many years — it is, after all, in the aptly named Carbon County.

Main Street in Helper.Helper Utah Main Street

Mining still goes on in the county, but these days Helper seems to be evolving into an arts and tourist town, presumably having been discovered by hipsters from Salt Lake City, only 100-plus miles away. Mormon hipsters? Why not? With the way SLC is growing these days, it’s probably producing more hipsters than it needs locally, and so can export them to Utah towns with colorful histories.

But Helper isn’t going to forget mining. Not if Big John has anything to say about it.
Helper Utah Main Street Big John

The fiberglass miner has been standing in Helper since the 1960s. He’s in front of the Streamline Moderne municipal building, built by the WPA.
Helper Utah Main Street Big John

Main Street Helper has examples of both buildings renovated for our time —Helper Utah Main Street Helper Utah Main Street

— and those with that potential.Helper Utah Main Street Helper Utah Main Street

At one end of Main Street is a handsomely restored Conoco filling station.Helper Utah Main Street Conoco Helper Utah Main Street Conoco Helper Utah Main Street Conoco

A sign on the door says the place is listed on Airbnb, so you can stay there.

Helper is also home to the Western Mining and Railroad Museum, which was closed when we passed through town. But some of its exhibits are outdoors, on a small lot nearby: mining equipment.Helper Utah Railroad and Mining Museum Helper Utah Railroad and Mining Museum Helper Utah Railroad and Mining Museum

Further north from Helper, at a rest stop on U.S. 6 — Tie Fork Rest Area — is one of the more elaborate historical displays I’ve ever seen at such a place.Tie Fork Rest Stop Tie Fork Rest Stop

Go for the bathroom, stay to look at the locomotive and the other displays about railroading in Spanish Fork Canyon, which unsurprising involved hauling a lot of coal.

We made it to greater SLC in time for dinner at a place specializing in Korean-style fried chicken. We had a number of inexpensive options for dinner, because we were in a college town.

Provo, that is. We took a drive around the BYU campus, a sprawling presence at the base of the Wasatch Mountains: 560 acres with more than 300 buildings. Got the barest glimpse. At that moment, finding and feasting on Korean fried chicken was the priority instead. Travel is like that sometimes.