Where would any of us be without our different modes of transportation? Hop into a car and we arrive anywhere in the United States. Board a plane and we can travel the world.
Trains and busses also serve their purposes well, especially for a couple of endearing folks we know who have flight phobias. A trip of Florida has some miscalculations. We’ll fly. They’ll take the plane and we’ll meet upon arrival.
My affinity for trains dates back to childhood. We lived by the railroad tracks in Somerville and I would eagerly wait for the train to toot its whistle as it rambled along.
In my wildest dreams, I visualized myself in the engineer’s role with my cap fixed upon my head and my badge of distinction. One Christmas my folks rewarded me with a Lionel train set.
We turned the living room into a veritable train depot with all the bells and whistles. Friends would call, not only because I had my train set, but the first television set on our block.
Even today, I enjoy my periodical train rides to Boston, whether it’s for a Celtics game at the TD Garden or a doctor’s appointment by North Station. Not a bad deal, either, with senior discount rates and no hassles with parking or traffic.
I take my place by the window with a book in hand and catch up with rest. We’re very fortunate in Haverhill to have two stations, one downtown and another in Bradford. I know a woman who commuted 30 years this way and never had a problem.
She was one of the regulars who had every schedule down pat and all the connecting lines in Boston to arrive safe, secure, and composed.
One recent Saturday afternoon, when the train was not at my immediate disposal, I was forced to rush my wife to an emergency medical appointment. The only alternative was to drive, given the circumstances. The line of traffic heading into Boston was like a parking lot.
Two big events at the Esplanade and Boston Common had cars coming and going every which way. Exits were not only plugged but traffic was being diverted as we considered options that attracted every other motorist. Simply put, it was a nightmare.
When we finally arrived at Tufts Medical Center two hours later, our nerves were shattered. It didn’t get any better when they soaked us plenty for a parking fee. The return trip home was just as chaotic with accidents and detours impeding our route.
The follow-up visit three days later was far more settling with the train. We parked in Bradford, paid the $4 fee, then a senior rate once aboard at 8 a.m. By the time our train arrived in Boston, every seat had been taken and passengers were left standing.
People were working their computers, listening to their ear buds, reading the paper, and enjoying their caffeine. The pace was far more comforting than the stop-and-go on Route 93 leading into the city.
Okay, there are exceptions, even with rail service. One fall, we were invited to a wedding in Detroit. We’d been there before for other occasions, spent a pleasant overnight at Niagara Falls, then continued on our merry day the next morning. About a 16-hour distance in all.
Any way you cut this, it’s still a long ride with unpleasantries, especially if you take a wrong turn and get diverted for miles. I’m a wreck when it comes to misdirection, and not a very good navigator with maps. My wife isn’t any better. No GPS back then.
So this time, we opted to take the train and leave the driving to another. We hopped aboard at South Station and off we rode to Detroit. The sights were wonderful along the way and we dined casually in the lounge, meeting other folks. It was, well, a joyride.
Until it began stopping every hour or two in the middle of the night to exchange passengers. Slouching myself to sleep on a chair wasn’t exactly a comfort, either.
Half way through our ride, in the middle of night, the train came to a screeching halt in the middle of nowhere. We were at wit’s end until another train arrived and apologies rang forth.
We arrived at our destination and not a moment too soon, a few short hours before the wedding, looking like a couple disheveled folks who had just survived a train wreck. When we went to secure our luggage, another surprise! Our bags were on their way to Chicago, clothes, jewelry, the whole enchilada. We were marooned.
Some friends picked us up at the depot, took us to their home, and outfitted us in their wardrobe. Both were ultra large with shoes to match.
As for the trip back, it went like a charm.
Tom Vartabedian
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I share your childhood memories but my trains were American Flyer. I can still remember my dad saying so very long ago, Lionel-no. Trains don’t run on three rails. Still have and operate those trains every Christmas. They’re a great memory of parents sadly long gone.
Likewise I echo your thoughts on train travel over congested highways.
Tommy love reading your little articles. Ihope all is well with your family and wishing you all a very merry x-mas and a healthy happy new year. Your long lost friend. I miss you all. Chris in florida .And by the way i didnt take the TRAIN. P.S> i still own my trains.