![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
CONduit: The Adventure Begins
...being the story of two science fiction writers traveling to a con.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Woke up before the alarm made it imperative, took the mandatory pill and went back to bed to snuggle and murmur. The murmuring eventually turned to story-stuff and by that sign we agreed that the day was underway.
Steve made breakfast: Flat eggs, soy sausage and cheese on a whole wheat bun, orange juice and coffee. After, the cats were duly scribbled, hugged and fed. We went over the game plan again, just in case Max! hadn't gotten in the first time. We'd be leaving right after we put The Bags in the truck. They should expect Mary with a late dinner. We would not be home tonight, nor yet tomorrow, nor yet the day after that, nor even for many days to come. However, they were not to worry; Mary would take care of them and spoil them, too. And we would be home eventually.
I still don't think Max! got it. Scrabble and Patia seemed to be with the game. Mozart -- Mozart purred, and blandished and smiled. I think he may not have gotten it, either.
By 9:15 a.m. we were in the black truck with the I Dare license plates and on the road. At 10:15, we crossed the Lewiston line, right on schedule, despite grey skies and steady rain. The rain let up sometime after Lewiston, and was intermittent for the rest of the drive.
We were fortunate in our timing; the various rush hours were over before we hit places where rush hour could be a problem. Steve did the first lap, to the border, over the Big Bridge at Portsmouth and into Massachusetts. At the first rest area in Mass. we changed drivers and I got us through Worcester and to the Charleton rest area on Mass Pike, where we broke for lunch -- a slice of pepperoni pizza apiece, ice tea and water. Forethoughtfully, we acquired an Italian sub at d'angelo's, popped it in the ice chest and continued, raising the Albany-Rensselaer train station about 4:30 p.m., despite having missed our first
connection with Route 90 in New York and needing to make the Long Approach, through Albany.
Our train wasn't due til six, so we had plenty of time to check our through baggage with a bemused station master and wander upstairs to the station proper, there to take over three chairs on the end row out of the sun, directly under the television.
This proved to be ...unwise.
Steve drew first ramble and while he was gone, I checked out the weather report on the TV.
Severe thunderstorm warning for Saratoga, Albany, Rensselaer, Troy, and much of the area we would be passing through via train. No problem. I like thunderstorms. Steve came back and I went on
my ramble, stopped at the cafe, acquired two fountain Pepsis and returned to find Steve frowning at the weather map on the tube.
"Tornado warning," he said.
"New York doesn't have tornadoes," I answered, at which point the warning notice repeated itself and I got to read it for myself.
Have I mentioned that I reallyReallyREALLY hate the thought of tornadoes? I've seen Weather Channel specials on tornadoes twice -- the only thing we usually watch in hotel rooms is the Weather Channel -- and I'm convinced. Tornadoes are killers and I never
want to meet one in person.
So I freaked.
Steve went off to check the stairways. On the tube, the local weatherman is a having the Best Time of His Life. He has Real!Weather! right in his backyard. It looks bad for Ballston Springs, and it doesn't look all that great for the Albany-Rensselaer megapolis, where the weatherman's studio is located high up in a glass-cased skyscraper. This aspect of the matter appears to trouble him not at all. There's dedication for you. Steve came back to assure me that there were at least two interior stairways with no windows.
I don't know if any of you have ever been in the new Rensselaer train station, but the Whole Damned Thing is made out of glass. It's quite beautiful. Really. Go there on a clear day in June and admire it.
So we sat there with our carry-on luggage; me white-knuckled and Steve at least outwardly cheerful, and I glared out the big glass window toward Albany and watched the clouds go from gray and wispy to gray and thick to black. The skies opened and
the rains poured. The weather guy on the TV knocked the tornado watch time back from 5:30 to 5:15 and then to 5:00. I went for another ramble and stared out the windows at the rain, which eventually stopped.
Train Number 49 -- our train was Number 49, Albany to Chicago, the Lake Shore Limited -- went from being on time, according to the status board, to 10 minutes late. The second half of the train, starting in New York, went from 20 minutes late to 15. We
finally boarded at 6:10, just as the skies opened One!More!Time!
We were for the first leg of the journey traveling coach, and luck of the draw put us in seats 59 and 60. The good news is that there's extra leg room in these seats, from which I am typing this report on the excellent and intrepid Sabu. The bad news is
that there is (1) no window and (2) they are the last seats in the car, immediately adjacent to the door to the cafe car. In the seat across the aisle is a young mother and her small son. The son is, shall we say, not entirely in favor of train travel. I foresee a long night. Fortunately, I have A Kiss of Shadows to while away the dark hours.
We're pulling into Utica at 8:29 p.m.; 45 minutes late. It's not raining at the moment, but we've passed canals and rivers which are overflowing and coffee brown with recent rain.
Why, you might ask, are we undertaking this particular exercise? The answer is that it's very difficult to take the train from Maine to any point in so-called civilization. One may, of course, drive to Portland, park the car and take the Downeaster to Boston North Station, take a taxi to Boston South Station, wait around a couple hours, until finally boarding a train to Chicago by way of Rensselaer. This is, not to put too fine a point on it, A Pain. Also expensive. We were not willing to go through the Pain, the con wasn't really eager to bear the expense, so a compromise was made: We would drive seven hours +/- and pick up the train in Rensselaer, coach it to Chicago and then go first class from Chicago to Salt Lake City.
The drive down was, despite the rain, very nice. Moose were sighted, well off the road, which is exactly how you want to see moose. Most of the drive was done in the cool and pleasant 50s (F), though by the time we hit Albany, the temperature had climbed into the 70s. The coach portion of the train trip is looking to be ...challenging. But, hey, it's only one night, and the book is thick.
The lady and toddler across the aisle have been replaced by another lady and her slightly older son. He's come prepared with two well-loved stuffed dogs, and a good-sized bag of cookies.
Track's getting rough. More later.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Woke up before the alarm made it imperative, took the mandatory pill and went back to bed to snuggle and murmur. The murmuring eventually turned to story-stuff and by that sign we agreed that the day was underway.
Steve made breakfast: Flat eggs, soy sausage and cheese on a whole wheat bun, orange juice and coffee. After, the cats were duly scribbled, hugged and fed. We went over the game plan again, just in case Max! hadn't gotten in the first time. We'd be leaving right after we put The Bags in the truck. They should expect Mary with a late dinner. We would not be home tonight, nor yet tomorrow, nor yet the day after that, nor even for many days to come. However, they were not to worry; Mary would take care of them and spoil them, too. And we would be home eventually.
I still don't think Max! got it. Scrabble and Patia seemed to be with the game. Mozart -- Mozart purred, and blandished and smiled. I think he may not have gotten it, either.
By 9:15 a.m. we were in the black truck with the I Dare license plates and on the road. At 10:15, we crossed the Lewiston line, right on schedule, despite grey skies and steady rain. The rain let up sometime after Lewiston, and was intermittent for the rest of the drive.
We were fortunate in our timing; the various rush hours were over before we hit places where rush hour could be a problem. Steve did the first lap, to the border, over the Big Bridge at Portsmouth and into Massachusetts. At the first rest area in Mass. we changed drivers and I got us through Worcester and to the Charleton rest area on Mass Pike, where we broke for lunch -- a slice of pepperoni pizza apiece, ice tea and water. Forethoughtfully, we acquired an Italian sub at d'angelo's, popped it in the ice chest and continued, raising the Albany-Rensselaer train station about 4:30 p.m., despite having missed our first
connection with Route 90 in New York and needing to make the Long Approach, through Albany.
Our train wasn't due til six, so we had plenty of time to check our through baggage with a bemused station master and wander upstairs to the station proper, there to take over three chairs on the end row out of the sun, directly under the television.
This proved to be ...unwise.
Steve drew first ramble and while he was gone, I checked out the weather report on the TV.
Severe thunderstorm warning for Saratoga, Albany, Rensselaer, Troy, and much of the area we would be passing through via train. No problem. I like thunderstorms. Steve came back and I went on
my ramble, stopped at the cafe, acquired two fountain Pepsis and returned to find Steve frowning at the weather map on the tube.
"Tornado warning," he said.
"New York doesn't have tornadoes," I answered, at which point the warning notice repeated itself and I got to read it for myself.
Have I mentioned that I reallyReallyREALLY hate the thought of tornadoes? I've seen Weather Channel specials on tornadoes twice -- the only thing we usually watch in hotel rooms is the Weather Channel -- and I'm convinced. Tornadoes are killers and I never
want to meet one in person.
So I freaked.
Steve went off to check the stairways. On the tube, the local weatherman is a having the Best Time of His Life. He has Real!Weather! right in his backyard. It looks bad for Ballston Springs, and it doesn't look all that great for the Albany-Rensselaer megapolis, where the weatherman's studio is located high up in a glass-cased skyscraper. This aspect of the matter appears to trouble him not at all. There's dedication for you. Steve came back to assure me that there were at least two interior stairways with no windows.
I don't know if any of you have ever been in the new Rensselaer train station, but the Whole Damned Thing is made out of glass. It's quite beautiful. Really. Go there on a clear day in June and admire it.
So we sat there with our carry-on luggage; me white-knuckled and Steve at least outwardly cheerful, and I glared out the big glass window toward Albany and watched the clouds go from gray and wispy to gray and thick to black. The skies opened and
the rains poured. The weather guy on the TV knocked the tornado watch time back from 5:30 to 5:15 and then to 5:00. I went for another ramble and stared out the windows at the rain, which eventually stopped.
Train Number 49 -- our train was Number 49, Albany to Chicago, the Lake Shore Limited -- went from being on time, according to the status board, to 10 minutes late. The second half of the train, starting in New York, went from 20 minutes late to 15. We
finally boarded at 6:10, just as the skies opened One!More!Time!
We were for the first leg of the journey traveling coach, and luck of the draw put us in seats 59 and 60. The good news is that there's extra leg room in these seats, from which I am typing this report on the excellent and intrepid Sabu. The bad news is
that there is (1) no window and (2) they are the last seats in the car, immediately adjacent to the door to the cafe car. In the seat across the aisle is a young mother and her small son. The son is, shall we say, not entirely in favor of train travel. I foresee a long night. Fortunately, I have A Kiss of Shadows to while away the dark hours.
We're pulling into Utica at 8:29 p.m.; 45 minutes late. It's not raining at the moment, but we've passed canals and rivers which are overflowing and coffee brown with recent rain.
Why, you might ask, are we undertaking this particular exercise? The answer is that it's very difficult to take the train from Maine to any point in so-called civilization. One may, of course, drive to Portland, park the car and take the Downeaster to Boston North Station, take a taxi to Boston South Station, wait around a couple hours, until finally boarding a train to Chicago by way of Rensselaer. This is, not to put too fine a point on it, A Pain. Also expensive. We were not willing to go through the Pain, the con wasn't really eager to bear the expense, so a compromise was made: We would drive seven hours +/- and pick up the train in Rensselaer, coach it to Chicago and then go first class from Chicago to Salt Lake City.
The drive down was, despite the rain, very nice. Moose were sighted, well off the road, which is exactly how you want to see moose. Most of the drive was done in the cool and pleasant 50s (F), though by the time we hit Albany, the temperature had climbed into the 70s. The coach portion of the train trip is looking to be ...challenging. But, hey, it's only one night, and the book is thick.
The lady and toddler across the aisle have been replaced by another lady and her slightly older son. He's come prepared with two well-loved stuffed dogs, and a good-sized bag of cookies.
Track's getting rough. More later.
no subject
And I'm not even going to ask why you're not flying, because if it were me, I'd be taking the train, too!
no subject
Never apologize...
So when I hear the tornado sirens go off, please do not get in the way...but you're welcome to join me down in the ditch!
Sounds like your trip was an adventure. Have you avoided planes for years, or is this a recent decision? I hope the convention was a good one!