Eight years ago, but still fun: Houston-Owosso with kids!

[ehbowen]

NOTE: The following was written for another forum, one where visitors might not be familiar with Amtrak travel, eight years ago. I haven't updated it, but I still thought it might be helpful to prospective travelers. Cameron is driving now and playing Beethoven sonatas; Cassidy has turned into an absolute beauty and is about to get her learner's permit, and Dad still loves his books. Enjoy.

Meet the players: Eric (that's me), age 41 (and never been kissed); my dad, Kenneth, age 72; my #1 nephew, Cameron L., age 9; and my #2 niece, Cassidy L., age 7.

Point of origin: Houston, Texas. Objective: Engineer for an Hour program at the Steam Railroading Institute in Owosso, Michigan.

Background: My parents, Dad especially, were looking for something I would really like for Christmas. Since my tiny apartment was already stuffed to the gills (the health department would have condemned it if they could have made it in the front door), more "stuff" was out. I held back, figuring that what I really wanted would be too far out of the ballpark--and then at what turned out to be about the last minute gave them the MSTRP/SRI's flyer promoting the "Engineer for an Hour" program for 2004. As it turned out, the program was almost sold out, but my dad managed to get me one of the last slots available for the full program: an hour each as fireman and engineer on both locomotives 75 (a small switch engine) and 1225 (the big road locomotive). Come Christmas morning I said the appropriate words of gratitude and began planning my odyssey to Michigan. I considered the airlines but, even though it was a bit more expensive, went with my heart and booked a first-class Superliner roomette on Amtrak. Then, a couple of weeks later, I was running the numbers and thinking about the fact that I would be staying alone in hotels for a week. I approached my dad with a proposition: If he would buy his own round-trip ticket, I would pay for the kids' tickets and we could turn this into a short family vacation. He readily agreed.

Wednesday, July 7, 2004: After getting off the night shift at 6 in the morning, I grab a few hours shut-eye and wake up just before noon. My parents are on the way with the kids. We grab a quick lunch at Luby's cafeteria, and I warn the kids to eat well; we won't have dinner until late. If then; our train runs over Union Pacific (ex Mo-Pac) trackage and UP is not known for strict timekeeping (the east-west Sunset Limited runs on the UP and it's not unusual for it to run twelve hours late). We arrive downtown at Houston's tiny excuse for a train station and check our luggage through to Chicago, then board the bus for Longview. The bus makes a "snack and smoke" stop in Nacogdoches, where the driver tells us that our train, the Texas Eagle, is running on time for once. The rest of the bus trip is a bit tense; the bus is on the verge of overheating but the driver can't slow down too much or we might miss the train.

But we make it to Longview in time; not a moment too soon, actually, because the Texas Eagle pulls in at 7:05 on the dot; right on time. The four of us are booked in sleeper 2220, the last car on the train. Our car attendant, Tony, welcomes us; he has four 7 o'clock dinner reservations already made for us. Great. We stow our carry-ons and head forward to the diner. My father orders the steak, medium, and is quite pleased with it. I order the seafood but am disappointed; it seems to be pre-cooked and reheated and tastes a little, well, strange. I leave a third of it uneaten. The kids have hot dogs. Back in the sleeper, Cassidy settles down with her coloring book while Dad leans back with one of his endless collection of science fiction books. Cameron takes off to the lounge car with his Game Boy.

For the uninitiated a Superliner roomette is a small compartment, one each side of a narrow aisle, with two facing seats by day. The seats recline, a little, by sliding the base out (at the expense of knee room). There is a fold-out table between; a couple of steps for the occupant of the upper bunk which make handy shelves during the day, and a tiny (about 5" wide) hanging locker. A damper controls air conditioning, a thermostat adjusts heat in winter, and there is a single standard 120V outlet. A sliding door and privacy curtain partition the compartment off from the aisle. It would be tight for two full-sized adults, but one adult and one child is a comfortable fit. By night the seats pull out to meet in the middle and the backs lay down flat to make the lower bunk; the attendant covers it with a thin mattress pad, sheets, pillows and blanket and then finishes off by folding down the upper bunk. There's not much room for stuff, although you can squeeze a small tote bag under the seats; any carry-on "luggage" luggage has to go in a communal storage rack on the lower level. A standard Superliner has 10 of these compartments on the upper level and 4 on the lower; in addition, there are 5 "bedrooms" on the upper level. Bedrooms are substantially larger (albeit still cramped), have their own private toilet and shower facilities, and can be combined in pairs to make a suite for four people. They are also mucho expensive; way out of my price range. Downstairs a "family" bedroom with 2 adult and 2 child-size beds and a "special" bedroom outfitted for a wheelchair occupant and traveling companion complete the accomodations. While the pricier accomodations have their own facilities (wheelchair-equipped for the special), the roomettes and the family bedroom share four airliner-type public toilets, one on the upper level and three on the lower. There is also a public shower with adjacent changing cubicle on the lower level as well; Amtrak provides towels, washcloths, and soap but bring your own shampoo.

About 9:30 Tony comes by and makes up the beds. In the process, my carryon with my pajamas and shower stuff is buried; I have to dig for it in order to change for bed. Cam bunks down with Dad while Cassidy takes top bunk in my room. The bottom bunk, although none too wide, is adequate for my 270 pound frame but I'm glad I don't have to climb to the even narrower top bunk. The track is good and the ride is quiet and smooth; still, I'm not used to the feeling of motion when I try to sleep. I sleep fitfully, if at all.

Thursday, July 8: The day dawns bright and clear. Outside our window I see the Mississippi River; we're south of St. Louis and still right on schedule. Breakfast for Dad and me is bacon and eggs, hot and fresh. Cassidy wants cold cereal--with a side order of bacon. They bring it to her; on Amtrak, when you travel first class, all meals are included with your room. After breakfast, Cameron once again heads back to the lounge car; he's found a friend to play his Game Boy with. Cassidy and Dad settle down with their respective coloring and sci-fi books. I head up to the lounge car to watch the Illinois countryside roll past at 79 mph. The lunch hour is abbreviated due to our early afternoon arrival in Chicago but we manage to catch them before they close the diner; we have the Angus beef burgers and finish off with a little dessert.

We pull into Chicago a couple of minutes to the good. Okay, UP, I take back the bad things I was thinking about you. We collect our luggage and then head to the waiting room. I ask Dad to watch the luggage while I make a change to our return tickets and then pick up the rental car, which turns out to be a maroon Ford Taurus from Hertz. On my way back to the group I look in a gift shop--and see Cameron and Cassidy, alone. Turns out they scampered off without a by-your-leave to anyone and Dad couldn't leave the luggage due to (post 9/11) security considerations. I give them the requisite Bad Things Can Happen To Kids In A Strange Big City lecture, but I don't think it makes much of an impression on them. We're all packed up and out the door of Union Station by 3:30, ahead of rush hour traffic--but I didn't figure on construction on the Skyway. Still, we make it to our first stop, the Spring House Inn in Porter, Indiana, in plenty of time to head out and have a good dinner at "Pumps on 12" down the road. After dinner, the kids amuse themselves at the indoor pool while Dad settles back down with another book.

Friday, July 9: Another beautiful day. I had wanted our first stop to be fairly close to Chicago so we wouldn't have to drive far the first day; after an Internet search I settled on the Spring House Inn. Excellent choice. The inn is beautiful, nestled in the woods; our room has a balcony with an enchanting forest view. It features a very good continental breakfast including make-your-own Belgian waffles. After breakfast we make a short stop at the neighboring Chellberg Farm in the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore to let the kids see a glimpse of what farm life was like in the early 1900s. While there, I ask a park ranger for a good place to stop and see, and perhaps let the kids swim in, Lake Michigan. She recommends a place down the road called "Mount Baldy."

Terrible choice. Mount Baldy is an enormous sand dune; about 200 feet high, a quarter-mile wide, and miles long, composed of that kind of sand in which you take one step up and slide three steps back. The kids, of course, scamper up and over it without a second thought. Dad takes one look at it and sits down at a park bench with his book. I, of course, have to climb it to go after the kids. By the time I finally make it to the top with my heart pounding fit to burst a blood vessel, the kids are already down at the water's edge. They are all set to shed their clothes and go in swimming, which I forbid; a sign is posted warning that the bacteria count is too high for safe swimming. But I do let them go in and wade in the cool water.

After a brief Mclunch after crossing the Michigan line, it's off to Owosso. The Michigan State Trust for Railway Preservation began life as the Michigan State University Railroad Club, founded by Steve Reeves in 1969. On the university campus there was ex-Pere Marquette locomotive 1225, donated to the MSU museum by the C&O and relegated to the status of an abandoned stepchild by university administration who bristled at the thought of that 19th century technology cluttering up their modern university. At one of the club's first meetings, someone had the brainstorm, "Let's fix up the locomotive!" It was to take about fifteen years and a few changes of address but, eventually, they did it. The MSTRP was formed as a non-profit to legally receive title from the university when the locomotive was moved off campus in 1981, and the move to the Owosso location followed shortly thereafter. After nearly twenty years of making do in a crumbling ex-Ann Arbor shop facility, the Trust finally managed to acquire some property at the Owosso site and begin the process of establishing a permanent, state of the art home. The nascent Steam Railroading Institute is the result. We arrive in time to let the kids take a look at their new visitor's center. It's still a work in progress, but there are a few interesting displays including a working telegraph office. They do, of course, offer the requisite souvenirs; the kids buy some stuff for their brother and sisters and Dad buys me a blue-and-white striped engineer's hat.

Our hotel for the next two nights is the Comstock Inn, the only full-service hotel in town. I made my reservations in February but, still, the only room they had available was a single queen. They said that they could give me two rollaway beds; it would be tight, they said; but they would fit, they said. Note key words, "They said." When we get to the room there is one rollaway bed and no place to put another, except maybe the bathtub. It's gonna be a long night. We have dinner in the hotel steakhouse downstairs, walk across the street to the theater for a forgettable movie (Sleepover), then let the kids play around in the pool before heading to bed. What I was afraid would happen, happens. Cameron and Cassidy, in the rollaway bed, keep fighting over "He's kicking me!" "No, she's kicking me!" "Stop kicking me!" After about an hour of that, I tell Cameron to take my place in the queen bed and then I go to sleep on the floor. Or try to. I might have managed to doze off for about an hour, but no more.

 

[ehbowen]

Saturday, July 10: The big day. It begins with me on the telephone, calling every fleabag motel in the phone book until I find one with a vacancy. No way I'm going to put up with another night on the floor. I dress in my MSTRP approved stylish cab wear: Blue 100% cotton long-sleeved shirt; 100% cotton denim blue jeans, black cotton bandanna (cotton will burn, yes, but at a higher temperature than synthetics will melt and stick to your skin); steel-toe leather work boots; and leather-palm gloves and my new engineer's hat to complete the ensemble. Downstairs in the lobby I meet another man similarly attired in cotton from head to foot; he takes one look at me and says, "One guess as to what you're doing today." I smile and agree.

Basic safety training and orientation is at the SRI Visitor's Center in the morning. After training, we are presented with our official student engineer licenses and given a map and directions to the operating site at a switchyard about a mile and a half down the road where the big locomotive 1225 is all set to greet us. My first hour in the cab is as a fireman; I am given basic orientation and operating instructions by the instructor who is there to train and monitor me. The main duties of the fireman are stoking and tending the coal fire and maintaining a safe water level in the boiler. This last is very important; boilers can and will explode if the water level drops too low and priming and carryover can damage equipment if the water level goes out of sight high. There's not much hand shoveling required in 1225; it's a stoker-fired engine. A small two-cylinder steam engine driving an auger pushes the coal from the tender to the firebox; steam jets sprinkle it over the fire. About the only hand-shoveling that needs to be done is to even out the fire bed and ensure that the entire surface of the fire is producing a bright, even heat.

Steam locomotives and diesels are opposites in many ways; the steamer is manpower-intensive and the diesel is technology-intensive; steamers consume massive amounts of coal and diesels are extremely thrifty on fuel. They are opposite in train operation, too. The limiting factor for steam engines is starting tractive effort, which is derived by a complex formula including boiler pressure, piston size, and wheel diameter among others. Diesels, with the massive torque from their electric traction motors on every axle, have a major advantage here. However, once the train is moving, the speed at which a diesel can pull it is limited pretty strictly by the power output of the prime mover. Steamers, on the other hand, are limited mainly by the amount of steam their boiler can produce, which basically equates to how fast the fireman can shovel coal--and in a stoker-fired super-power locomotive like the 1225 that's not much of a limitation. While the 1225 is "officially" rated at 2979 horsepower, in practice it could probably develop well over 3000 horsepower at speed. There is a top speed limit imposed by the steamer's necessarily unbalanced reciprocating and rotating masses (all those big, pretty, and heavy siderods); the basic rule of thumb is that the driver diameter in inches times 1.1 equals top speed in miles per hour. A freight engine like 1225 with its 69 inch diameter drivers, then, should theoretically top out around 80 mph or so. Not speaking theoretically, though, ex-Pere Marquette engineer Sam Chidester used to tell of running 1225 at over 100 mph. Seems a little unlikely but, if anyone could have done it, old Sam would have been the man. Basically, then, a diesel engine can start virtually any size train but may not be able to pull it at a reasonable speed; a steamer is limited in the size of train it can start but, if it can start the train, it can probably pull it at just about any speed the engineer wants.

Not that we have to worry about pulling a train today; the engine is running light in the switchyard. We have about 2/3 of a mile of track all to ourselves; it's blue-flagged off about a hundred yards before and beyond the cones which mark our operating limits. As fireman, my job is to maintain the boiler pressure at or near 245 psi (without going over and lifting the safety valves). There is a steam valve on my side which operates the "blower," a ring of steam jets which pull firebox gases up and out the stack when the locomotive is idle. This valve, normally kept at a minimum setting to maintain enough draft to keep the smoke from backing up into the cab, needs to be opened a half- turn or so when adding coal to the fire. Open that valve, then open another valve to put 65-70 pounds of steam to the steam distribution jets which blow the coal to the corners of the firebox, and then finally crack open the throttle valve for the steam stoker until you can see the auger turn through slots in the cab floor. The fresh coal generates a fine plume of black smoke and our boiler pressure begins to rise. Not too much coal, now; we're not pulling a hundred-car freight train at 70 mph as 1225 used to do routinely in the '40's; we're just crawling back and forth in the yard. So I shut off the stoker and ease the blower back to minimum; as the locomotive begins to move the engine's exhaust steam is directed up the stack to induce draft through the fire in the same way as the blower does, only more so. Some of the engine exhaust steam is also routed to the feedwater heater up front; there it preheats water from the tender before a steam-powered pump pumps it into the boiler. When the locomotive is working at speed under load preheating the water in this way can save a substantial amount of fuel, but at the slow speeds and light load we are working at today there's not enough exhaust steam to make a significant difference--although my instructor operates the feed pump for a brief interval to let me see how it works. Instead, we add water to the boiler using the Hancock Inspirator, a kind of steam-powered jet pump with no moving parts. It's simpler and more reliable than the feedwater heater and its feed pump, but because of its much lower efficiency normally serves only as a backup to the more complex system. Today, though, the inspirator gets a workout; we use it on each run forward and back. In the meantime, as well, I fulfill another duty of the fireman, that of keeping watch on my side of the locomotive; the massive boiler pretty well blocks any view to the left from the engineer's station.

Firing the 1225 is a pleasure; the cab is big and roomy and the stoker and the air-powered automatic firebox door make tending the fire a breeze. I do a little hand-shoveling, filling in dark spots in the fire and then rocking the grates to shake ash down into the ashpan. After the first pass down the track I pretty much have the hang of things (I should; in real life I've been a licensed boiler operator for thirteen years) and my instructor basically gets to stand back and watch me work. All too soon, it seems, my hour is over. The instructor checks my work; my fire is hot, light, and bright; the steam gauge is drumming at 240 psi; and my water level has been steady as a rock. "Good job," he tells me. It's time to move over to the other side of the cab.

My instructor for my session as a student engineer is Bill Wilson; during the MSTRP's formative years when the locomotive was just off the MSU campus at Trowbridge road we worked together on its restoration. He can't quite place me at first but, after a brief reminder, remembers. He demonstrates the engineer's first duty upon taking over a locomotive, that of performing an "oil round." Basically, every sliding and hinged surface in the locomotive's massive frame needs to have a touch of lubrication. This is a duty which also went the way of the dodo when the diesel took over; "No Field Lubrication" is today's design mantra. Oil round completed, we climb back up into the cab and Bill shows me the engineer's controls.

Steamers were designed long before the advent of "human factors engineering"; the controls basically require the use of four (or more) hands. There is a massive steam throttle; a wheel with power-assist operates the "Baker Valve Gear"; and two brake handles. Not included, of course, are the whistle cord, bell ringer, sander, steam cocks, try cocks, and other miscellaneous controls. Bill talks me through it step by step. First, move the switch to turn on the headlight in the direction of travel. Second, spin the wheel to advance the valve gear to full forward "cut-off". This control is basically the closest thing a steamer has to a gear shift; it controls movement in forward or reverse. Often referred to as a "Johnson bar", on this locomotive it's a wheel connected to a power assist with an indicator mounted on a worm screw. I still remember, with a chuckle, a young lad on a cab tour back in the '80's who saw this control and said, "Oh, that's the steering wheel!" Not quite, kid. What this wheel does is adjust the valve gear to regulate steam flow to the engine cylinders. For starting, when maximum tractive effort is required, this control is positioned full forward (or reverse), thus, when the throttle is opened, admitting steam for the full stroke of the piston. As the engine gathers speed, the valve gear is backed off (known as "hooking up") to cut off the steam flow earlier. For maximum power and efficiency, then, as Sam Chidester once told me, the engine is operated with the throttle wide open and speed is regulated by adjusting this cut-off; by doing this you are letting a short blast of steam into the cylinders at full boiler pressure and then cutting it off and letting it expand thus gaining the maximum possible work from a given amount of steam. Once again, though, we're just going back and forth in the yard today; we won't bother with "hooking up" but will regulate our speed with the throttle.

After the cut-off is adjusted we open the steam cocks; this is important, too. When steam is admitted into a cold cylinder some of it condenses and this water has to be given an escape path or it can accumulate and blow off a cylinder head. This has happened. When everything is ready, then, we ring the bell for ten seconds as a warning, give two short blasts on the whistle, release the air brakes, and then crack open the throttle. Bill recommends 100 psi steam chest pressure to get the locomotive moving; this starts us off with alacrity. After a couple of revolutions the steam from the steam cocks blows clear, signifying that all the condensation has been removed, and I close them up and then throttle back to maintain speed at the yard speed limit of 10 mph.

This is a thrill. I lean out the cab window to watch the engine work. Yes, diesels are cheaper to maintain and run, but they can't match the pure poetry in motion of a big steamer in action. Down at the far end of the yard, I close the throttle and, at Bill's direction, apply the independent brake handle to bring the locomotive to a stop. We make three passes up and back in the yard before my hour is over. What a rush. It was worth every penny of the price of admission. Thanks, Dad.

We catch another movie (Garfield) and grab a bite to eat at Bob Evans. I drop Dad and the kids off at the Comstock Inn and head down the road to the Welcome Inn. The last time this place saw "better days" was during the Johnson administration but, still, the sheets are clean and the shower water is hot. It's nice having a bed to myself for a change; I sleep like a baby.

Sunday, July 11: Day 2 of the Engineer for an Hour program, this time on the little switch engine 75. Due to a mixup on my part, I almost miss my slot--they told me to show up at nine and I thought they said ten. I get down to the museum an hour before I think I'm supposed to start, though, and after a brief bit of confusion I climb up in the cab and begin my hour as engineer.

Again, it's a fun experience, but it's a definite step down from the 1225. The big engine has power assist to operate its valve gear, while 75 has a four-foot-long "Johnson bar" to operate its Stephenson valve gear. Stephenson is simpler than Baker--it runs off four "eccentrics" mounted on the axle between the wheels whereas the Baker gear uses a single outside eccentric on each side. Because it's more accessible, though, the Baker type gear is easier to lubricate and maintain than is the Stephenson. Both types work on essentially the same principles, though.

Switch engine 75 does its running up and back on the museum tracks on the property of the MSTRP. We also get a chance to take the engine on MSTRP's newly restored turntable and turn it around. Turntables were the centerpieces, quite literally, of the steam locomotive roundhouses which used to dot the country. When steamers went out of fashion so did turntables; diesel locomotives could be assembled in sets with a cab on each end so that turning was not necessary. Obsolete they may be but you can't say that turntables are completely useless nowadays; the Tuscola and Saginaw Bay railroad whose shops are adjacent to the MSTRP site has been known to borrow the use of MSTRP's turntable to get diesels turned around for servicing now and then.

After my hour as an engineer is up I move across the cab to work as the fireman. And it is work; the stoker-fired 1225 was fun but 75 is completely hand-fired. The firebox is small but so is the cab; there's barely room enough to swing the shovel. And it's hot, very hot; unlike 1225, locomotive 75's boiler is not insulated. At all. So I'm tending a coal fire in a cramped cab with an immense steam radiator in my face in the middle of summer. Yes, it's Michigan, not Texas, but still, it's July. Dad and the kids are by the tracks watching me; I implore them to run back to the vending machine in the visitor's center and get me a bottle of water. This hand-shoveling is no easy trick, either; I keep getting the coal too thick in some spots and not thick enough in others. I'm getting cold spots in the fire and my boiler pressure is dropping. My instructor attempts to demonstrate the proper technique for me but I guess some things just take practice. By the time the end of my hour rolls around I'm ready to quit and I have a whole new respect for the men who used to do this kind of thing for a living in summer and winter and all kinds of weather.

The previous day I arranged for a late check-out from the Welcome Inn. It gives me time to head back to the room and take a shower and change before leaving Owosso. After lunch at the nearby Ponderosa steakhouse, we depart Owosso for Detroit. I'm using randmcnally.com for directions; they're very comprehensive but they don't take into account road construction. We're approaching our destination when I see the dreaded orange cones. Of course, this is Michigan; unlike in Texas, they have to do all their highway construction in the summer. But I'm a veteran of the Houston freeways; I manage to get on the right freeway going the wrong way and then double back. Pretty soon we arrive and check in at the Holiday Inn Fairlane. We spend the rest of the day just resting.

 

[ehbowen]

Monday, July 12: Greenfield Village at The Henry Ford. I had heard of Greenfield Village and the Henry Ford museum before on several occasions, but I had never been there. So after a breakfast buffet at the hotel (included in our special room package) we headed down the freeway to The Henry Ford.

I would strongly recommend Greenfield Village to anyone visiting Detroit. It's basically a "time capsule" of life in the late 19th and early 20th century, and most everything you see there works. There are small demonstration farms, many famous buildings or recreations thereof such as the Wright brothers' bicycle shop, a selection of homes (including Edison's grandparents' and Henry Ford's boyhood homes), many authentic shops and workshops, and much more. Virtually everything is open to the public and, as I said, most everything works. There's a lot of walking involved, but we rented Dad an ECV scooter and then the rest of us had to push to keep up with him.

We also bought everyone wristbands for unlimited rides on the attractions (such as the steam train, Model T autos, and steamboat) which otherwise charge by the ride. This was a godsend because, later that morning, the weather turned nasty for the one and only time on the entire trip. But the village Carousel was operating and under cover, so the kids and I rode the merry-go-round again and again and Dad read his book until the monsoon passed.

Another nice thing about Greenfield village is that, for a tourism oriented business, it's not run like the typical tourist trap. My jaw literally dropped open when I learned that, if I saved my receipt, I could get free refills of Coca-cola all day at any refreshment stand. Just try that at Disney World! Food prices were reasonable and food selection was excellent. Reasonably priced souvenirs could also be had--we purchased about half a dozen "Mold-a-Rama" (plastic injected-molding while you watch vending machines) toys for the kids.

Really, I could have easily spent two or three days just there--especially without the kids. They were at the age where they have little patience and even less of an attention span, and no appreciation for the history of many of the things which they saw. They just breezed right in and out of the Wrights' bicycle shop saying, "Oh, that's nice," whereas I wanted to spend some time taking in the tools and equipment which the Wrights must have used to build the first airplane. They had no appreciation for how unique it is to ride in an actual working, coal-fired steam train or steamboat. I would have loved to be able to go back and just spend time drinking in the atmosphere of the place and the attention to details, but--maybe someday.

With that said, there were a few things which did, indeed, grab the kids' attention. First and foremost would be the glassworks. They watched open-mouthed for almost an hour as the glassblowers worked their magic. And, in the machine shop, they had the opportunity to use a turret lathe to machine small brass [birthday-candle-size] candleholders for themselves. All in all, the day was a success. Still, if I get the chance to head back to Detroit by myself anytime soon, I'm taking it.

By the time we got back to the hotel, everyone was good and tired. Dad asked what we were going to do about dinner, and I suggested simply ordering out for pizza. The suggestion was warmly received all around. Afterwards, I took the kids back downstairs to go swimming. A good day all around.

Tuesday, July 13: The Henry Ford Museum. As we went downstairs for breakfast in the hotel, our waitress today apologetically informed us that the kids didn't get the breakfast buffet with our package. For adults the buffet was included, but the children were supposed to order off the children's menu. This didn't bother Cameron, who rarely eats enough to feed a small bird anyway, but Cassidy's idea of a well balanced meal is twelve strips of bacon on each side of her plate. The waitress, though, was good enough to look the other way as a good bit of our bacon ended up on Cassidy's plate.

After checking out of the hotel, we left for the museum. This too was a day well spent, although if I had to choose between the two attractions I'd say I prefer to see things presented in their context as they are at Greenfield village. Still, the attractions at the museum were engaging and comprehensive. As you might expect, there was a heavy emphasis on automobiles, but there were also exhibits I didn't expect, such as the Dymaxion House--Buckminster Fuller's proposed "house of the future" from 1946. The kids' limited attention span was again a factor, but there were enough "hands on" exhibits to pique their attention--Cameron spent about an hour making and flying paper airplanes at that exhibit in the aviation section.

We left the museum early in order to catch our bus for a tour of the Ford River Rouge factory. When scheduling this trip months before and deciding which day to cut short in order to see the factory, I decided that the kids would likely have a greater tolerance for Greenfield Village than for the Museum. That was probably the correct call, but if I had to do it again I would think hard about the possibility of cutting out the factory tour entirely. This is not a complaint but, still, there's not a lot to be gained by driving by the outside of a building while being told, "This is the stamping plant." Of course that's not the meat of the tour; which is when they take you off the bus and, after a multimedia presentation, allow you to walk around the perimeter of one of the truck final assembly plants. The thing is that the truck bodies come in already assembled and painted--you don't get to see the welding and such--and what goes on in the plant is the addition of the engines, suspensions, interior, and all of the other details that make a steel shell into a vehicle. It's probably pretty interesting if you take the time to study it, but during our visit the line was shut down in place for Ford's annual summer vacation. I still wanted to take my time and read through the displays, but Cameron and Cassidy couldn't be bothered to slow down for love nor money; they simply breezed around the perimeter walkway with the attitude of "Okay, we've seen it; can we go home now?"

I was a little apprehensive about leaving Detroit during rush hour but we must have timed it just right; there were only a few minor slowdowns on I-94 heading west out of the city. We stopped in Jackson for dinner, where Cassidy ordered "Spaghetti, with no sauce, and a side order of bacon." And my parents say I'm a picky eater. I had visions of driving all the way to the outskirts of Chicago and perhaps seeing a little bit of the Museum of Science and Industry before our train home departed early Wednesday afternoon, but I had just seen how much the kids got out of two museums. Even if everything went right, we'd still have no more than four hours--and it takes at least two full days to do MSI justice. Besides, Dad was getting tired and so was I. Coming into Benton Harbor we ran into a torrential downpour and I decided to call it quits for the night. I pulled up to a Super 8 motel and asked about a room for the night; the clerk answered, "Yes, of course," and asked me if I had a CDL--I could get a discount. As it turns out, I do; I hadn't driven commercially in nine years but my Commercial Driver's License is still active. I headed back out to the car and told them, "Good news--I've got two rooms. Everyone gets their own bed tonight. The bad news is that they're on the third floor and there's no elevator." But we manage the climb with the luggage and, after an hour or so of watching Nickelodeon, we get to sleep.

Wednesday/Thursday, July 14 and 15: The Ride Home. We sleep late, knowing that we'll gain an hour when we cross the time zone back into Chicago, and stop and have a leisurely breakfast at the Cracker Barrel. We hit the outskirts of Chicago at about nine o'clock local time; there are remnants of rush hour traffic but on the whole things move pretty smoothly. By ten-thirty we're at the station, the rental car has been returned, and our luggage is checked in for the return trip. Our first class tickets entitle us to admission to the Metropolitan Lounge which features coffee, bottled water, and light snacks (chips and pretzels) as well as comfortable armchairs and sofas. Dad settles back in a chair with a book and is happy, but the kids are getting antsy. I come up with the idea of taking them two blocks up the street to the Sears Tower and its observation deck. What I hadn't figured on was a 45 minute wait in line to buy tickets and pass through security screening. The kids almost bug out on me but I convince them to keep waiting, and eventually the elevator drops us off on the 103rd floor. The little buggers make a fast circuit of the floor, looking out the windows occasionally, and then announce that they're ready to leave. They might have spent maybe five minutes there--I want to hit them. (But I don't.) I try to arouse a little attention out of them by pointing out various points of interest including the tracks we're about to take out of town, but to no avail. "Been there, done that, want to go home." Such is life.

We meet back up with Dad and grab a quick Mclunch at the Union Station food court before heading back to the Metropolitan Lounge. At just before three o'clock, the Texas Eagle is called for boarding. We head out to the concourse and board sleeper 2120, where Tony--the very same--is waiting to greet us. Cassidy and I bunk down in roomette 2, while Cameron and Dad take #5. Our departure is delayed about 40 minutes due to some problem with the locomotive, and I figure that now Union Pacific will show its true colors--late trains usually get later.

Still, we're under no time constraints and we do get underway eventually, heading south. The other three turn to their preferred forms of traveling amusement while I head out to the lounge car, where a National Park Service guide is giving a "Trails and Rails" presentation about the corridor between Chicago and St. Louis. These guides are unpaid; Amtrak provides transportation and meals but they volunteer their time. The presentation is actually quite interesting. Cameron comes up to me; he's hungry. Unfortunately, I made a late (seven, as opposed to five) dinner reservation. I buy him off for the time being with some candy from the lounge car. When the seven o'clock seating is called we're all ready to eat. This time I do get the steak, medium, and finish off with dessert. It's good to be full.

I leave the diner just in time to catch the sun setting over the state Capitol building in Springfield. I've worked out a new strategy for dealing with the tinier-than-tiny roomette--I change into pajamas while the room is still made up for day use and has a bit of room in which to maneuver, then call Tony and ask him to make up the beds. This works much better. I decide to head downstairs for a shower, but there's a bit of a wait--two ladies are ahead of me, and they won't be hurried. Not that I try, I'm known for taking leisurely showers myself. While I'm waiting we cross the big bridge across the Mississippi into St. Louis; the view is magnificent. After cleaning up it's time for bed. I sleep much better on this trip than I did coming up; still, the next time I take an overnight train I intend to see my doctor beforehand for a little chemical assistance.

I sleep kind of late; when I wake up Dad and Cameron have already eaten and Cassidy is waiting on me with a little pout on her face. We have about a twenty-minute wait for a seat in the diner, but before long we're sharing a table with a black couple on their way to Texas with us. One guess what Cassidy orders.

After all my worries about Union Pacific running late, I find out that we've made up that 40 minutes during the night and we are again spot-on time into Longview, where the bus is waiting to carry us back to Houston. It's been a good trip, and I can't wait to do it again someday!

 

[jb64]

Nice trip report. Thanks for sharing it with us.