December 2002 written Febuary 10, 2003 

Our trip to Indiana was wonderful.  We had a great time out there, spent massive amounts of time with the family, ate lots of good tasting, bad for you food, you know, I great Christmas.  Now, the trip out there,  that's another story entirely. 

The night before we left, we packed viciously, then awoke super early to finish packing.  Not only did we need enough clothes and personal items for our time out there, but we were packing Christmas presents.   

We ended up with more baggage than a rock star on a year long tour.  Suitcases were everywhere.  Big ones, medium ones, little carry on bags.  The living room looked like a baggage car had exploded. 

Poor Tony, I'm in  my wheelchair, of course, I'm not carrying luggage. Washington Union Station?  It's enormous.  It's not just a train station.  It's a huge complex encasing stores, restaurants, and various and assorted businesses.   

The parking garage alone was big enough to house half of the state of Virginia.  Mom parked (I'm not even getting into the drive there, put it this way, we saw all of DC) and Tony started to assemble our pile of junk. 

He decided to load me into the wheelchair, then load my arms with carry-ons.  Done.  I look like a homeless person carrying every possession they ever had.  He headed in with me.  A walk across the enormous parking garage, then across most of Union Station, since the check in counter was at one end of the place.   

He settled me in, placed our carry-ons beside me,  then headed back.  Yep, he had to go get the pile of checked baggage.  Now, Tony is a big, strong guy.  He has no idea of his strength, he's picked up a bucket of steel at his old job, estimated it at 25 pounds, tossed it on a scale and saw a reading of 70 pounds.  Obviously a man who tosses 70 pounds around like it's a handbag is pretty damn strong. 

By the time he got back to me, he looked worn out.  He had suitcases attached to one another, one on his back and both arms full.  He'd probably walked 4 miles by this point. His face was right red, he was breathing like someone had stood on his chest, and he had that gleam in his eye, not a good one, but the look of a man on the edge. 

The check in counter was a maze of velvet ropes, as if normal adults can't figure out how to line up.  He got in there, grabbed tags for our baggage and filled them out. 

As soon as we were checked in we headed off in search of our track/gate.  A walk from hell,Tony pushing my chair, me loaded down like a pack mule, we slowely trudged foward and forward. 

We walked through most of the station,  down an elevator and to our gate.  We were at the furthest gate out, the only thing beyond us in the building was a McDonald's.   

Neither of us are McDonald's fans, in fact we avoid that place as much as possible.  At this point we would have eaten grass, he grabbed us each a burger, we choked them down,  just in time to hear them tell us that they were starting to board.  Sleeper car passengers first. (of course the sleeping car goes first, they paid more, never mind that it takes longer to load the gimpy passengers.) 

Then they announced for disabled and those with children.  We were the furthest away from the gate, in the cattle stall we were all wrangled into.  We slowly pushed our ways to the gate, by then everyone else in this group was long gone.  What would have been a 10 second walk to the gate became a minutes long push, pull,  excuse me, EXCUSE ME, 'Hey, asshole, down here, yeah, there you go, see the big metal thing with wheels?   Let me through, dammit." 

The gate attendant looked at us with disgust (thanks, asshole #2) and pointed us towards this tiny elevator.  Tony backed me on to the elevator, my feet barely clearing the door.  As the door began to slide closed this woman, probably in her late 40s, shoved her big meaty paw in to stop the doors. 

She looked up, realized there was no where for her to go and shot us the nastiest look I've ever seen.  Fuck, she was 10 feet from the escalator and obviously able to move around fine.  She backed away and we headed down.  By the time we hit the platform and rolled four feet forward the same evil woman was pushing past us at a full run.   

Yeah, she needed that elevator more than the gimp in a wheelchair, didn't she?  We headed past the baggage cars and were stopped and loaded into the last passenger car, lower level, the handicapped section. 
 

The first think you notice on the train was how small the car was, six pairs of seats, three facing one way, three the other.  And no one, other than us,  under the age of 70.  We were in the middle pair of seats, facing where we'd been.  Ass to ass we sat in our opulent (for the 70s) polyester and vinyl blue and maroon seats.  Along the window a worsted polyester orange  curtain hung, stiff at attention.  Everytime you touched the curtain it your skin begin to peel off your arm.   

Tony put our carry-ons in the overhead compartment, the barely overhead compartments, that is.  Once you were seated on the train, you felt almost entombed, very claustrophobic and very hot.  The cool, comfortable climate that all the Amtrak literature promised on the Capital Limited line was nowhere to be seen.  It was hot as hell in the car.  The two small throws I had packed would never leave our bags. 

We settled in, leaned against one another and prepared for the 16 hour ride that would wind through, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and finally into Indiana, early tomorrow morning. 

As the train rolled out of the station we both glanced around.  We were surrounded by nine people, none of whom were younger than 70.  At first glanced they all looked to be nice, quiet people, ones whom you could spend 16 hours with and have no problems,  boy, were we fools... 

To be continued. 
 

Smile, 

Suzy