New Friends in Room 805

 

Back across the Mississippi.

We made it. 48 hours is a long time to spend in any one place, much less in a 6x6-foot stateroom on a moving train. We were able to get off and walk around at some stops although the fact we were running an hour and a half behind at one point prompted the conductors to eagerly shout “all aboard!” after just a few minutes in order to make up for lost time.

It was already dark by the time we crossed over into North Dakota (We apparently went through Fargo around 3:30 a.m., sorry we missed it) and we were well into Minnesota by the time the sky started to brighten to the east. The first daylight stop was in St. Paul, the twin city with Minneapolis, around 8:30 a.m. We wanted to check out the terminal and look for a newspaper but when we got to the concourse there were more than 100 grumpy-looking people waiting in line to board and it appeared getting in line to get back on would be a cluster. So we turned around, zipped back out to the platform, briefly watched a couple guys in a small boat surrounded by the rising mist fishing in the Mississippi which runs next to the tracks. Then back into our holding cell to await breakfast.

A rollerblader on a farm in Minnesota.

Even with freight trains holding us up, we made up time and got into Chicago only half an hour late. Where we had been riding in the last car of a 14-car train, it seemed to take forever to walk down the tunnel platform to actually get into the terminal. Fortunately, where we’d been there twice before, it was familiar ground so we don’t have to stand around looking like we’re Jethro and Ellie Mae trying to find our way to Beverly. We retrieved our bags, got outside, hailed an Uber and got to the hotel, the Hampton Inn and Suites Downtown Chicago just north of the Chicago river by 5 p.m.

The hotel is pretty nice with friendly staff but we made a slight tactical error in the choice. It’s right next door to a very busy fire and ambulance station and by necessity they speed off, seemingly every five minutes or so, with lights, sirens, and horns blazing. We’re on the 8^th floor so it’s not too bad but it gets your attention. 

Rainy Sunday in Chicago.

The other consideration is that this hotel, while well situated for nearby attractions and museums etc., is also in the heart of the nightclub district. The tip off was when looking for restaurants for dinner, the Google search showed most surrounding pubs and clubs being most busy between 10 p.m. and when they close. And, here the bars can stay open until 3 a.m.

The ruckus caused by our next door neighbors in room 805 at 10 p.m. when they went out, should have been a tip off. They and four or five of their closest inebriated friends were back promptly at 3:30 a.m., banging doors and excitedly discussing the weighty issues of the day such as whether or not Alex Baldwin should be blamed for that accident with the prop gun and if Brandi Carlile’s friendship with Joni Mitchell affected the songwriting on the former’s latest album.

Where they seemed to so interested in current affairs we do the neighborly thing and turn up the news channel on our TV really loud when we get up at 6:30 a.m., so they won’t miss the latest update on Alex Baldwin.

Sunday dawned rainy so we decide to keep it low key and walk a few blocks to a local shopping area and restaurant cluster to pick up a few gifts and have lunch. Back at the hotel we do a couple loads of laundry and catch up with email and phone calls. The trains west of the Mississippi don’t have wifi because of the remote nature of the routes. To connect or file a blog requires continually checking cell phones to see if they have enough signal to connect. I keep an eye on the schedule for when we’ll be near a town (even if in the middle of the night) so I can set my iPhone up as a wifi hotspot that in turn allows my laptop browser to connect to the internet. In some cases on this trip it has taken more than an hour with multiple periods of service and no service to file a single post.

Trains running east of the Mississippi, like the Lake Shore Limited, the one we board tomorrow night for Boston, all have pretty good connectivity.

In Chicago of course, there’s good cell signal and free wifi everywhere. It’s easy to tell from the fact that everyone walks around, head bowed, eyes focused on the device in their hand. Local Orthopedists have to love all the twisted ankles and bumped foreheads that causes.

At the shopping place everyone seated in the food court is on a phone. Everyone waiting at the coffee joint for their double latte, mocha cappuccino, with three shots and two Splendas is texting or surfing social media. My order comes quickly because I just want a plain hot coffee with cream which throws the guy taking orders for a loop as he can’t figure out what buttons to hit on his iPad for that.

The fact is spending all this time on social media online frees up anyone who may be socially awkward in the real world from having to make eye contact and acknowledge the existence of other human beings. But I can’t help think about much they miss. For example, dozens of people went right by the giant dead rat in the trash-filled gutter that made Roxie jump a foot.

Earl checking for an address for the Uber App.

We made sure to get some official Chicago deep-dish pizza for supper tonight walking half a mile in pouring rain to pick it up. The exercise and fresh air felt good and the pie wasn’t bad although I think I’m still a fan of thin crust.

Our train leaves at 9 p.m. tomorrow. It will be dark when we pass through the industrial wasteland of Northern Indiana but we did get a good look at that on the train out. It’s nice to be covering familiar ground, kind of like the landscape is helping us transition back to Maine, everyday life, and the non-digital social connections that lie ahead.

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