Elizabeths on a Train: Stations and Anchor Points

In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
Anchor: a source of stability or security  
Somewhere in the southwest

Our stops along the way became the anchors of our trip. A time to regroup and revitalize.
Montreal was our point of origin. I flew in, leaving Los Angeles early in the morning, and arriving in Montreal mid afternoon. This was a wonderful place to start the adventure. A foreign, beautiful city. I checked into the LHotel which I highly recommend. It’s a boutique hotel full of gorgeous art. I wish we had more time in this city. It’s so strange to be in a place where the people speak French yet we are so close to the US boarder. A foreign place so close. I wandered the town a bit before Elizabeth got in. We went to a Le Local a great restaurant. Then in the morning ate at café down the street while listening to Massive Attack. Our nerves and adrenaline were palpable as we took a cab to the train station, our first train station of the trip, Gare Centrale. It felt grander then it probably was. I think it was all the French signage and the people getting their shoes polished. We were so excited we had no idea what we were doing. We went to the information desk. “Where do we get tickets? Where it says tickets? Oh.” The station had Hugo Cabret written all over it. We waited in line for our train to be ready to boarded. I held the last of the Canadian coins I had in my hand I intended to give my girls as a souvenier. I rolled the coins in my palm. I told Elizabeth I wanted to make up a fantastical story to tell them about the coins. A tall tale. We brainstormed about finding the coins in a velvet-lined box in the corner of the depot by a man playing an accordion. The man whispered to me, “Behold the magic coins. Only the worthy find them. Give them to someone ready for a dream-like adventure." Off we go.


This place anchored me in imagination.
Our second anchor point was Schenectady. We rolled into this station around 5 in the early evening. We had spent our day on the train. Our first magical giddy hours of writing and reading and watching the world pass by. We had two hours to spend in this town. Enough time to grab dinner. Right outside the station was an Irish pub. Perfect. I had a large refreshing beer and bar food. Just what I needed.


The Schenectady station was…. interesting. We were definitely not in the city anymore. The waiting room was small and lined with plastic chairs. Several were broken and to indicate their condition was this:
The pig-ephants of Schenectady. (My next picture book?)
 We wandered to the stairway that lead to where the trains pulled in. It was scary to say the least. The Zombie Apocolypse stairwell, we nicknamed it. 



We shouldn’t have been surprised. We initially took the elevator down when we got off the train and we thought we would die in there. It was straight out of a horror movie set. When the door closed it did nothing. The stairwell wasn’t much better. It was dank and dirty. It had a locked and abandoned sheriff’s office at the bottom of it.
Rick Grimes? You in there?
But we hung out in this stairwell for a while. I think we liked it. In addition to the bugs that owned those walls, was art. Art on these dank walls. I loved it. I mean it wasn’t great art. It was actually very strange. But I loved it all the same. The station made me think that magical and creepy things happen in Schenectady. One day I will write that story.


This place anchored me in humor and adventure.
Our next stop was Chicago’s Union Station. I was most excited for this stop. This stop was my home. This stop was my childhood memories of meeting dad at the train station, the trips going downtown from the suburbs. And we had five hours there. 
This will always be the Sears Tower to me.We had spent the night on the train and woke up a few hours from Chicago. I needed this anchor. I was tired and a bit cranky (Me? No!). Sleeping on the train wasn’t the best sleep ever. I needed reinvigoration. This city of childhood was just the medicine I needed. We met my brother and his family in the station. I got to hug on him, my sister in law and adorable and energetic nephews. 



We had lunch a great Chicago diner. Felt the wonderfully crisp air and took in the view of the Chicago River and beautiful buildings. Stocked up on snacks. It was a great. Until I hit the wall. I felt like I was still on the train. Oh man. Where is that Dramamine? We sat in the waiting room along with way too many other people. I tried to close my eyes and that didn’t help. My brain felt like mush. The motion sickness was also making me home sick. I missed this town. I missed my brother. I missed my parents. It was a lot. I really wanted to get back on the train. I needed to keep moving. We got back on the train in the early evening and my mind was still jittery. I was happy to be continuing on. I wrote into the night and nostalgia was in the drivers seat. The motion sickness jitters melted away.


This place anchored me in memories.
Kansas City was our next stop. The first “fresh air break” we had. One where you can step off for a bit, but we are not to wander far. We had twenty minutes at 10 pm. And on a whim, Elizabeth texted her brother who lives there, who she does not see often, to see if he could run up to the station to say a quick hello. He said yes! I was dead tired at this point, but I had to meet her brother. We rushed off the train and headed into the station. Her brother, a musician I learned, was there. They hugged. We hugged. I eavesdropped on family conversation you usually don’t have in front of other people. It was short but sweet. Elizabeth was smiling so big. That made me happy. It made me sad I didn’t have more time with my brother that day.
This place anchored me in family.
The next station stop was a fresh air break in Colorado in the morning. We had forty-five minutes to stretch. We wandered to the train station and back. The air smelled so good. There is something about Colorado air. That air was medicine. I felt better. And we laughed because the first thing we saw was a cowboy talking about texting on his cell phone.
As seen inside the Colorado station.



This place anchored me nature and juxtapositions.
Albuquerque was the next station on the fresh air break schedule. We had forty-five minutes in the late afternoon. A number of Native American vendors set up stands on the train platform. They sold random things like National Geographics, a Fiona Apple CD and Sylvia Plath. I bought some turquoise earrings.




This place anchored me in joy in the little gifts.
 Our final fresh air break before home was in Flagstaff, Arizona. The home of my college, the place I lived for two years before moving out to Los Angeles. It was late at night. We only had about five minutes. Enough time to step off the train for a few moments. This place is the setting of a pivotal anchor point in my life. My first real time of independence and adulthood. Memories of the speech team and hours and hours immersed in stories and poems. The train blocked my view of the school. But I imagined it. Downtown looked how I remembered it. I remembered the late night eats and music. I said a little prayer. This was days after the shooting that happened on campus. I will always have a love for this town. 


This place anchored me in purpose.
All the anchors/stops on the trip informed my next writing session on the train. They were my fuel. Anchor points are found in writing too. They are points in the story that your characters make decisions, reevaluate things and change and power the course of the story. The train and its stops felt like a story on wheels that you were inside of. The anchors helped me find those parts of my writing. I’d hop back on the train, feel the wheels pull away from the anchor point. I’d put my fingers to the keyboard and go.


To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.