Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Chapter Ten
Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., and Points Beyond . . .
A
S we've made our way around the world, we've always been one step ahead of the cold. We slid south just
as autumn arrived in Beijing. We crossed below the equator as summer began in the Southern Hemisphere.
We've lately been meandering through tropical island chains where the temperature is idyllic year-round.
All in all, it's been a hands-on education in how the earth's curvature and orientation can dramatically affect
regional temperatures. More important: I haven't needed long sleeves in months.
Now our voyage has made its sine wave turn back north, and we've been dropped into the late-December
chill of Los Angeles. Winter has caught up with us—or perhaps we've caught up with it. Granted, it's a mild,
southern California winter, but there's a bite in the air that we are unequipped for. Our first mission on land
is to buy jeans and warm sweatshirts at an army-navy surplus store on Sunset Boulevard.
A few days ago, from aboard the ship, we'd e-mailed a friend who lives in L.A. and asked if we could
crash with him. It turned out he was going to be out of town, but he very thoughtfully left the keys to his Sil-
ver Lake apartment in a flowerpot near its front door. The place is high up on a hillside, with a wide wooden
balcony gazing out on the downtown skyscrapers. Rebecca and I get there in time for the final rays of the
afternoon. As evening falls we watch the twinkling city lights, contemplating the adventures we might get
into out here. We could stay for a week, look around town, maybe even rent a car and motor up the Pacific
coast. Fend off the real world just a little bit longer.
But we won't. This trip feels distinctly over. We're back in America, and there's not a ton of mystery
or challenge left. What's more, we're tired. For the first time since we left, I've become exhausted by the
concept of motion. My fantasies right now involve a couch, cable TV, delivery Thai food, and a month of
stagnation. I just want to touch my toes to the ground in D.C. and—at long last—decelerate myself to a final,
triumphant stop.
The next day, we walk out onto Sunset and hail a city bus headed for Union Station, L.A.'s beautiful rail-
way terminal. Built in 1939, it arrived just as trains were on the cusp of being outmoded by the automobile.
It turned out to be the last of the classic old stations.
Today is Christmas Eve. We celebrated Thanksgiving at a bar in Brisbane, and once again we will mark
a holiday without friends or family—another casualty of life on the move. A few of the passengers waiting
inside Union Station's central hall wear jaunty red Santa caps and carry wrapped gifts.
AMERICANS once dreamed of a water passage across the country, through rivers and lakes from one coast
to the other. This was before Lewis and Clark made us aware of a minor obstacle called the Rockies. It's
tough to navigate your steam-powered paddleboat straight up a mountain stream or through the rapids of the
Grand Canyon.
Plan B was cross-country train service, which met with far more success. The final spike in the transcon-
tinental railroad was driven in Promontory, Utah, in 1869. News of the accomplishment spread immediately
by telegraph, and Americans rejoiced. It was a modern marvel. Once supplies and people had taken months
to cross the country. Now it took a mere four days.
And 140 years later, it still takes four days. (Well, three nights and significant parts of four days.) Which is
par for the course when it comes to modern American train travel. Many routes are now actually slower than
Search WWH ::
Custom Search