Platform One (Part 011)
Dallas – Austin – San Antonio
Glen Wilson
“Must be nearly fifty years since I’ve been on a train” “I aint never rode the train” So goes the conversation between the driver of the hotel’s taxi shuttle and the Greyhound bus driver we’ve just picked up en route to downtown Dallas. Americans don’t catch the train anymore. Going on the reaction I have gotten in this taxi and beyond you would think I had declared I was travelling by stilts. My friend Charlotte grew up in this part of Texas yet was not even aware Dallas had a station; so unconvinced was she that when I told her I had bought tickets online she urged me to check I hadn’t been scammed. All this despite the fact that Dallas Union Station is located just a couple of hundred yards from the point of JFK’s assassination.
Dallas is one of the ten largest cities in the US yet the station building is quiet enough to allow me to have a lengthy discussion with the sole ticket office clerk, during which I convince her to avoid London and head to the north if ever she visits England. My Yorkshire ambassador status intact, and after an hour and a half delay, I board the train. Once inside it’s hard to understand why America shuns this form of transport; air conditioned and spacious two tier carriages giving a comfortable view of America as it slides rather slowly past the window.
Modern America may be located at the roadside, all convenience and neon, but from this seat I can see much more of this country. Through the backyards and works yards of Dallas and Fortworth to the more communal trackside towns such as Clifton, McGregor and the fantastically named Moody where every shop front sign on the main street parallel to the tracks opens up a new comedic avenue. Moody Furniture for all your stubborn sofa needs, Moody Store and the Moody Christian Church of God where people go to worship, why? BECAUSE HE SAID SO! DAMMIT!
Approaching Temple the conductor runs through the famous claims of nearby Waco; home of Dr Pepper and the 2005 women’s collegiate basketball champions. Having just come from Dallas and its unsettlingly keen embrace of JFK’s demise, it’s surprising that Waco’s most notable claim to global infamy is omitted. Temple is also where I get my answer to the question ‘why don’t Americans travel by train?’ We’re running an hour and twenty five minutes late. An announcement that would have created a mutiny on GNER is instead met with quiet nods of acceptence.
Geographically and physically the train is approaching Austin, but time-wise its getting further and further away. On the tannoy the conductor is clearly as frustrated as the passengers as he explains how the delay is due to Union Pacific giving priority to freight trains, and then helpfully gives out telephone numbers for both the State and National Senate so you can complain about the system direct. He then returns to his tourist spiel.
“…the train passes over the Colorado River; this is viewable from both sides of the carriage”
“Course it is,” exclaims the old guy in front of me, “otherwise it’d be the Colorado Lake”.
Arriving in Austin three hours late I make an executive decision to stay on the train to San Antonio rather than experience this two days straight. Overhearing my discussion with the conductor the couple opposite wish me good luck when they disembark; the guy exclaiming “Well… they sure took the train ride out of me” as he wanders down the carriage.
Finally in San Antonio, what was originally a six hour journey has become twelve. Its 2:15am. People who know their way round better than I do have claimed all the cabs so I set off walking in the vague direction of a neon Holiday Inn sign I saw from the train. They have no rooms but the hotel down the street does; just one… at $85. I take it. Its bigger than the entire upstairs of my parents’ house. I literally climb into bed, and sleep… until awoken by the horn of a passing train a few moments later… then sleep… until reawoken by a passing train… then sleep… until; well you get the idea.
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