april 13th, 2008
There's a part of me that would love to write "here I am, stranded at the Canadian border..." but my story isn't as colored as that.
I missed my train this morning, by about an hour and a half. No story there either, I just mixed up the times. The information desk told me I could catch the second leg, all seven hours of it, if I hustled my ass to the Canadian border. I happened upon the discombobulated Korean taxi driver who cut me a $64 break through broken English. It's always weird to let a stranger see you cry. So one $150 cab ride and a spontaneous natural wonder later, here I am, three hours of sleep compacted in my brain and all too insignificant scenery passing me by. But I'm realizing that the all too insignificant is much more poignant than I make it out to be.
Trains make me obesely nostalgic. I keep remembering driving back from the Uni Band Disney trip, I must have been in sixth or seventh grade. That was when a two and a half hour car ride was an entire summer vacation and then some. No iPods; nothing but my dad's James Taylor tape on repeat and a hypocritical contest between me and my brother on who could answer the most Biblical Brain Quest questions. That lost it's intrigue quickly and I remember counting the semi trucks on the opposite side of the highway. I thought that ride would never end and I was so meticulous about those semis. I'm sure I wrote the final tally down somewhere, but here I am, nearly a decade later, and I have no idea how many 18 wheelers flitted in and out of my periphery. I still hate James Taylor, but I wonder if he's ever been to Niagara Falls.
I missed my train this morning, by about an hour and a half. No story there either, I just mixed up the times. The information desk told me I could catch the second leg, all seven hours of it, if I hustled my ass to the Canadian border. I happened upon the discombobulated Korean taxi driver who cut me a $64 break through broken English. It's always weird to let a stranger see you cry. So one $150 cab ride and a spontaneous natural wonder later, here I am, three hours of sleep compacted in my brain and all too insignificant scenery passing me by. But I'm realizing that the all too insignificant is much more poignant than I make it out to be.
Trains make me obesely nostalgic. I keep remembering driving back from the Uni Band Disney trip, I must have been in sixth or seventh grade. That was when a two and a half hour car ride was an entire summer vacation and then some. No iPods; nothing but my dad's James Taylor tape on repeat and a hypocritical contest between me and my brother on who could answer the most Biblical Brain Quest questions. That lost it's intrigue quickly and I remember counting the semi trucks on the opposite side of the highway. I thought that ride would never end and I was so meticulous about those semis. I'm sure I wrote the final tally down somewhere, but here I am, nearly a decade later, and I have no idea how many 18 wheelers flitted in and out of my periphery. I still hate James Taylor, but I wonder if he's ever been to Niagara Falls.