It was a good plan. A damn good plan! But we all know what happens to good plans…

The Plan

The plan, which had been lodged in my brain for the past seven years, was to view the 2024 total solar eclipse. In doing so, I would have to plan well in advance, as I did in 2017. I would have to decide where the best possible view would be, both in terms of weather and duration. And even though the path of totality would be wider, and cover a larger swath of the United States this time around, it would also occur in early April, which doesn’t forebode well for clear weather. While Indianapolis would have be the most ideal, logical and closest destination, the odds for cloudless skies in Indiana in early spring were less than favorable. In fact, the whole eastern half of the country was dicey at best. So the Southwest it was! But where?

Texas seemed a pretty safe bet, and short of heading into Mexico, the further southwest along the track, the better. Eagle Pass would present an ideal location were it not for the current political climate rendering it pretty unlikely. Besides, how would I get there? Where would I stay? So I figured one of the more mainstream travel hubs might be a little easier to secure as a starting point, though I knew from 2017, accommodations (not to mention rental cars) would most likely be both scarce and pricey. Dallas, San Antonio and Austin were all possible candidates, but some quick preliminary inquiries confirmed my concerns in terms of both cost and availability. Then, as luck would have it – and there is much luck in this narrative – a very generous opportunity arose through a friend of a friend who just happened to have a place in Austin!

Further research revealed that Austin was, in fact, in the path of totality, but for a relatively short duration of only a fraction over two minutes. But then I found that my potential accommodations would not be in Austin proper, but about twenty-five miles north in the town of Leander, thus increasing my viewing time by one and a half minutes. And if by some miracle, I could make it even further north, say another thirty miles to the little town of Burnet, the maximum of about four minutes, twenty-two seconds could be mine! But, of course, I was getting way ahead of myself. There still remained the little problem of how to get there.

Searching airfares was not encouraging. For one, the availability of flights at that particular time was a little chancy. And true to form, once you bracketed a certain time frame, the eclipse bells went off, and as quickly as a frequently viewed Amazon item, the fares shot right up. Ranges of $500 to $800 were not uncommon, and it would only get worse as the days ticked by. There was always Spirit Airlines, hovering in at just under $400, but with an eight hour layover in Fort Lauderdale (had they ever seen a map?), it gave them more than enough time to screw something up. What about trains? Or even buses? True, the fares were considerably more affordable, but sitting on a bus for that long, especially in traffic, was not terribly appealing to me. Which left only Amtrak.

Amtrak appeared to be a fairly good alternative for several reasons, not the least of which was the promise of a pretty fixed departure and arrival time without much deviation. And at sixteen hours – still longer than I was accustomed to – the round trip fare of just slightly over $300 seemed the obvious choice. I booked it.

Dyslexia is a wonderful thing, not to mention brain fog, but more on that later! Anyway, in reality, it was not sixteen hours, but twenty-eight, which I thought a bit excessive seeing as how I could drive there in seventeen. Not that I would want to, if a rental car could even be had for anything less than a king’s ransom. The reason it took so long, as I learned from the infallible internet, was due to numerous breaks along the way of several hours to change cars, crews, etc. You could even grab a meal during some of the longer stops while you waited! Well, that’s what it said, anyway. And it still seemed like a good plan.

As the weeks flew by, I did a fair amount of additional research on YouTube about what I might expect on this epic journey. One thing that was very appealing to me was the observation car, which is where I expected I would end up spending a good deal of my time. Traveling coach, I would have neither a room, nor a ‘roomette’, though the spacious reclining seats appeared to be a more than a functional substitute for a proper bed. All in all, it looked to be quite an adventure. And even though seats would be assigned upon boarding, you could easily request a change; important to me as a window seat was an absolute necessity.

The Train

In the meantime, I had been texting my host, Jerry, who made a gracious offer to pick me up at the Austin depot, thereby bypassing a bit of potentially uncertain public transportation – especially on a Sunday night. I began to pack, quickly filling my allotted two carry-ons with everything I thought indispensable, including quite a bit of weighty fruit, books and even a power strip, so that the single outlet I had seen in the clips could be expanded for multiple users. My bag soon weighed in at eighteen pounds, though it felt at least twice that. The evening before departure, I was also strongly advised by various travel sites to bring along both a pillow and a blanket. I was a bit concerned that these might incur an additional baggage charge, but was repeatedly reassured by multiple posts that it would not. Still, arriving at Union Station in my winter coat and weighed down by my heavy bag, camera bag, and hastily bound pillow and blanket, I am still half expecting a problem. They call for boarding.

At this point, the feared MacGuffin rears its ugly head. Any other year, this would have been completely smooth sailing. This year, however, has taken a turn for the worse, as massive supercells and storm surges dominate the forecast – with Texas right in the center. It does not look good. In fact, Indianapolis, the place I was so certain would be such a terrible proposition a few months ago, had suddenly become one of the most promising – as I raced headlong toward a cloudy, stormy, weekend. Nor am I particularly comforted by the patronizing media coverage, which assures me that even a clouded event can be just as rewarding! I’m not buying it. I’m not going all that way just to watch it get dark. Well, at least not intentionally.

The first thing I notice about the seats is despite all the bragging on line about how wide and spacious they are, that claim seems to be a bit of a reach. Are they better than airline seats? Absolutely. But that’s a pretty low bar. Sure, you could stretch out your legs to an extent, but not all the way. And while they are wider than airline seats, they’re not that much wider. At least they don’t have the armrests. On the positive side, we leave the station right on time. I’d read multiple horror stories of three, four, even seven hour delays. Also, under my window, there are actually two outlets, so my power strip serves no purpose, other than to add still more weight to my luggage. They announce that the train is sold out and it will be full.

Not too surprisingly, my seatmate asks if she could recharge her laptop, as she reaches across my knees to plug it in. At least she asked! One thing I quickly learn about train etiquette, is that if someone asks to recharge their device, what they really mean is they would like to use the charge cable as a continuous power source, with little intent of ever removing it – charged or not. Anyway, at least we are on our way.

Maybe an hour or so out, after a particularly noxious unscheduled pause at one of the Summit refineries, an announcement comes over the speakers that the cafe car is now open, and that we could move about the train if desired. Observation car, here I come! I take my camera bag and move down the narrow aisle, jerking from side to side. As I reach the cafe car and briefly admire the inflated prices, it appears to be the last car. There are a few small tables at which to dine, as long as you purchase your food here and finish as quickly as possible. I ask the attendant about the observation car, assuming it must be at the opposite end. “The what?,” comes her puzzled response. “Observation car,” I repeat. “Oh. We don’t have one of those.” I’m starting to think the internet is not always on the up and up.

I make my way down to the other end of the train; five cars total and not a lot to see or do. I use one of the tiny washrooms downstairs, which is not a particularly pleasant experience, and then return to my seat, careful not to dislodge the ‘charging’ cord. Shortly after, there’s a curt announcement, reiterating that you cannot linger at the cafe tables once you’ve finished your meal. From here on out, most of the announcements concern either the cafe car, or the sleeper class, who seem to be top priority. The rest of us are just steerage.

We arrive in St. Louis, our first stop of any length, being about forty minutes. Mostly, the train runs at a pretty good clip, though at times slows to a crawl to accommodate a passing freight. While waiting, I get some beautiful shots of the sunset and the train, filtered through the multi-colored glass of the pedestrian overpass.

Oh, it should be said that back in Springfield, my luck had changed with the departure of my seatmate, laptop and all. Though, it is not a change for the better. Her replacement, a young wannabe street hustler, whose clothing reeks of unfiltered tobacco, immediately plugs in his own device, reaching directly across my thighs, with no comment whatsoever. That is about the peak of his civility. Then he gets right to the matter at hand, which is talking on his cell phone in some type of strangely coded nonsense, that I would guess involves either sports betting or some type of illegal activity. A common theme of the calls is needing to procure $20. Though, I will say, he did have an amazing ringtone, which he keeps turned up to maximum volume and features some very grating sound effects, followed by some really bad techno music and finally an obnoxious voice sample. I find out after the trip, it’s actually a stock, preinstalled ringtone for Motorola phones, which has the well-earned distinction of being one of the most hated ringtones of all time, with scads of users queuing up online just to find out how to remove it. It’s a good five to eight seconds long, of which he lets play every moment before answering. Not once does he turn it down as it rings every five or ten minutes – sometimes even seconds apart. This continues well into the night, way past ‘quiet’ time when most passengers are either attempting to sleep or conducting their own business silently. All in all, a real class act. Sadly, as all good thing must come to an end, he gets off at Little Rock, a stop resembling some scene from a dystopian prison film. I fear I will have to endure the rest of the trip alone…

As we speed through the night, horn blaring, we traverse countless, ghostly railroad towns, and I reflect on the luxury of modern travel and that here, on one of the oldest forms of cross-continental transportation, I can easily converse with friends and family, all at the touch of a simple handheld device. I can even book trips, search fares, or monitor Monday’s all important weather conditions as well as an almost infinite number of other options. Of course, things can happen. On my trip to Union Station, I had purchased my Metra ticket online, where it was securely stored in my app, awaiting use. As the conductor approached, I struggled to open the app, having forgotten the password. Fortunately I had safely written it on a small slip of paper that I keep in my wallet. Except it wasn’t there. As I frantically searched, the conductor arrived, and I sheepishly explained what happened. I offered to repurchase the $7 fare, but he simply moved on. Back on my phone, I tapped the “Forgot Password?” icon and my ridiculously easy security question appeared. “What was the color of your first car?”. Confidently, I entered, “Yellow” “Does not match response on file,” came the reply. Hmm. I re-entered, “Tan” Incorrect. “Gold”? Nope! Perhaps it was a humorous answer. “Rust” Wrong again. It was only much later that I realized the correct answer was way too clever for my own good, having been lifted from a lesser-known Scorsese film. Anyway, at some point while still on the train, I remembered I had actually moved the missing slip to a pocket in my phone case, so that I wouldn’t lose it. Doh! Upon leaving the train, I showed the conductor my recovered digital pass. He seemed very appreciative.

Before falling into a fitful sleep, I check my phone once more for a number of forecasts in several locales in and around Leander. Not too promising. I also become painfully aware of just how cramped my so-called bed is; tantalizingly close to being able to fully extend my legs, without the satisfaction of actually being able to do so. I also begin to regret bringing my bulky blanket, but that soon changes as it becomes quite cold in the darkened compartment. Well, that’s one good decision!

Trouble in Texas

Day breaks as we hit Texarkana and a welcome change of scenery; from scruffy urban wilderness to lush, verdant hills punctuated by the occasional placid lake. As the day progresses, I think more of and more about the impending catastrophe of the approaching storms. I religiously check my apps and each time the forecasts look even worse. Would this be a wasted trip? Even if I could somehow make it up to Burnet, the forecast there wasn’t much better than anywhere else. A long shot was Fredericksburg, though at nearly a hundred miles away, it was little more than a pipe dream at this point.

We pull into Dallas. Just past the edge of the platform, the Texas School Book Depository stares back at me, an anachronism betwixt its ultra modern surroundings. As we slowly pull away, Dealey Plaza comes full into view, frozen in time as tourists crowd the main lawn, and a few well placed cars crawl down Elm, eerily mimicking their historical counterparts nearly sixty-one years earlier.

The next stop at Fort Worth is considerably longer as we swap out both engine and crew. The vicinity around the station is a thoroughly unimpressive landscape of skyscrapers and parking garages. About the only point of interest is the local bird population, at least one of which, with its rising high pitched whoops, sounds remarkably like a car alarm! Other than that, why couldn’t we have done this in Dallas? There would have certainly been a lot more to do. At two hours, despite all the learned internet elucidations about many lengthy service stops, this will be the longest of the entire outbound trip.

We are moving again. Just past Waco, I awake from a short, groggy nap to a series of texts awaiting my attention. As I have done many thousands of times before, my fingers quickly glide over the keypad to unlock the phone. Fail. This is not the first time I’ve missed a key or two. I try again, and I fail once more. I’ve never really consciously thought much about the exact keys, just the shape of the sequence itself. After several more tries, each with a slight variation, every attempt fails and now a more ominous development enters the procedure. For every failed attempt, I am penalized a certain number of minutes until I am able to try again. First one, then two, three and five. Well, being confined to a train, I have plenty of time and can try this all day! Several variations later, with the penalty time steadily rising and no real progress, I begin to realize the gravity of the situation. With only a few hours to Austin, I am completely out of touch. With anyone. Does Samsung have a “Forgot Password?” option, much like the Metra app, to unlock the phone? No such luck. What I wouldn’t give right now for that silly, “color of your car” question! And then, once again, fate steps in. Jerry calls.

I should probably explain that I can still receive calls, I just can’t reply nor can I retrieve voicemails without unlocking the phone. I can also read basic texts, the first few lines anyway, but again, I cannot respond. I anxiously explain this to Jerry and ask if he can possibly contact my carrier, Consumer Cellular, to see if they could possibly do a remote bypass or change my code. He’s able to do so (it’s a Sunday!) and calls me right back. He tells me they can help, but they want me physically in the car with him as we run through the procedure. At last, a break! I take one final shot at my password, but by now, I have tried so many variations that I barely have a clue where I even started. The penalty has increased to one hour.

After a bit over a full day on the train, we pull into Austin. As promised, Jerry arrives moments later and we immediately call Consumer Cellular. The rep, after humoring us briefly that a solution might be imminent, asks me what kind of phone it is. When I reply “Samsung,” he tells me that’s Samsung’s problem, not theirs. I explain to him that I had bought the phone from Consumer Cellular as a package deal, and that I have never had any direct contact with Samsung. He says it doesn’t matter. He cannot change or bypass the password; the only other option being a complete factory reset, which would delete everything on my phone. I decline. We call Samsung and get basically the same routine, right down to the factory reset. Great system, considering virtually every other digital device or program I use – even my grocery rewards – displays a “Forgot Password?” prompt if you get it wrong. Not Samsung. Jerry did happen to ask how many attempts I might be allowed to retry my password. The rep wasn’t entirely positive, but thought I was probably at the upper limit, after which my phone would lock up for good. Great. No more random shots in the dark.

So here I am in Austin with no way to unlock my phone, which means that short of some type of chance call, not only can I no longer banter in real time with friends and family, I can also no longer obsessively check my weather apps to gauge what type of disaster this entire thing might turn out to be. But here, the story takes a few very welcome upturns. For one, when I was stuffing my carry-on with all the unnecessary filler I could possibly find, I did manage to include two address books, which I had packed with the intent of sending out postcards. Although I never did, it did mean that, utilizing Jerry’s phone, I can now at least call some of the more indispensable members of my ‘support crew’ to let them know what’s going on and to arrange call-backs. Secondly, Jerry is more than willing to drive wherever we need to go for the best viewing, including far off Fredericksburg! Things are starting to look up, though the forecast still appears pretty grim throughout much of the area. Well decide in the morning.

It’s All Up to The Sun

6 a.m. is a curious thing. For some, it’s the promise of a new day! Time to rejuvenate! To refresh! For others – say the two of us – it’s just really too damn early. Of course, I am frequently up at 6:00 a.m., but on the wrong side of the equation. Checking the apps, there are storms on the horizon, but both Fredericksburg and Burnet now at least look somewhat promising. With nearly identical forecasts, we opt for the closer, cutting our distance and travel time in half.

Buchanan Lake, is a large dammed reservoir in Llano County, fifteen miles west of Burnet, and more importantly, dead center in the line of totality. There is a small resort area on the southwest rim called Black Rock Park, which on any other day would be an easy place to secure a parking space for a modest fee. We head out. Along the way, we pass a number of tiny scruffy lots with hastily painted signs reading, “ECLIPSE VIEWING $30!”. Almost every drive is roped off, as frequent portable DOT traffic signs flash: “NO ECLIPSE PARKING ON THE SIDE OF ROAD”. The park opens at 8:00 and we arrive just outside the gate around 7:45. The fact that there are only a few cars waiting to get in should be a dead giveaway, but we wait anyway. As the gate rises, we roll up to the unattended kiosk which has a fresh hand-written sign taped to the glass: “All Spaces Sold Out”.

We head back down Lakeshore Drive a short distance and pass yet another makeshift lot, this one proclaiming, “ECLIPSE $135”. A little further on, there’s another that seems to have a view of the lake. We pull in. “How much?” asks Jerry. Well, the answer is less than $135, but considerably more than the $35 we saw miles back. Personally, it is not a price I would jump at, but Jerry, to whom I am eternally grateful, and not wishing to spend the rest of the morning driving around Texas in search of a better location, generously offers to pay. And it is a great location. The grizzled proprietors wave us in, their makeshift table loaded down with snacks, drinks and eclipse paraphernalia, all for a modest additional fee, of course.

I don’t blame the landowners for wanting to cash in on this freak occurrence, and truth be told, we are not the only ones taking them up on the offer. The proprietors are very personable, and even provide us a portable air pump to inflate one of our tires that they point out is quite low. They didn’t have to do that. Still, as they spew off a smattering of eclipse trivia they probably picked up from the morning news, I don’t get the impression they’re really ‘feeling it’.

They point to the water in the distance, this again being ostensibly lake shore access. “Well,” he begins, “you go down this road here, pass them houses there and then take a hard right where it disappears behind those bushes, just before you get to that two-story job –” I’m having childhood flashbacks of Jonathan Winters and my own father asking directions in rural America on one of our ill-fated family road trips. “Then you come to this ridge, and you have to be careful going down because there’s those – what do you call them? – gopher holes, and you could break you ankle.” Easy so far! “Then, once you’re down there, be careful of the deep ruts from the heavy machinery they’ve been hauling in.” Miraculously, we make our way through the gauntlet, all cautions observed and skillfully avoided.

It’s about 8:30, five hours before showtime. As far as the weather goes, the sky is milky white and threatening rain. A light mist fills the air. At water’s edge, there is a lone metal pier, with a padlocked security gate discouraging access. A skeletal table stands on the far end. On shore, a large, black pickup awaits, though for what we cannot say. It is unoccupied. As we take in the scenery, our luck begins to change. There are now a several breaks in the clouds, and we even get a brief glimpse of the sun now and again.

Getting up up early is starting to take its toll on us, and we decide to retreat back to the car for some refreshments and a few moments of precious sleep. As we rest, the sun returns, more frequent now, as the temperature quickly rises into the 80’s.

Newly refreshed, and with less less than an hour to go, we head back down to the shore. There are still clouds, but they were generally low and quick moving, giving us at least a fighting chance for some kind of visibility. We reclaim our vantage point. A hundred yards away, on the other side of the inlet, a small family picnic is in full swing, with dogs frolicking and an impressive looking tripod-mounted scope and camera. There are a few others scattered along the shore, though I think the majority stayed back at the lot.

A small white boat approaches from across the lake. It docks at the pier, and four fishermen pile off with their wiry, white-bearded captain in tow, obviously the owner of the enterprise. They quickly unload their catch onto the table, as long knives glisten and they expertly slice and filet their bounty, tossing the discards back into the lake. A small clutch of seagulls quickly appear, swooping and diving for scraps. One of the men, looking quite satisfied, unlocks the gate and exits the pier, cooler in arms as he heads for the truck. “Are you here for the eclipse?” he asks. “Yes!” we respond. Despite sporting an eclipse t-shirt, he does not seem to be aware that the event is already well on its way. We inform him such and he pulls out his paperboard glasses, perhaps for the first time. He tells the others.

By now, things has gotten pretty dim with everything shrouded in that eerie, polarized light you will often see even at partial eclipses. The temperature drops and a persistent wind builds up, kicking up the waves. Scanning the sky, an almost entirely clear opening seems to be heading our way and directly where it needs to be at peak of totality. “This is going to work!” I exclaim, not quite believing it myself. There are still some small passing clouds, but even these at times work to our advantage, giving us periodic safe views of the rapidly diminishing sun, no glasses required.

With only minutes to spare, the fisherman load their gear into the truck and speed away, perhaps racing to some distant eclipse party, oblivious to the fact that the event is very, nearly behind them. At that moment, almost like the lull before a storm, things begin to get very, very strange. Only a tiny dot of sunlight remains as it struggles to hold on, and then, as though with the flick of a switch, the lights go out, leaving us in a deep, rich dusk, a glowing horizon in every direction. A tiny cloud bank momentarily blocks our view, eliciting a loud “No!” from across the channel. But it is quickly replaced by gasps and cheers, and even a few fireworks, as a beautiful, pure white circle appears painted on the darkened sky, its corona spiking off in every direction.

It’s always difficult to explain what this moment is like to someone who’s never experienced it. It is very visceral, emotional, even primordial, and you immediately vow to never miss another. Unfortunately, missing a total solar eclipse is quite easy in the heart of America (or any singular location for that matter), as they are quite rare, this and the one seven years ago being the only two I’ve been able to witness in my lifetime. Short of some serious world travel, with a few chartered excursions to remote deserts, polar regions and the middle of the ocean, this opportunity will not arise again in these parts for another two decades. Will I be there? I’m sure I’ll try!

They say every eclipse is different, and based on my own meager pair of observations, I would have to agree. The thin veil of haze in the Texas sky makes the stars and planets less visible than they had been in Missouri, where the absolute clarity made the sun and moon appear three dimensional and very much alive – like some mythical creature of yore, curiously suspended in the air. The whole color scheme was different. Also, being at the lake, with no nearby trees to speak of, we are unable to witness that multitude of crescent suns that are strewn across the ground, as the last rays of sunlight pass between the leaves, each creating its own pinhole viewer.

Even so, the sky is mercifully clear throughout with only a few passing wisps of haze, creating some nice photographic effects. This time around, there are also small red protrusions around the edge of the sun. Solar flares! The owner of the fishing boat comes down the pier to join us, pretty much in awe, as you would have to be under these circumstances. Suddenly, the urge strikes him to attempt to engage us in an impromptu philosophical discussion, with a heavy bent toward spirituality and new age mysticism. “Really,” I’m thinking, “Just look up and soak it in. It’ll be over before you know it.” And it was. As if on cue, the final moment is once again briefly obscured, though it does afford me one hazy image of the diamond ring. And then, daylight returns. Even though this eclipse was nearly twice as long as the last, it feels even shorter.

When the sun returns, you get the immediate impression of full daylight, despite it still being almost completely blocked. I realize now, we could have easily sought out the pin-hole effect as we passed many trees on our way back to the car, but the sky is quickly clouding over and the threat of nasty weather has not diminished. We have beat the odds, but it’s time to go. Back in the lot, I ask the proprietor how he liked it. He can barely form the words. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that!” Another satisfied customer. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad plan after all. In truth, as I was to learn later, just about the entire county had beaten the odds. The sun made an appearance in almost every locale, even putting on a spectacular, cloud-free show in Indianapolis.

As we head back to Leander, we cross through Hill Country, aptly named for its lush rolling foothills. My perception of the return trip is very odd. While it takes a solid ninety minutes to return, I could swear our trip out was no more than half an hour at best! My fragmented sleep pattern is starting to affect me.

The Road Home and Another Plan

The next morning, it’s back to Austin to board the train for my twenty-eight hour journey home. Once again, we leave at 6 a.m. to avoid the early morning rush. We make good time and arrive at the station with sufficient time to kill. I have another great plan up my sleeve!

I reason, while I couldn’t presently access my regular phone, nothing was keeping me from buying a tracfone, or “burner” as they’re commonly known in the parlance of television crime shows, where it seems someone is always breaking one in two or baking it in the microwave. For a modest cost, I assumed, I could potentially keep connected on my way home, not to mention giving me something to occupy my time. Of course, having never dealt drugs, set up hits for the mob or been involved in international espionage, I know absolutely nothing about tracfones, and ceded any expertise to the young clerk at Target. Unfortunately, she also knows nothing about pre-paid phones, as we forage through the display case in search of the cheapest model. We settle on an official Tracfone Blu View 4 (with state of the art 4G!) for $30 and a $15 data card, which she erroneously reads off as having “unlimited text and data”. It will be activated at checkout.

Once at checkout, a different clerk is having considerable trouble figuring out how to activate the card and says she will have to call someone for assistance. A moment later, quicker than you can say “Michael Palin with a false mustache,” the original clerk arrives as they muddle through the procedure together. Somehow it gets done.

Back at the station, Jerry suggests I try to set up the phone to make sure there are no further glitches. There’s a few poorly explained steps, but with a little trial and error, the rest seems pretty straight forward, leaving only the final activation number yet to call. But that will have to wait – it’s time to board. Besides, I have twenty-eight hours to work it out.

As the train pulls out of Austin, it begins to rain. Many of my fellow passengers, including my seatmate, had also come for the eclipse, and impressions and harrowing stories of narrowly missed storms are rampant throughout the car. But this new weather system will not miss us as the skies darken and the winds begin to rage. Just past Dallas, my window becomes a horizontal sheet of streaming rain, with multiple lightening strikes off in the distance. Angry rivulets of rushing water surge alongside, as though they are going to wash the rails out from under us. The train slows to a crawl, and then stops, as piercing weather alerts go off throughout the cabin, even my not yet activated tracfone. Apparently, tornadoes have been spotted close by.

When things calm down a bit, I have some time to work on the phone and call the activation number clearly printed several times on both the box and the manual. “We cannot complete your call as dialed, please check the number and dial again.” Hmm.

Eventually, using one of the so-called support lines, and a bit of deft maneuvering around the less than helpful automated menu, I manage to speak to a live operator. Well, sort of. Seated somewhere on the opposite of the Pacific, she is quite capable of reading a script, and gives me some useful information, like the number of a different activation line. “We cannot complete your call as dialed, please check the number and dial again.” I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here. Calling the support line back a little while later, I get a different operator, though probably seated somewhere in the same room as my previous call. Amazingly, after initially raising my hopes by requesting a few, so far un-requested serial numbers, she is actually worse than the first, being totally incapable of answering even the most basic question. “Questions are a burden to others”. Wasn’t that the motto of The Village? I guess this new plan wasn’t so foolproof either!

We had picked up an extra car back in Dallas to accommodate a glut of new passengers. My original seatmate had exited back in Fort Worth in order to make her connecting route back home to Oklahoma City – a train she had unfortunately already missed due to the conditions. She would now have a five hour wait. I was relieved when her seat was quickly filled by a single occupant. We had been warned that newly boarding families would have seating priority, meaning I could possibly lose my window seat. My new seatmate, being another eclipse tourist, was initially quite communicative, but soon retreated into his noise canceling headphones, which remained in place for the duration of the ride.

The next morning, I awake to find the train now four and a half hours behind schedule, due to weather and frequent stops and slow downs to accommodate passing freight, who have the right of way. This, of course, complicates things as far as my pickup is concerned, having no way to directly contact anyone with updates. Fortunately, I had had the foresight before boarding to prearrange a few incoming calls, which thankfully go off like clockwork. Things seem to be back on track. I make a few more attempts at activating my new phone to no avail.

We are now moving at what at least ‘feels’ like a much quicker pace. Somewhere in Missouri I look out my window at the swiftly passing town, which looks oddly familiar. It is DeSoto, where I witnessed my first total eclipse.

A bit further on, we are riding in tandem with the wide Mississippi; silver-gray as it stretches out under the overcast sky to the distance shore beyond. For a few moments, I have company, as a majestic bird glides alongside. It is a bald eagle.

Although, I had successfully delayed our rendezvous at the Schaumburg station, fate has one final hand to play. By the time we reach Joliet, we have now made up enough time that we will arrive in Chicago an hour earlier than we had previously been told. I guess I’ll have a bit more time to kill after all.

The transfer at Union Station could not go better. I virtually step off one train and on to another. Before long, we are on our way, racing toward home. Except, we aren’t. The train had left the station a several minutes behind, somewhat unusual for Metra. Now, just after our first stop, the train is on hold, as the conductor moves carefully down the aisle, touching each seat as though looking for something. As he passes, I tell him “Schaumburg,” to which he methodically replies, “Seven dollars,” and then continues on, not collecting any fares. Then, we are moving again, though at times quite slowly. At the next station, we lag behind once more, then continue on as we trudge on west. We skip a few stops, and then for the final push, regain our proper speed as we roll into Schaumburg, now considerably behind schedule. As I exit the train, there is a very pungent odor of something burning from under the carriage. The train pulls away, and shortly after, my ride arrives – I am home at last!

(A day or so later, I am finally able to activate my tracfone, after calling the same activation number from a landline and speaking at length with a very knowledgeable tech who is not only able to resolve my problem, but is even able to actively engage in dialogue without reading it off a screen! I imagine by now he’s been let go. While I am able to use the phone for a day or so at work, I was never able to use it for the purpose I bought I for.

Soon after, I made some further inquiries into bypassing or changing my password on my Galaxy. Several websites explained exactly how and what I needed to provide. Armed with this knowledge, I once again contacted my provider, who assured me it was pure fantasy, and again offered a factory reset. I called by friend Bill, who has a background in IT, who essentially confirmed their position, but who also set me straight on the inaccurate notion that there is a terminal number of times you can attempt to reenter your password (not on a Samsung, anyway). I retried my password. 57 texts waiting!)

Chris,

April 2024

Extra special thanks to my ‘support crew’, home and abroad: Al, Jerry, Perry, Cindy, Mary, Mary, Laurie & Dan!