The Eagle

 I too once had one of those ride the rails for free cards.  Courtesy of Blago before he went to the steel hotel in Colorado and they straightened things out a little.  I recommend also Aurora and Elgin both of which are pretty good sized and were their own towns for some time before the the broad shoulders gave them the big hug that turned them into drab and drear suburbia.

Back in the days when I lived in The Land of Milk and Honey when we drove back to Chicago there was always a sign on the interstate that pointed Chicago to the right, Memphis to the left.  Memphis, it sounded so far away and exotic, but we always went right to familiar and boring Chicago.

Likewise I think of Old Dog standing on that wintry platform and along comes the Texas Eagle, and he thinks what the hell.  He has that savoir faire such that no conductor would question him as he took his seat and before you knew it he would be dining on chiles relleno on the riverwalk in Old San Antone.

That was my train when I left The Little Nubbin of Nirvana.  I boarded about suppertime in Chicago.  At midnight I was passing through St Louis.  They had a couple of those big gambling boats at the time which lit up the night and the whole thing reminded me of the Susie Q scene in Apocalypse Now.  Holds up well.  Watch it again: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Decko2h-S20

The next morning we were moving through Little Rock, I treated myself to an exotic Belgian Waffle, which was a bit of a disappointment in that it was just a big waffle.  

And then it was on to the miles and miles of miles and miles of Texas, and late that night I was drinking Shiner Bocks along with a couple of my Champaign expats.

Turns out that when I settled down there I was only a block or two from where the Texas Eagle makes a turn from south to southwest on the way to San Antonio with a big blast of horn.  I tried to schedule my phone calls to around dinnertime so the listener would hear the blast and when they asked what was that, I would say, Why Son, that is the train to Old San Antone.

Another one of the bad things about being old is that there are no more big adventures, well no good ones.  In younger days Old Dog would have been drinking tequila out of dark eyed Senorita's slippers.  Nowadays he would have been rousted off the train at Pontiac to figure out his own way home.

Actually I am too old to be a boomer, the war was still going on in Japan when I was born.  Boomers didn't start until 1946, but I try to pass just for the glory.

And look at those balloons!  Not sure what to make of the one in the photo.  A motorcycle, or maybe an abstract?  Will likely have to wait a couple weeks for the response and maybe Old Dog will have moved to another adventure so maybe I will never know.

I know Old Dog is still kicking because he likes my weekly art post every Sunday.  But sure would be nice to hear more from him.