The night on the train was freezing again. I'm already wearing a jacket and a sweater over it, but that's not enough for the temperatures generated by the air conditioning in the train cars. As an additional layer of warmth, I have already put the neoprene sleeve of my laptop over my legs and a beach cloth serves as a would-be blanket. But it only warms psychologically, because it is so thin that you can see through it. However, I survived this night as well and I am surprised at how long you can sleep in this forced position. The backrests of the seats recline far back and an additional leg rest expands the sleeping area - but none of this replaces a real bed. Still, I can sleep until half past seven. As expected, we left Colorado overnight and as I pull back the curtain I see the rolling hills of Nevada.
Where Colorado was characterized by canyons, eroded mesas and barren, rocky soil, here in Nevada the mountain ranges are softer, the soil is sandy and sparsely covered with bushes. You can also see the dead bushes that are being blown like a ball through the desert by the wind.
A highway runs parallel to the railway line for a long stretch. There is hardly any traffic and mostly single trucks can be seen. You are experiencing the trucker romance that people in Germany dream of. Whether they want to or not. There are also few settlements. The most important place is also the last one where our train stops in Nevada: Reno.
In the meantime, the clock had to be set back another hour, because Pacific Time already applies in Nevada. That is eight hours time difference to German summer time.
Now we're heading into California and up to the Sierra Nevada, the "snowy mountain range", as the translation from Spanish says. And it lives up to its name.
There is still a lot of snow and it is cold. Even colder than it already is in the car anyway. Pine forests line the mountains, and deep blue lakes can be seen in the valley below. Very slowly we roll behind a freight train that is running on the neighboring track, but still cannot be overtaken because of the many curves. For at least an hour we move just a little bit faster than walking pace. Later, our train stops on the open track for a very long time.
It's already lunchtime and our train is still sneaking around up here. We’re supposed to arrive at Sacramento at half past one. But it's almost four o'clock when I finally get off the train. At the station building I see my suitcase on a luggage trolley. So it's been offloaded here already, and I hope it's later loaded onto the train that's taking me to Seattle. But that won't be until midnight. Here in Sacramento I have seven hours layover. First of all, I want to eat something real because for almost a week I've been living off the contents of my canned provisions.
I have the cool box with me that I bought for my brother. It's useful on the train, but it's not a backpack, so it's a hassle to lug it around. Luckily, I only have to walk two blocks to get to downtown Sacramento. Here I treat myself to a burger and salad and the biggest hunger is tamed. I see a sign for Old Sacramento and follow it through an underpass under the freeway. On the other side I come out in the wild west.
I sit down on a bench by the Sacramento River. There are old steam locomotives, and a paddle steamer is moored here. A sign tells me that the Pony Express mail riders arrived here from the west and handed their mail over to the ship, which then carried it on to San Francisco. Every day of the week except Sunday when there was no ship going and the pony post riders had to continue riding to the Pacific. Later the railway was built, which from then on carried freight and mail. But even then, the Pony Express took over the delivery of mail to San Francisco on Sundays.
A black reggae couple has set up a stand on the promenade and is playing their music over a loudspeaker. One is a DJ, the other drums or sings through a microphone. It has nothing to do with western romance, but that's modern west coast America. I sip my cup of root beer from the burger joint and watch people stroll to the riverside restaurants all dressed up for Memorial Day weekend. It is a colorful bunch of all ethnic groups and styles of dress.
At seven o'clock I go looking for something to eat in the evening. I would like to go to a Mexican restaurant because I don't reckon there will be as many of them in Canada as there are here in California, which has a direct border with Mexico and a strong Latino culture. It's Friday night but many restaurants are now or have already closed.
Even if many restaurants are open all day, it is difficult for me to understand how these opening times are structured.
There isn't even a Mexican restaurant within walking distance and I'm glad I can find a place to eat at all. I'll try again with a pizza. I had a very bad experience with it the last time I was in San Antonio. But everyone deserves a second chance. Also, American pizza isn't inherently bad, and this one at Pete's Restaurant is really OK. I can't even finish it all because the last burger wasn't that long ago and I take half of it with me in a pizza box to supplement my provisions.
California is a place of longing, but for many people their hopes are not fulfilled and the "American Dream" becomes a nightmare. Along the railway tracks, the countless tents of the homeless are unmissable and their inhabitants are also part of the cityscape in downtown Sacramento.
My train to Seattle doesn't leave until midnight, but I make my way back to the station anyway to settle down and be near a restroom. Some homeless people also try to stay in the station waiting room, but the security staff identify them as not belonging here, put on their gloves and throw them out. The people behaved completely inconspicuously, but it is probably one of the guidelines of the train stations that they are not allowed to be there.
The local Sacramento newspaper is free, and like the Boston newspaper, I'm surprised at how mundane the articles are. These newspapers are the same content-thin soup as ours. At least the comics are funny in this Sone.
As at the other train stations, there is also personal support from the train staff in Sacramento. The conductor comes into the waiting room and checks the tickets for all of us and then gives us the slip of paper with the abbreviation of our destination. Then us passengers march to the platform and the conductor makes sure that nobody gets lost. According to the announcement, the train was supposed to be late, but now it arrives on time. I show the conductor at the door my slip of paper with SEA for Seattle and she assigns me a seat.
Today I'm pretty tired and it's not as cold in the car as it has been the last few nights. In these conditions, it only takes me a few minutes to fall asleep and ride the Coast Starlight train north through nocturnal California.
