My Notebook of my Trip to Cleveland

(I'm sorry about the short paragraphs. On my tiny little writing pad they seemed much longer. Anyhow, this is how it looks, ink on paper. I did not plan to share this, so my choice of words may seem inappropriate at times. All the same, I share without editing.)
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Boston, MA South Station, 11:50AM, mid-October 2006

Mike Barrell just took off. Here at the train depot, the World seems to be still half-asleep. Everyone sipping capped drinks, blinking and rubbing their baggy eyes, and keeping to themselves.

I'm on my way to Cleveland. I've never been to Cleveland before, and a dear friend has invited me to come and paint some rooms for her. So off I go!

Such cute-ness in abundance, here at the depot! Ah! The train is boarding!


* * *


And, speaking of cuteness, Holy Blessed Boston! Stepping onto the train, I viddied the finest pair of legs attached to the most amazing body...a dark-skinned woman, her face obscured by her smooth, hanging locks, dressed in a black mini-skirt, heels, and a white button-down shirt. Model material, material most serial, a conspiratorial matter, a matter of concern...I really must cut back on reading Rabelais, shouldn't I?

And we're off!

Good-bye, O my Sweet Hometown! Into Ohio for these bones, which, by the way, starve now for nourishment. As I sat in the bustling train-depot and eyeballed the Tired Ones chomping their 5$ bagels I hadn't a hint of appetite. Of course now, with no victuals available, my tongue waters at the thought of the plainest bagel!

Big billboard for Stella Artois just coasted by...I have peppermint schnapps calling softly to me from my travel-bag.

"Driiiiiiink meeeeeee," it coos, "I'm delisciously pepperminty!"

There are low-hanging grey clouds here in New England. Wonder what awaits in Ohio?


* * *

Cripes. The older, English couple in the seats next to mine are having a veritable feast! They've got slices from my favourite pizza-place in the Beanville, scones, and Caesar salads with croutons! They've got such a picnic they've lowered their trays and outright set table. Me? I've got Poland Spring spring water, Polar dry orange soda, and my yummy (very yummy!) peppervescent shcnappsis.

Crimini, could they eat any slower? Must they savour every morsel?! Can't they see I'm frickin' stahvin' ovah he-ah?

Because you're mine, I walk the line...

For some reason, I began to hear "You Are My Sunshine" in my Inner Ears, but it concluded with Johnny Cash.

Oh, that's right, you old farts, pour that Caesar dressing on!!

Now hold everything! Some freak just passed by with a box full o'goodies...is there food on this train?

I must investigate...

* * *

Wow, I feel better! One cold-in-the-middle 6$ microwave cheeseburger and a Corona later, and they can Corona me King of the Amtrak!

That was a model, by-the-by, who I glimpsed upon entering the train-car. I asked her. I had thought that she was a black girl, she was so dark, but, no, just as tan as money can pay for. Her body leaves no space for critique whatsoever; but she wears too much makeup on her face.

I wonder, were I a chica, would I wear much make-up? Women vary --- O! how they vary! --- in how much makeup they wear. And it's not as though only the less fortunate (physically speaking) are the only ones to cake it on, no, downright natural beauties sometimes get bullet-proof with their cosmetics. I wonder if I'd wear makeup, had I been born a woman? Neither my mother nor my sister do, but I suspect I am more vain than they. I systematically isolate and obliviate each of the half-dozen snow-white hairs that have crept into my beard. Perhaps, were I of the Fairer Sex, I should blush my cheeks, paint my lips, curl my eyelashes, perfume my nape...

Mmmmm! Pepperliscious Schnappenpoodle! We passed by a place I'm sure I went picking for mint in, as a child. Massachusetts ain't a half-bad lookin' place, seen from the ambling Amtrak, with Corona and minty merriness sloshing all down into your gutty-wutts. And models in the back of the train, lounging about in their slippers. If I could live on a train, a moving train, I might not be so dis-satisfied around here.


* * *

No kidding, a coupla old-boys are talking about how great the "steam-days" of the railroads were. Wow. Steam days, really?

We're pulling into smoke-ville, Springfield, MA. Bunch of old cars in parking lots, nice-looking models from the 60s and 70s.


* * *

Found out the last steam-train 'round these parts ran in 1959. Warning to All Who Might Be Curious: watch out asking a good 'ol boy about the steam-days, they've got plenty to say!

So now it's Heinetime, here in the dining-car. I think I feel a nap coming on. Still more than 12 hours to go before I reach Cleveland.

Since we're leaving Springfield, it can't be much longer 'til we break the crust of New York State. Wonder if there will be snow?

I can't say enough how superior train-travel is! You can move from car to car, you can have a feed, you can get your drink on, you can watch the World slide by...it's fantastic. It's not so much a journey as an event itself, seen the right way. A day on a train!

O, the yawns keep comin'. Yep, there's a nap a-comin' this way.

At another table, a woman is playing cards by herself. I nearly spoke to her, but I'm not in the mood to let gobbledygook spill from my lips into this hapless train car. Besides, she only had one Bud Light and called it quits. There's no way we'd get along.

I sometimes wonder if people aren't annoyed with the little names I give them. I called the man working the microwave "Captain", and the conductor "Major".

Huh. There's a mountain out there reminds me of Teotihuacan.

The leaves are glorious out here in the country, bursting with colour. From time to time the Sun peaks out, and the colours seem to become electric.

Taaaaalk to the Bomb.....tooooo the Bomb, to the Bomb.....can't seem to get that chorus out of my head! It's either Sabina of Johnny ringin' in my ears, and I just can't shake 'em!

Son of another rebel woman

Aaaaaah!

I'm thinking of visiting the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame when I get to Cleveland. I've got beef. Steely Dan is in there, and I want 'em out. Jazzy crap. They ain't rock...ROLL 'EM OUT!!! Wonder if it's worth getting arrested for? They do not belong in the same Hall as Buddy Holly!

There's a guy with sunglasses on sitting across from me. Looks like he's staring at me.

Talk to the Bomb, Mister.

New England really is a picturesque, cozy little place.

Hah! Just noticed that Heineken brags about a beer award from Amsterdam....well, figger that!

Looks like we're heading in under some clouds. What time is that, kids?

Nap-time!!


* * *

In the darkness, the night-time, the train ain't all that special. It's real country dark out there, when I look out the window I see only my reflection, once in a while a streetlight somewhere out there in the murk.

And I'm coming down with a cold! Well, some sort of scratchy cold-thing, and my nose is getting raw and runny. Sucks. An ugly Midwestern man behind me was couging up a storm when we boarded this train, and I remember thinking "I'd better not catch this geek's sickness!" That was a little over two hours ago, and now I've got the annoying constant low-throat cough/clear...and pain, and a drying up of my moist, soft tissues. Could I have caught his bug so quickly? And why's the train lurching around so much? It wasn't like this back in Massachusetts...

There's a black girl with the most gorgeous hands back near my seat. Seriously, beautiful, shapely hands. She's watching a movie on her laptop computer, and I'm at just the angle where I can't make a thing out, it all looks like snow and oil-puddles to me.

Well, this Lemon Lift tea has soothed my throat, and now I'm looking forward to dinner. There's no chef on the train, I'm sure of that, but you know how it is...when you're hungry it all tastes 5-star. Even that cold-in-the-middle burger I had earlier was good. I think it must be about dinner-time. Think I'll have a slash and a feed.


* * *

The dining-room car is full, full, and loud with discussion. Funny thing, folks like to talk when they eat, don't they? Not I, said the Wolf! I've never enjoyed talking and eating, really, or eating and talking, or any of that lark.

Hmm, well, salad's arrived. Time to munch.

* * *


I was seated at dinner with 2 pleasant gentlemen, 1 a cook in the Air Force, the other a grad student of philosophy. Very nice guys, both of them, and Socrates quickly followed my lead and started drinking. I had gin + tonic as a digestif, he chose whiskey and lemon-lime soda. I thought that odd, too. We all shared Love of Music in common, Socrates and I both musicians, and Wingman quite fanatically obsessed with show-tunes and those who sing them. Wingman did not drink any alcohol, Socrates and I had several. We closed out the dining-car, and then the lounge-car.

So now I am bored, seated next to a gorgeous young woman focused on her schoolwork, still with my pepperminty travelling companion begging for attention. I'd like to give it some, I've got a nice buzz goin', but I don't want to frighten the young cutie so studious sitting next to me.

So now just about 3 hours from Cleveland (I think). I'm a bit embarassed, I've come all this way to do a painting job, and I've forgotten my brushes. Tsk-tsk, and my hand-tools. Bad form. Atrocious form.

Here at my seat there is not so much glare as there was in the dining-car, so I can actually see the night-time landscape, the buildings, and now we wonder if we're going to go through Pennsylvania? Is Pennsylvania between Buffalo, NY, and Cleveland, OH? I should know this stuff...but I don't.

That's shameful!!!