Something always goes wrong--we know that--and yet we plan as though we could make it perfect.  I'd heard about a cruise on the Chesapeake Bay. Autumn would be a perfect time for me--usually a slow month in the publishing world as far as hearing from editors and agents.  Schools aren't yet asking for author talks, conventions come later, but here on the East Coast, we know that fall hurricanes can make mincemeat out of a vacation on the water.

Okay, May.  Our anniversary.  And there it was in the brochure: leaving May 26 from Annapolis, returning June 2.  Perfect.  Not too warm, not too cold, not too far from us, and so--many months in advance--I called and made the reservation.

A month or so before departure, the cruiseline called and said that our ship would, unfortunately, be in dry-dock at that time.  Could they schedule us for the following week on another ship?  I grumbled and complained--an anniversary celebration, after all--but better a week late than no trip at all.   And a week in early June couldn't be that much different from a week in late May, could it?

The tail-end of Hurricane Barry brought slashing rain, the crab pickers at the picking plant we were supposed to see had gone home early, and the end of the cruise ended in a heat wave.  Nevermind that we gave up a walking tour of Annapolis in 95 degree weather to stay on the ship and watch Godfather II and III on our room DVD.   We were together, it was vacation, and that's what vacations are for.

 

Okay, so it's not always glorious by train.  Heading off on the Cardinal for some talks in West Virginia, my husband and I looked forward to the dogwoods and other flowering trees in the New River Gorge.  We left DC at eleven in the morning and were to arrive in Charleston about 8:30 PM.  And then....a freight train broke down ahead of us, and when we finally reached Charleston, it was 4:30 AM.

But we had no connection to make, we had a hotel waiting, and though we got only a few hours of sleep before our host picked us up, we endured.  And in the sleepy haze of the next few hours...next few days, actually...I kept thinking about the pioneers who made it across the country with no Amtrak restrooms and cafe car, no roomettes with fluffy pillows, no heat or air-conditioning, no smooth tracks on which to wheel their wagons, and no hotel waiting for them when they arrived three months later.  Such a complainer I am.  The dogwoods were even more beautiful on the way back, and the train was on time.

I'm just back from some talks in Georgia by way of my favorite form of transportation, the train.  No boarding hassle, no seatbelts to fasten, no ban on cell phones, no wait on the tarmac....  Okay, sometimes trains are late, but in the forty or so years I've been traveling about the country, my train was canceled only once due to a mudslide.  Yes, a few times a car or truck tried to beat the train and lost, but passengers never suspected until the train slowed to a stop, and it wasn't a station.  And occasionally the air-conditioning didn't work, or the toilets stopped up, or an attendant was too bored or too busy to help out, but in my experience, that's been the exception.

The wonderful part, for me, is that I can work on the way to our destination.  Most writers are not continually looking down at their paper while working, or staring ahead at a computer screen.  They stare at the wall, the floor, a chair, a desk, formulating words in their heads before putting them to paper.  Friends often ask why I take the train when I could get somewhere far faster by plane, and I try to explain that if I were writing at home in the two or three days I'm on Amtrak, I would be sitting in the same chair, staring at the same drapes I have been looking at for  years.  On the train, I'm comfortable in my sleeping compartment with my clipboard on my lap, and I'm treated to a constant panorama as the country whizzes by outside my picture window.  I don't have to interact with it.  No one will knock on my door if I request it.  If I need exercise, I can walk from one end of the train to the other, as often as I like.  And if I want company, I go to the lounge.

Then there's the diner.  I'm seated with three other strangers for a leisurely meal that can last an hour and a half, time for a real conversation.  Miraculously, there have been times in my writing I've thought, I really need to ask a geologist this question or If only I could meet a rancher.  And this has been the very person seated across from me at my next meal.  Sometimes I've exchanged addresses with a person I found especially interesting, and we write to each other about once a year, remembering that wonderful train ride.

In April I'm going to New York and West Virginia.  My hand will be holding a pen, but my eyes will be on the window.