The Snow Train

The trip up to Sault Ste. Marie Michigan via "motor coach" began ominously with icy Clark Road leading to the parking lot where we were to be picked up. Having arrived early, we waited and watched as cars turning into the lot made 360s. We boarded the bus with prefunctory "hello's", strangers to one another as we were. Northward we went. The snow came down in intense flurries making the highway slushy. The bus rocked in the cross winds. For our 19 travelers, each were thankful that someone else was driving. We began connecting with one another by giving a short synopsis of who we were and where we came from. Many of us are retirees; many enumerated children and grandchildren. Some were State of Michigan office workers, some from Michigan State University, others transplants from West Virginia, even Australia. Most were born and raised within a few short miles of Lansing. The funniest threesome: the Slut Sisters, co-workers for the State of Michigan who nicknamed themselves and carried the title with pride; the most intriguing to me: a former "Flying Tiger" who during WW II flew the "hump" from Burma to China carrying supplies that turned the tide of war against the Japanese. The Japanese seemed invicible and had committed the "Rape of Nansing". Before being stopped, the Japanese were marching towards Chungking along the banks of the Yangtze River. A memorial is erected in Chungking in honor of the "Flying Tigers" and our traveling companion had visited there, greeted warmly.

Our tour reached the Quality Inn on time inspite of the weather, KK and I going to the Family Dollar Store to purchase a makeshift bathing suit so I could swim in the Motel pool. We bussed into town for dinner at the Ramada Hotel dining room overlooking the Soo Locks, now frozen and stark. White fish, freshly caught from Lake Superior, perfectly baked and garnished was the majorities' entre. After dinner, our driver dropped a contingent of us off at the Native American Casino. KK and I headed for the slots where we spent the next hours winning and loosing, having broken even between the two of us for the evening. A shuttle ride back to the Motel included a casino regular and a demographic lesson: an almost 80 year old, cigarette smoking women, who lives by herself on Social Security, knows and chats with our shuttle driver. She lives in a former single story, 8 room motel, converted into low income apartments, with mounds of snow lining the walkway into each door. The shuttle driver waited until the woman had opened her door and entered, he saying to us, as if by way of apology for the delay, "I'll wait until she opens the door. Last night I had to help her unlock her door." The casino provides socialization in this town of 16,000 which has little to do except drink, snowmobile, and watch satellite "Direct TV" programing. The shuttle follows back roads to our motel. We get out, tip the driver, enter our warm room smelling of cigarette smoke.

KK and I awakened at 5 AM to be ready for breakfast at 6 AM, to be ready for our 7AM departure for the Snow Train. Across the International Bridge, high up, we look down upon the massive American side locks, large enough for 1000 foot ore carriers, and, further on, over the smaller locks, mainly for pleasure boats on the Canadian side. Expectantly holding our passports, the bus stops at Canadian Customs, the driver gets out and enters the customs' booth, returns and says that our Phillipino origin, former Australian, now American green card holder must get out of the bus and go inside the booth. She stands, pauses, turns to the group and waves and says "goodbye", she takes her leave. Quickly she returns and off we go to the Sault Ste. Marie train station. We are early, the train is late. Finally, the two engine 10 car train arrives and we go to our group assigned car: #5. Vintage 1950's, refurbished in red seating, large windows, and a redone, now stainless steel toilet, retrofitted with a holding tank. Apparently environmental laws have caught up to the frozen North. The whisle blew, the train lurches forward and we snake our way, first through the switch yard, past the Algoma Steel mills, and quickly into the suburban areas of this city of 75,000. We parallel Highway 17, although we can not see it because of the trees, up the AGAWA Valley to the Provincial Park at the end of our 114 mile route. Yes, the markings along the rail line are in miles; highway # 17 is in kilometers. The train picks up speed, to 40 miles per hour and we are rocking from side to side. Seated, we begin to snap pictures through the windows, reminded by the overhead speaker of coming attractions. The views open up to mounds of accumulated snow. Solitary rocks piled with 2 and 3 feet of snow. Black spruce and balsm trees bowed with snow like some of KK's Village 56 houses. Waterfalls, with layers of ice, blue & green cascading down, are frozen into long pillars. After long intervals of level travel, the train climbs the Niagra Escarpment, made by a fault in the Earth's crust 2.3 billion years ago. The valley we are in had been carved by the last ice age glacier, it having receeded 10,000 years ago. Slowly we make the 1600 foot elevation before we descend to the Valley floor. There is a reason that two engines are needed for our relatively small train of passenger cars. On our way to the Provincial Park, we are called to the dining car for our lasagna lunch, served on Melmac plates, with stainless steel utensils (obviously no threat to use them in a hijack situation as might occur when traveling by air). The journey to the dining car is an adventure in and of itself as the train car rocks side to side. We walk with wide-based gait, holding onto every seat-top corner, inspite of occasionally flicking the head of the seated occupant. Apologies given and accepted. Laughing loudly, our troop proceeds. Between rail cars, the rocking and rolling is augmented by hard to open heavy doors, a blast of cold winter air, the din of noise made by the steel train wheels on the steel tracks, and the up and down motion between train cars. PinBall like, we ourselves lurch to the dinning car. Lunch is served and eaten with quiet chatter. Concluding our meal and against dining car personnel recommendations, a small group of us head even more forward to the "gift shop", located in the most forward car, identified by an area on one side with a counter having replaced 3 rows of seats, and a storage area on the otherside, also, 3 seats long. Baseball caps with logos, Canadian flag refrigerator magnets, and cutesy Royal Canadian Mounted Police dolls in brown broad brimed hats, scarlet red coats, made in China, are for sale. On the journey back to our assigned car, we are greeted by the seated one's recognizing our troup and accompanied by more laughter with appropriate comments.

At our Park destination, the engines are switched from front to back using a side track. The overhead speaker asks us to change our seats; rotate them from back to front so that for the return trip most of us will be facing forward. The engines puffed and pulled us up the canyon wall. High along a ridge one could see a companion valley emptying into Lake Superior with some islands further out; over a train tressel perched upon a hydroelectric dam, and gradually rolling towards our starting point. We could see snow covered landscape, at times broad and sweeping, other times, we were confined within the tall trees and craigy rocks hugging the train tracks. As we approached Sault Ste. Marie Ontario, the suburban environs were punctuated by railroad crossing signal's blinking red lights and the sound of the warning bell, at first faint, growing louder, and then faint again as we passed.

Through the railway switch yard, past Algoma Steel, we stop at the train station. Retracing our luncheon rail car steps to depart, now the train car is no longer rocking. We descend from the train into the bitter cold wind towards our warm bus. The bus driver tells us about an note left on the driver's window and his encounter with a man who had written the note and left it, in foul language, he wishing the driver harm and death, and the driver's family bad forturne as the note admonished the driver about the motor coach polluting the air and contributing to greenhouse gases. Sounds to me to be a Canadian version of "road rage."

Back over the International Bridge; stopping at US Custom's, a chatty officer mentioning the China stamp on my passport, asking me how the trip was and where did we go, then getting off the bus, waving us along; back to our Motel; into the pool and sauna; dinner, then a encore visit to the smokey casino. KK and I put on the previous night's clothes, stains and all, eager to play the slots again; not wishing to smoke up another outfit.

After a leisurely awakening, breakfast, a 9 AM departure, we had a memorable trip back to East Lansing in brilliant sunshine, glare off the snow. We recrossed the 28,600 foot Machinac Bridge rising high above the confluence of Lake Michigan and Huron. Ice in sheets, room size and house size, abut, some riding on top of one another, intersperced with areas of open water, this fractured mixture stretching as far a the eye can see in either direction. The days inbetween our coming and going has allowed the roads to be dry and our motor coach moves along swiftly, Sunday morning music "Turn Your Radio On", etc is piped in. Nearing our drop-off point, we say our "goodbyes" and "thank you's", expressing our gratitude to one another for the fun time we had together. Clark Road, the road which was iced when we began and had cars sliding and doing donuts, now it too was dry. KK and I arrived home, glad we went, glad we returned home, and did some laundry, especially our smokey clothes.