I have always like riding the train. I like how when on the train one can just sit back and watch the scenery pass on the long windows. I like the steady rhythm of the wheels on the track. Passing towns and neighborhoods that are all but forgotten, where the American dream has moved on to another neighborhood, while gentrification is is but a vague future blocks away from the rail. But the first thing I noticed as we began our trip North on the train from King’s Cross was how absolutely quiet this ride was.
The rail cut through green fields dotted with white sheep. The towns we passed or stopped in to let off passengers or pick them up were tidy communities without empty factories or warehouses you see along the rails in the United States. All this view was from the comfort of a quiet ride without the rhythm of the wheels marking irregularities in the rails they rolled on. I later found out the reason for the smooth ride was the British rail moved mainly passengers and with a minimum of raw goods or materials. In American, the trains are mostly for moving cars of coal or tanks of industrial fluids. American trains do not move people as a rule. It is shame, but will likely change as we realize we can no longer support a fossil fuel economy. This English train moved at 125 miles per hour in between stops. The conductor checked our tickets and soon came back rolling a cart of sandwiches, cakes, tea or coffee in the aisle of the car. Tina finally got some food in her while I drank in the treat of the landscape out my window. We were finally on our way. We would arrive by 10 PM. We had no way of knowing if Queena and Sarah had made their flight, all we had was the trust that they too would get to Edinburgh via Glasgow. All that was left to do was to sit back and enjoy the ride.