The Capitol Corridor--San Joaquin Train

How about a trip down memory lane? What could be better than an old-fashioned train ride? What about the train that runs from Martinez to Bakersfield? No train changes and Bakersfield is the end of the line. All Aboard!

What I didn't plan on when I booked my ticket was also having the flu. It couldn't be helped. I was past the really nasty part and well into the fever-chills-sweats phase. Just call me another microbe andy.

Once I got past the disgustingly cheerful, fake voice on the automated phone system, the AMTRAK booking process was fairly easy. The only thing that didn't make sense was when I went to change my departure time, I lost all my discounts for advance booking plus my Triple A discount. But it didn't matter--the last minute fare ended up $6.00 cheaper than the first time around. I didn't question the computer.



An AMTRAK bus took me from Petaluma to Martinez--a trip of about one hour. It was pleasant and on time. The Martinez train station is quite nice--not the old flavor of the train-era stations--but a nice ambience to it. My ticket was ready and the train arrived within twenty minutes.

But check out the front of the train! There is NO ENGINE! Is there an engineer? If so, where? Change is a threat. I'm already a tad suspicious as I notice all the train conductors are women. What other things have changed in train travel since I was a child?

Boarding the train was not as easy as I remembered. I recall being lifted up on the train platform by a white-gloved black porter who said, "There you go, little miss." I had been terrified by all the steam coming from the wheels and the blackness of the old steam engine. Fortunately I'd had my grandmother to accompany me so I felt quite safe. Now I was by myself, sick, and toting thousands of dollars in electrical equipment plus a suitcase of clothes I hadn't used. And surprise! You sit upstairs and you tote your own suitcase! There was not a porter in sight. A kind train person took pity on me and carried my bag up the stairs asking me how many kids I'd hidden in it. I left the bag where he stowed it and went off through the train in search of the perfect spot.

In place of swinging lights and highballs, the "All Aboard" is replaced by some recorded chime and a warning about not standing in the doorway. These instructions made sense to me and I settled into a seat and table with computer plug-in. I really didn’t know the train would have so much motion to it. Whether it was my queasy tummy or a particularly swaying car, it got to me very quickly. However did people stand it for days and days at a time?

The train whistle blows constantly. This is a real yee-haw ride going on right now. I remember riding a train in France back in 1989 and it was not like this. It went 300 miles an hour and was as smooth as anything.

The swaying of the car got to me very quickly so I moved to the last car of the train. I need to ride facing forwards! Also I can see the car I just came from and it really does look like it’s bouncing way more than this one is.

After settling in for the second time, I finally got to look around me and I started to notice some differences since my childhood train rides. When you go from car to car, the doors open with only a push on an auto button and you can’t look down on the track. That used to scare me half to death when I was a kid. Also, you also can’t stand

between cars and let the air blow on you. You ride “upstairs” but it’s not quite like a dome car. Of course dome cars were much later and I don’t have a lot of memories of domeliners. Domeliners must not have had a very long existence. I think I remember them coming and being the big thing and then trains were no more. I also bet that there were far fewer trains going by back then. The conductors still come by for your ticket but now you sign it and show ID. No punching a hole in it but a seat marker is still put over your seat.

This stream of consciousness typing is quite relaxing actually. We’re starting to pick up steam--nope--steam is old news. We’re going faster. Another thing I don’t see on the train is something to pull to stop the train. I guess that’s also passe. Or was it only in an old “I Love Lucy” episode? The more speed, the more swaying and jiggling. Not easy on the tummy.

There’s certainly a different sort of scenery from the train. We’re practically going thru people’s back yards. And not the nicest backyards either. Lots of old broken down stuff. Lots of industrial detritus. Abandoned things. Rust. Brokenness. Fatigue. Things way past their prime-- like the concept of train travel.

Now we’re going through planted fields with the canals running alongside for water.

You’d never know there was the more popular California only a few miles away!!! Right now it seems as if the train is going over water. People have houses built on stilts right on the water--how can they sleep at night with the trains going by and thinking the river is going to come in the house? There are no freeways in sight, no trendy cars, busy important people, fast lives--just crops, old cars, beat up houses, tractors, pipelines, canals, FLAT, a few workers in the fields. I am in a parallel universe! It is not unpleasant.

There’s hardly anyone on this train which is fine with me but not so good if Amtrak is trying to make a profit. The people seem mostly poor plus the elderly who can’t drive anymore. Mexicans, blacks and elderly white. What a combo! No one is dressed up. When I was very small, my mother made me wear gloves and my best shoes when we left the house to travel--or to go shopping, for that matter.

The Voice has informed us that we are stopping in Stockton for a small wait. We are invited to step outside and enjoy the sun. Personally, I don’t like the sound of that--I wonder if there is a delay.

I wonder how long these tracks have been here. Oh my!!! We’re on the move!!! That was no"time to catch some rays" stop. The Voice lied. It must have been for people who just had to have a few puffs on a cigarette. Glad I didn’t get off. I'd have been stuck too close to Lodi for comfort.

So--which was first? The tracks? Or the ugly? My guess is that the tracks were laid when there was nothing but the empty land. No one wanted to live by railroad tracks so the ugly followed the tracks. Now we’re on very, very slow ’speed’ because there are 2 other trains “out there”. I’m also told that freight trains take precedence over passenger trains! Who would ever have thought it??

Now the view is of new industrial warehouses going in along the tracks. My guess is that the shacks were simply razed and the big cement warehouses backed up to the tracks. In a way that makes sense. Long concrete walls make a better train corridor than people's back yards.

I don’t see much of the poor side of living in California. In Bakersfield I live in one of the many gated communities. I know there are shanty towns practically brought up from Mexico and reconstructed in Bako but I never thought of them as “counting” very much. If you’re here illegally, you take your chances. The illegals are bringing a poverty that spreads and sucks and drains resources. Who knows? It couldn’t be any worse in Mexico. What do they think when they see our big houses and “toys” and cars and a standard of living we take for granted?

I’m afraid that now it’s developing into a sense of entitlement rather than a sense of opportunity to work hard so your children will be better off for your sacrifice. The wall can’t be built fast enough for me although the damned politicians don’t seen to want to stop it. 20 million illegals here. Terrorists trying to do us in. But those thoughts are “other California” thoughts--not here in the fields with its slowness and poverty. People here don’t think about national security. Unless they worry about the INS getting them which shouldn’t be a worry since the INS doesn’t get anyone.

The Little Yellow Engine That Could!

Yet I've seen two types of poverty from the train. The first kind in the Sacramento Delta is more of a 'chosen' poverty--what I think of as a sort of Bijou Bohemian. A Bijou Bohemian is very much a chosen minimalism that allows someone(usually a guy) to work minimally, drink plentifully, own nothing that would matter if the dawg peed on it and usually involves some level of mooching off relatives on a rotating basis.

The scenery has changed to dairies. Cows and grazing. Glad I can’t smell it. I wonder who is driving the train? A man or a woman? I think their only real job is to lay on that whistle. One thing that seems the same to me is how close the trains on the neighboring tracks are! With all the rocking I think they could brush each other if they both leaned in mirror image. I guess that means trains haven’t gotten any wider. The train cars seem only a tad more narrow than an airplane. It is much more pleasant than an airplane and you don’t have to leave the ground.

Modesto--but this time The Voice announces no one is allowed off for sunning. At least I have an idea now where I am. We passed over a small river with about 3 dozen kids playing the water. Wish I’d gotten a shot of that. Man--this is a serious stop--we’re outta here!!! Guess it’s to make up for the big slow down with the other trains out there. We weren’t here two minutes, if that! Leaving Modesto, we’re going right through nice newly built homes. Why would anyone build nice homes 2 feet from the train tracks??? Why would anyone buy them????

A graveyard by the tracks--finally the first thing that makes sense. I would imagine there’s some kind of connection between a rickety train with a sad whistle and the dead. If the dead can hear anything I guarantee they can hear this train whistle! Or feel the ground shake when this 'ratt'ler' goes by.
This voice comes on the PA system and blares something totally unintelligible to me. My goodness--we’re stopping again!!! Never heard of this town. This must be the kind of train that is called a milk run. The stop here was maybe 30 seconds! Someone has just come into our car from the snack car. He has greasy fried French fries and the smell is making me nauseas. Of course today it wouldn’t take much to do that but the tummy is starting to slosh. The smell is disgusting to me.

Taking photographs has made me so aware of how many wires there are in life. Every good shot seems to have a thick black cable or wire running thru it.

The scenery has changed again. It’s pastures, horses, cattle, and orchards. It’s even flatter than it was before. It’s not terribly interesting and kind of dusty from all the plowing. These must be the massive groves of almond trees we see from the freeway. I wonder if it’s possible to get from Bakersfield to the Bay Area and not go on any freeways?

I remember living in Barstow and my grandfather, who worked as a ticket agent for the Santa Fe, would know each train that went by down at the station even from the house. We lived up quite a few blocks from the station but we could hear the train whistles and the employee(?) whistle. It blew at noon and again at one to let the men know it was time to be back at work. My grandfather walked home and back and we would meet him at Main St. and walk the rest of the way with him. I was so impressed that he would hear a train whistle and tell me that was the such-and-such train going to Chicago or wherever.

The bathroom wasn’t as scary as I remembered them being when I was a kid. Pretty nice. I remember my mother telling us the toilet flushed right onto the tracks. I can’t believe that was ever allowed. I think she said it to further reinforce we weren’t ever to play on the tracks.

Just passed Our Lady of Mercy church. It couldn’t help but strike me as ironic since these places seem to have been passed over when the Mercy Train went by. I wonder if it strikes the parishioners who go there every Sunday how contradictory the name of the church seems compared to the place that is proclaiming the mercy?

The whistle-happy engineer shows no sign of fatigue. That whistle just keeps sounding--the pedal point of the entire trip. I just realized that the foothills are those of the Sierra Mountains. Some of the peaks still have some snow on them. How beautiful they are. I read that there is a train that goes thru Yosemite. Now that would be something to see. Trees and orchards have turned to vineyards. Now there’s a marketable product. Although the plea for mercy is appropriate for the area I believe I’d take a sip of the vine while I waited for the mercy drops to fall.

Another stop--this time a place called Madeira. Junk, trash and half-dead palm trees. One can’t help but think about this strange place to live. Are the inhabitants depressed or have they finally found some peace without all the hassle? I think of all the things I’m hauling around just for a week-long stay--will that be the junk people 50 years from now will look out on? What does one do with a tractor that no longer works? Or a laptop? It is much easier on the eyes to look at dirt and crops than poor housing and the peelings of a civilization.

Our next stop is Fresno which is almost Bakersfield. I’m not in a hurry for the trip to be over. I’m enjoying the enforced slowdown very much. It’s also nice that I don’t have to worry about being 30,000 feet off the ground so it can truly be relaxing.

It’s a bit like prying going through people’s back yards like this. You see the mess of the backyard--that which is usually hidden. I remember reading about dream interpretation and that what was upstairs or in the backyard was what you didn’t want to show. How the front of a dream house appeared was most important but what told the story would be in the backyard.

The walls that face the tracks are covered with graffiti. Again I don’t understand that. Why go to so much trouble and some danger to yourself to leave ugly illiterate markings? I’m sure it must mean something to those who do it but I don’t think it means anything important. Or done by anyone who will ever be important. Another icon for this area--an outhouse with graffiti on it. Why would anyone bother putting graffiti on a port-a-potty???? Kind of says it all.

Fresno--my first glimpse of the California I call 'real.' Most people appear to be getting off here. I don’t know why but there is a lot of activity on the train right now. For the first time I notice that nearly every passenger under the age of 30 has stethescope wires hanging from both ears, coming to a 'V' on the chest and cliping onto what I assume is a iPod. This generation is wired in a completely different way from the 60ies.

We’ve gone by a hospital--a trauma center-- then immediately we pass a convalescent hospital!!! Did the train whistle let up??? No way. Can you imagine the poor old people in there with the constant rumble of trains and never-ending train whistles?

The Voice is now inviting us to step outside and get some hot valley air but we are not to leave the side of the train. Sounds like good advice to me. This is the first train station that seems to have made an attempt to look good. Martinez was very nice. Ever since it’s been pitiful. There is not the air of desperation about this station.

This is a very long stop. I guess I still expect to see some grande dame getting on the train, sweeping her way down the aisle, while her minions deal with vast amounts of matching luggage. My guess is that most people on this train aren’t carrying real luggage--just paper bags and backpacks.

I’ve now had enuf time on the train to imagine disaster scenarios. Who checks the tracks between trains to make sure someone hasn’t put something on them that would mess up the next train? What happens if the last car--where I’m sitting--happens to come loose from the rest of the train??? What if the tracks get messed up and two trains come at each other? Sure is no way one train can turn out of the way! What happens if someone goes berserk on a train? Well, guess that can happen anywhere. Forget that last scenario. What if a school bus is stalled on the tracks up ahead? Is there really an engineer or is it like BART in the City where there’s no driver?

Slowing down again!!! Not much out here. Just vineyards and flat flat flat! Whoa! Another passenger train just went by us--laying on the whistle of course. I think I know why the engineer keeps blowing that horn--it’s the only thing to do that keeps him awake. If he makes this trip up and back once a day his eyes must be glazed over and his brain cells numb. Does he get to know the kids playing too close to the tracks? See the same hopelessness over and over again and just tune it out so he no longer sees? That’s what I’d do. Dang--I was typing and missed getting a picture of this pretty river. That’s the trouble--you don’t know when the good shots are going to come up. You get about 2 train windows worth of time and boom! It’s past. Apricot trees full of fruit, corn, onions, cabbage rotting on the ground.

We’re stopping again!! The Voice warns us of dire consequences if we even think of leaving the train or (for some strange reason) leaning against the train. Middle of nowhere. But at least it’s a new nowhere. Actually it’s Hanford. At least I’ve heard of that place. I think it’s becoming a cute little artsy “old towne” sort of place. The station is very charming with wonderful old-fashioned street lamps.

A new crop--soybeans. Soybeans are not exciting

Another stop in a place I don’t know. Never heard of it, couldn’t even guess what the garbled PA announcement said. We were warned, however, not to even think about stepping off the train. Now I’m wondering how people didn’t loose their minds on train trips that took 5 days. Grandma would take the 2 girls from Barstow to Richmond, VA, every summer. I can’t even imagine how she managed. Plus she changed trains in Chicago. Guess the routes weren’t that direct back then either. Of course she got to ride free so maybe she had to take what was available.

We’re being told that there is only one more stop and then “finally” Bakersfield. Now, does the crew have to turn around and go back up the state? Making the same repetitive announcements? Seeing the same stuff? Collecting the same tickets and checking who has changed seats? I wonder what they get paid? “Back when” , working for the railroad was good work--especially during the depression. And it was about the most prestigious job you could have if you were black. There doesn’t seem to be anything left of prestige about anything to with trains.

Just passed a big prison. It feels like being in a country western song--hear that lonesome whistle blow. It really does still seem that the car I was in first is just rocking all over--much more than this one. I wonder if that’s possible? I can see it thru the car doors and it’s bobbing all over. This land is desolation at its best. Flat, low crops, the rare house. This is where one would come to watch paint dry. No humans, no junk, nothing.

I spoke too soon about the junk. This is drive you mad territory. However, sure not a chance in hell of the Indians sneaking up on you.

Dirt is even less interesting than soybeans. I’m ready to be off the train. I think if I felt better it might be different. The jiggling is getting to me. We should be only about 30 miles from Bako now. The air is getting dirtier. It is not a pretty place to live but right now I sure want to be in my own home. I don’t know if we have another stop yet or what. I’ve lost track. I think Wasco should come before Bakersfield but I don’t remember if we’ve stopped at Wasco already or what.

In the middle of all the barrenness suddenly some fields of roses were just THERE! They were so beautiful! Of course--I’d forgotten Wasco is one of the major rose-growing areas of the world. What a funny thing to see in the middle of a total lack of beauty. The Wasco stop was another 30 second quickie. And another prison. But all the roses. Our Lady of Mercy at least let this place have a dusting.

And finally we pull into the station in Bakersfield nearly half an hour early. The entire train empties and The Voice drones on over the excitement of all the journeys come to an end. I notice the last person off this last car is a middle-eastern woman swathed in her "coat of mail" wrappings. I feel so sorry for her. She is trying so hard to be invisible. Will she face accusations from her owners/men/family for riding in a car with mixed company? Is she frightened? I want to open my suitcase and give her a pair of jeans and a cowboy shirt. "Be free!" I want to shout. Yell back--shoulders back--look this world in the eye and take your place in it. But she will not meet my eyes.

And all the people scattered.