7:45 p.m. Kingston, Canada. On my way to the restroom, I overheard a young French Candian boy singing “Amazing Grace.” His angelic voice cut through the train's insistent rattling, calming my nerves.

I'm writing these words aboard Via Rail Canada, or VIA, officially known as "an independent Crown corporation, subsidized by Transport Canada, mandated to offer intercity passenger rail services in Canada."

To qualify for an Amtrak rail pass, I agreed to take at least one leg of my rail journey on VIA. My route takes me from Ottawa to Toronto, a distance of about 400 miles, aboard the Canadian National Railroad System. I will transfer back to a conventional Amtrak train when I reach Toronto.

Now, in all fairness, 400 miles is not an enormous distance as train journeys go. It's about twice the distance from Chicago to Milwaukee. So what I have to say in the paragraphs that follow may not apply to longer haul train trips.

Here’s the scoop about the poop in the VIA coach restroom circa 2002: The toilet has no seat per se; there's just a big hole on a raised platform, with handles on either side.

I wasn't sure if you’re supposed to climb aboard or what, but I just kind of hung on to those handicapped rails, crouched and tried to take a good shit. I think I missed a bit, but I cleaned up after myself.

The faucet turned on a generous flow of cold water which felt quite good but didn’t turn off right away, like on an Amtrak train.

There was toilet paper right where it was supposed to be, but there were no paper towels. This is a good thing, correct?

There was an insert in the wall where I put my wet hands and voila! A stream of hot air dried my hands for as long as they were there, only stopping when I removed them.

The presence of this hand dryer meant that the bathroom was free of waste paper and this made a tremendous difference in the overall quality of life on board, I suppose, and also prevented clogs in the toilet, caused by disenchanted passengers determined to vandalize VIA.

The toilet itself flushed as good as any I’ve seen on a train, maybe better since it wasn't clogged up with paper towels. The bathroom was large, clean, and it had a baby changer (something you’ll see on the older Southwest Chief cars). It also had a coat hook, an absolute necessity in any bathroom.

This VIA coach car does not have enough leg room, and the seats don’t recline very much. There are also no outlets and no footrests.

The overhead compartments are small, but there is plenty of room to store bags up front; bags are limited to two per customer or you pay an additional fee.

Compare this to Amtrak: You can ship up to three pieces of luggage of 50 pounds each in the baggage car and take two or so carry-ons.

Overall, VIA reminds me of an airplane.

When Mom was getting rid of the family heirlooms in preparation for the big move to an Assisted Living Facility, I threw 150 pounds of stuff into three huge moving cartons and sent them to Albuquerque for free on Amtrak.

As long as the boxes don't go over 50 pounds, the handlers don’t bat an eyelash. You could never pull this off on a plane or on VIA.

The Canadian conductor carefully checked my rail pass, something nobody has done before. I passed all the inspections, and the train is staying on schedule.

There are only a couple hours to go before I arrive in Toronto and I’m still in reasonably good shape. That bathroom was my saving grace, though.

Sunday, 1 a.m. Jan. 6, 2002 The train arrived in Toronto only a half hour late, and I got whisked to my motel by a friendly Pakistani cab driver.

I was hungry and lonely. I went across the street and spent $25 Canadian on a massive amount of Chinese food. I’m stuffed now and tucked in bed, watching “You Can’t Take It With You” on the Tele.

A Canadian dollar doesn’t go very far around here, and that $100 Linda gave me won’t last long. Aside from having spent a good third of it at the strip joint with Paul, I’m starting to spend it wisely.

6 a.m. I awoke with a bit of diarrhea and took my first prescription pill. I'm in a race against time to return home. I need to get to the Amtrak station by 10:40 for an 11:40 a.m. departure, but first I must shower and pack.

10:30 a.m. I am a nervous wreck. The anti-diarrhea pills kicked in, and I have a full stomach, having eaten a huge stack of pancakes at the coffee shop at the Comfort Inn.

I was exhausted when the VIA arrived in Toronto last night, and, after watching pornography on the extremely liberal Canadian Public Television Stations, I consumed a huge, spicy Chinese dinner ($25 Canadian including a “Fruitopia” drink), collapsed in bed, and fell fast asleep.

I am convinced that my frazzled nerves have caused the diarrhea I have been experiencing lately, but I’m sure that spicy Chinese seafood extravaganza I just ate isn't going to help matters.

I set the travel clock and watch alarm for 6 a.m. and awoke the next morning to lots of buzzing and beeping. I dressed quickly and took a taxi to Toronto Union station, tipping the driver generously upon my arrival.

I’m starting to have a heightened appreciation for taxi cabs in my old age. Those guys provide an impressive service, and they don’t charge an awful lot of money for their trouble.

Upon my arrival at Toronto Union Station, I checked with the ticket counter to be sure that all my paperwork was in order. I tagged my bags for customs and this time around, I made special arrangements for a red cap to take me the back way and load me and my bags onto the train.

Crossing the border is always a complicated and nerve-wracking experience for me. I have nothing to hide, but the dogs, the guards, the questions, the waiting, and the delays make me anxious.

But now it’s time for me to focus: I have 15 minutes to go before I will be allowed to enter the bowels of this massive, panting Amtrak train and then I can relax. The train originates here in Toronto and will eventually find its way to Chicago. But I have to get on that train, and I'm a nervous wreck.

11:30 a.m. I'm finally comfortably settled in one of the roomiest reserved coach seats I have ever seen on a passenger train. I am stretched out on two seats, totally comfortable.

You just got to love American trains. These hulking machines have plenty of room to move around. There's never a problem with legroom on Amtrak! Sure, our great national dinosaurs might tool around at an average speed of 90 miles an hour while the rest of the world is zipping around at 200. But hey! What's the rush? Where's the fire?

And anyway, in the unlikely event of a railroad accident, you better believe I'd want to be traveling at 90 mph in a massive, Amtrak train then a lighter bullet train going 200. American trains are solidly built. That's why many of the Amtrak cars are still running strong after almost 50 years!

One other thing: The US is an enormous country, and we're lucky to have a rail service at all at this time in history. The people of this country have spoken with their wallets, and they have said, quite clearly, that they'd much rather fly to their domestic locations than take the train.

However, most intelligent people realize the importance of having an alternate public transportation system around, should the airplane system go down (as it did for several days on 9/11). When those planes hit the Twin Towers, Amtrak continued to run on schedule and hardly missed a beat.

Our passenger rail system is a national treasure and should be designated a mobile historic National Park.

And we don't need to build a new rail system for this country. That would be way too expensive. If some rich guy wants to pay for it, let him do it, but I don't think that's the way we should spend the taxpayer's dollar.

We need to fix what we've got, or we're going to lose one of the most beautiful passenger rail systems on this planet.

Hiring a redcap was one of the smartest things I have done on this trip. The line to gate 8, the departure gate at Toronto Union Station, was enormous with hundreds and hundreds of people eagerly waiting to get on the train. I found a redcap at a waiting area and said I'd give him $10 if he could get me on the train before everybody else. He said, "no problem" but said I had to wait for him for about 10 minutes while he attended to some other business.

The redcap, who called himself John Henry, returned in a timely fashion and was pleased that I had not lost my cool when everybody around me was losing theirs. But I always trust these railroad men: If they say they're going to do something, they will.

John Henry piled my stuff on his huge, heavy duty dolly and, headed to the midpoint of the line. He cut through it and found an alternate entrance onto to the train. As he guided me through the maze of impatient passengers, he cheerfully greeted his fellow baggage handlers, conductors, and attendants by calling them “honey” and “darling.”

In New Mexico, I find that people regularly address each other as "sweetheart," "honey," "darlin'" but not so much here in the Northern climates. So he proved to be delightful company.

John Henry and I made our way onto the empty train, and he loaded my bags safely on board. This Amtrak train, unlike the VIA, was a double-decker and I asked John Henry to help me find a nice seat on the second level, which he cheerfully did.

I scanned the train to find a seat with a beautiful view and an electrical outlet and settled into it, hoping to plug my heating pad in during the trip. After I was complete unloaded, I discovered that my seat was obstructing the outlet, so it was impossible to plug anything into it. Oh, what the hell, I sighed as I settled into the large well-worn Amtrak seat: Can’t win ‘em all! It just felt good to be heading home to familiar surroundings.

I gave John Henry an American ten dollar bill after I was seated and said “God Bless You,” a comment I use sparingly.

Come to think of it, the only other time I used that expression on this trip was when I was at the Deerfield Beach station in Florida. My tennis elbow was acting up, so I had my forearms swaddled in a brace.

A Cuban lady took pity on me after seeing my pathetically splinted hands and helped me load my bags onto the Tri-Rail commuter train.

When I said “God Bless You” to her, she embraced me and gave me a big bear hug and said she loved me.

And now the train takes off, precisely on schedule, and I’m in a massive double-decker with an empty seat at my side. Talk about lucky! Yeah, I’ll take an Amtrak train any day.

I’m beginning to think that Amtrak makes Americans take one leg on the Canadian VIA rail so that we know exactly how lucky we are to ride in these old cars. Those Amtrak double-deckers offer a superior train experience over single-level trains.

In a sense, taking this "short-haul" VIA trip is almost like taking an airplane flight with the stewardess wheeling her cart through the car with her drinks and snacks and those well-worn squashed seats and flaky announcements. You can have "short-haul" VIA.

But that was just the Ottawa-Toronto leg of VIA. The cross-country route looks very lovely and, if one can afford a sleeper, it looks like paradise, especially going to a place like British Columbia.

The train is really moving now, making good time. We’ll probably be held up by customs so it’s a good thing we’re making tracks. Unlike the Amtrak Adirondack, which went from Albany to Montreal, this train, from Toronto to Chicago, has issued me not one, but two tickets. That is because the conductors, from Toronto to the US are Canadian. When we get to the border, we will have American conductors, and both need separate tickets.

It is overcast outside, and a blanket of freshly fallen snow covers the desolate corn fields. It is the dead of winter and not very picturesque either.

I'm seeing factories, parking lots, and broad surfaces of asphalt filled with empty trucks, semis and tankers waiting to be filled: All the stuff that makes a civilization tick but not necessarily the sort of things that the local tourism department puts in their brochures.

An announcement just came over the PA that food can be bought in the café car. That means there is no formal dining car. Bummer.

Good thing I ate a stack of pancakes this morning at the motel. I’m not particularly hungry now and my stomach is feeling much much better. I may take another diarrhea pill although that pill may account for the reason I suddenly feel very very tired. Or maybe it’s all just catching up with me, this whole trip.

In any case, I may be able to take a nap, something I seldom can do. I barely can keep my eyes open.

2 p.m. Stratford, Canada. The snow is coming down, and it’s pure white. The snow isn’t falling very heavily, but it will probably accumulate over time.

Stratford, Ontario? This city triggers a memory of my brother-in-law Paul and me driving cross country in his old Datsun when I was 14 or so years old. As the train pulls out of the station, I see Shakespeare Street, and I think that this is where the famous Shakespeare festival is based. Paul and I stopped in this town and saw a cool musical production of “Billy the Kid” during the summertime, decades ago.

I have a seatmate now. He’s a big guy and I haven’t even said hello to him yet. I’ll call him the Linebacker. Thankfully the seats are big enough to accommodate him.

It's very white out there. Almost blinding.

I may have reached my physical limit for traveling, and I may not want to go to Milwaukee. I think that in the end, I may not have much control over my fate in the next day or so. I need to be careful because there is always the risk of screwing up my arm with all my bags and transfers from one mode of transportation to another.

OK, this is where we stand: Sometime around 10:30 tonight I will be in Chicago.

Chicago: The windy city. The city of big shoulders. My hometown. It will probably be cold and I will be all alone.

If there is a God in Heaven, with a little luck, Marco Santi, Jim’s friend, will be waiting for me in a nice warm car outside of Union Station. I told him I might be a little late, held up with baggage or maybe customs, but so far there are no delays.

This marks the end of the TWENTY-SEVENTH installment of "The Last Hoorah." If you'd like to start from the beginning, then please click this page.

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