I took the 10:50 am instead of the 8:15 am Hiawatha Amtrak from Milwaukee to Chicago, and this gave me an opportunity to say goodbye to Camille and Woody. Owen and I drove them to their Middle school and High School respectively, and then we went back to the house where Owen prepared a delicious breakfast of cream of wheat, toast, apple cider and coffee.

Then he drove me to the Amtrak station where I caught the Hiawatha, which can reach up to 80 mph, to Union station,. As I was watching the bleak winter landscape pass me by, I noticed a curious sight: I saw a rocket shoot straight up into the sky.

It originated south of my position and a trail of white exhaust came from its rear. It kept going up, up as I strained to watch it, until it entirely disappeared in the sky, piercing the atmosphere. Its white trail soon disappeared, and that was the end of it. I’ve never seen anything like that before.

I arrived at Chicago Union Station at about 1:00, checked my big piece of luggage to Albuquerque on the baggage car and temporarily stored my carry on in the luggage room. Before 9/11, passengers were allowed to check their bags in coin-operated storage lockers, but those days were long gone because of security concerns.

It was a relief to have my bags safely stored away, and I decided to head outside and get some fresh air. I saw a few homeless people who offered to find me a taxi or sell me a local newspaper.

I headed past the Sears tower and asked a stranger if he knew of a place to get something to eat. He mumbled something and walked right past me. I kept walking and found a McDonalds. I arrived during the rush hour and ordered a McChicken Value Meal which cost $4.40 and took about 10 minutes to prepare.

The cashier was very apologetic about the delay and gave me a free apple pie to go with my chicken sandwich, fries, and Sprite. I ate it very slowly, watching all the people and dragging my visit out to well over an hour.

I liked being there out of the bitter cold: a table to myself, reasonably priced, marginally-edible food, a cold drink, away from the maddening crowd.

Then I visited the bathroom, which was immaculate and empty, and I took my sweet time.

I finally emerged from McDonald's, with a full stomach and just 45 minutes before the train departed.

I walked past a saxophonist playing some old Charlie Parker tunes and gave him a couple of dollars.

I retrieved my bag, tipped the attendant a dollar for returning them safely to me even though bag storage service was free to Amtrak customers. I’m really into tipping: Mom taught me well.

3:10 p.m. All aboard the Southwest Chief to Albuquerque!

I've got a seat with a partly obstructed view next to an electrical outlet that works. This less than desirable view might dissuade somebody from sitting next to me; we’ll see. The train is filling up. Got all my stuff unloaded and I'm feeling good.

7:30 p.m. Just returned from supper in the first class dining car where I thoroughly enjoyed a meal of lasagna. I probably would have ordered barbecued ribs, but they removed it from the menu! The nerve! The dinner roll was fairly non-descript, but the salad was fantastic: A variety of greens, very fresh and crisp.

It’s nice to see that despite all of Amtrak’s budgetary problems, the food is getting better, not worse. If they can get the dinner rolls to be warm and spongy instead of cold and hard, they will reach perfection. Seriously.

My companion at dinner was a young man who is pursuing theatre as an actor and a writer. We chatted quite a bit. His folks bought him a roomette on the sleeper car, and he sneered at the coach accommodations, calling it a “slave ship.”

I tried to explain to him that this slave ship was not all that bad and how I made it bearable. I told him about my blanket, my heating pad, my earplugs, my eye masque, and my sleeping pills. He didn't seem impressed. Despite his arrogance, I am glad that he has a sleeping compartment and I wish him well.

Being back on the old Southwest Chief is excellent. Having access to spacious well thought out bathrooms is nice. And finally, I have a bathroom that has paper towels!

The problem with electric hand air dryers on a train is that people cannot clean up after themselves. Some genius decided to remove the paper towels! Now we cannot clean up water spills that naturally result from washing up.

Water spills are especially significant with the new faucets I have seen popping up in some of the newer Amtrak trains. Now you press upward on a spigot, and the water comes spraying out forcibly, covering the counter yet barely giving you enough water with which to wash. I wouldn't call that an improvement or even sanitary.

The Southwest Chief and the older rehabilitated 70-era trains have faucets with little hot and cold levers that you push down to make the water come out.

There is no water spraying all over the place and no mess. And if there is a mess, one can clean up with a paper towel.

So, maybe new is not necessarily better. I’ll take the Southwest Chief over any other train I have seen thus far. Perhaps they can add an electric hand dryer AND also keep the paper towels. That may be the ideal solution in the end.

The train is not very full, and I have two coach seats to myself for once. Yes!

Now the hour grows late and I am exhausted. I’m sitting in the café car, reflecting on the day’s events with one eye on my keyboard and the other eye on the TV monitor playing some boring movie about a very large Saint Bernard and a little girl. I think I’ll hit the sack.

Wed., Jan. 9, 7:45 a.m. Somewhere in Oklahoma. We’re running a couple of hours behind schedule because the train experiences profound losses of electrical power from time to time.

The conductor, a very nice guy but somewhat absent-minded who doesn’t speak the best English, refers to it as an “electrical short,” which could mean just about anything.

A “short” is the layman's way of explaining any problem with electricity. It is similar to the way that doctors will apply the suffix “itis” to any medical problem they can’t solve. Like “Dermatitis” (skin problem) or “Vaginitis” (vaginal problem).

Anyway, the Southwest Chief continues to fly across the countryside, intermittent electrical problems notwithstanding. Older technology will always get you through a crisis. When the newer technology starts to go, the trains pretty much dies right on the side of the road, and there’s not much you can do.

Hell, you can keep the older trains together with bungee cords, duct tape, and a penny in the fuse box. I’m all for pumping more money into the rail system, but 80 mph is fast enough for me, thank you very much. I’m in no hurry to get anywhere. And anyway a trip on Amtrak is a journey, not a destination.

I’m using an antibacterial wipe product called “wet ones” to maintain my hygiene, and they seem to be working well. The wipes come out in little squares, saturated with a solution that not only cleans also moisturizes.

Then I go to the clean, well-maintained bathroom and spread Gold Bond Powder all over myself and I marvel at the methyl tang. I brush my teeth, change my underwear, put on a little deodorant and I’m fresh as a daisy and pleasant to be around.

I think I got to sleep at around 8 p.m. last night and woke up to the silence of the train sitting in the middle of nowhere, experiencing one of its “electrical shorts.” I contemplated taking another sleeping pill but decided against it, reasoning that eight hours sleep was enough. So I just burrowed into my seat and took cat naps.

One thing I’ve learned in my travels is not to ask too many questions of the conductor or attendants. If something is really, really wrong, you probably don’t want to know why. These guys work hard at fixing the problem and are usually successful. Things break down, and they get repaired in their own sweet time. Too many questions distract workers from fixing the problem and generally cause overall stress.

Breakfast was great! The biscuits were great, the “California omelet” was great, the potato was great, the cranberry juice was great, and the coffee was great.

The waiter poured my coffee from a pitcher a foot above the cup on the moving train, and I was very impressed by the way he didn’t spill a drop. I have never seen such a display of accuracy before, so I congratulated him on his skill and left a 20 percent tip.

My dining companions were pleasant people from New Jersey, traveling coach to visit their daughter in Sherman Oaks, California. They were an older couple but holding up well considering they had not broken up their voyage along the way, as I had done. I encouraged them to write their representatives about Amtrak, but it seemed like they were more focused on the plight of the homeless.

I must say that there is one definite problem with this train: The locks on the bathrooms are not reliable. At the beginning of my journey, I walked in on a pretty young lady who was in a crouching Aphrodite stance, wiping her tush. “Oh my God!” she screamed and slammed the door in my face.

I was wearing my blue and white Canadian National Engineers cap and my patriotic New York tee shirt, so I guess I must have frightened her.

She had nice legs, a nice ass, and I must admit I saw everything. As I occupied the tiny bathroom next to her, I listened as she fussed with the broken lock over and over again to ensure some measure of privacy while she attended to her business.

Indeed! Someone walked in on me while I was brushing my teeth. It could have been much worse, I suppose. I could have been powdering my balls or even beating off (an excellent way to work off stress). So now I'm a bit more cautious.

It seems the bathroom doors can be opened from the outside when someone is particularly eager to get in, as most people are.

Upon further visits to the bathroom, I noticed a curious tendency for the bathroom doors to unlock for no apparent reason.

This 1970's coach car appears to be haunted by ghosts, what with its mysterious intermittent electrical shorts and doors that unlock.

There are lots of Amish on this leg of the journey. I see them a lot in my travels. They are on the loud side and speak with the most peculiar English accent as if they were from Germany.

The men are quiet and the children are well behaved, but the women, particularly one woman, are very loud. She practically bellows, especially at the children who don’t even come close to misbehaving. They must understand that disobedience will result in a meeting with “the rod.” The children keep occupied with games and conversation: They get a lot of attention.

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