Sitting in the cavernous Sante Fe Depot in downtown San Diego, sipping Victory Coffee, I waited for my train. Birds dive and swoop in the rafters. Sullen old Mexican shuffles by Latin security guard. "Arriba Mexico." Old man mutters. The Mexican Porter (Long gone are the days of black porters yessa boss.) so, this Mexican of titanic obesity will claim my duffel bag but not my trunk. Too heavy he says. Hafta carry it on myself. Yessa boss.
Had the fortune of riding with Alma Rodriguez, my first landlady in Tijuana way back when. Small chit-chat en espanol until she conked out. Old folks---gotta love 'em.
Like the sound of God farting, the train lurched forward. Clikclakclikclak. The California terrain whizzed by...small yacht graveyard, brush of green and khaki, warehouses in the distance of knockoff Nike and Sanyo. Great canyons of dusty eucalyptus, an encampment of hobos wave and the lonesome horn blows across the peeled sky.
The mighty ocean swings into view, I sigh, it will probably be the last time I see the Pacific. Surfers bob in the murky green as the fat and rich gaze with lust from their hillside haciendas.
Into the concrete defecation of Los Angeles. The city of my youth and broken dreams. I depart at Union Station and wait the two hours in the main hall of 1930's style deco. "If you're not cop, you're little people." And as an added kick in the caboose, I sit watching a group of young filmmakers shoot one scene about thirty times.
We departed that crappy ass metropolis two hours late. No one in that deathtrap I wanna see except Nilton, the little Peruvian hottie that I smuggled across the border three years ago. All aboard! I was herded into the train cabin with two hundred other assholes like Schindler's Jews and was paired up with some smelly cat that looked like Riff Raff from Rocky Horror. And, oh yes, the inevitable little brat bitch that continued to kick the back of my chair from L.A. to Tucson.
Twenty three miles before Palm Springs, as SugarRay warbles over my headphones, we pass giant windmills---giant, white propellers---hundreds of them. I grab my cellphone and call my pal RJ back in San Diego: Where you at? On the slowest train ever! I whine. Oh, knock it off, bitch...you ain't even there yet and yer already bitchin'! Yup, yer right.
Huge Socorro cactus fifteen feet tall, amazing rock formations, breathtaking vistas of green valleys that would appear like magic oasis out of the rust colored jagged mountains. Small villages that seemed to be stuck in a 1950s time capsule. Brightly painted withering shacks with rusted trucks propped next to them, weeds sprouting out of cracked cement. Mexican cowboys walked by tall and thin, with slow animal stupidity. Children would run up to the train and the passengers would throw coins and the kids would squeal with laughter all under the glare of the blue sheltering sky.
Wind through giant granite mountains as sun sets in slow blaze of glory. I retire to the Observation Deck and make eye contact with blond hottie from Santa Barbara. Smiles are exchanged and nothing else. Cozy up and rap three hours on silly shit.
Example:
Me: Do you like science fiction?
Him: Yeah...I like it. Star Wars, Dune, Battlestar Galactica, Lord of the Rings, Lost in Space...
Me: Dr. Smith was voted Queen of Outer Space in the 2001 issue of Starlog.
Him: Really?
Me: (Dead on Dr. Smith imitation.) You bubble headed boobieeee!
Him: (laughing) That's hot.
We chat some more and around 2a.m. he retires to sleep.
I cannot sleep---never can on a moving vehicle---so I sit and stare out into the moving darkness amid the snoring and the gentle rumble of the coach.
Eventually, the red ball of sun crept over the low mountain vistas. Had a delicious three pancake breakfast in the Dining Car. Sat over good coffee with good company. Through broken quarry mountains and pass the muddy sludge of the Rio Grande, the massive Asarco tower points like a phallic symbol to the unrelenting sun. Passing wind bleached buildings, the rusting metal wall separating North from South with holes cut through for determined Mexicans. Within minutes: El Paso! But that urban sprawl wasn't on my mind, where my thoughts dwelt were south of the border, to it's skanky twin bitch city of Juarez.
Anyhoo...first things first. Departing the train was punched in the face by a blast of dry heat. Forgot about the hellish climate. Then was notified that my large duffel bag with all my clothes missing! Was compensated a lousy $100 for the day. If it isn't found after 24hrs I will be compensated for $5000. Well, checked in the Gateway Hotel, an ancient pile of stone that dates back to 1899 and it shows. Eh, for twenty bucks a comfortable bed and a hot shower is all I require. Took a bath and slept. Will visit Juarez manana.
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