The sun is blazing setting and, presumably from another long and successful day on the job, stretching its shining rays out as far as the horizon will permit as the train’s window plays me the whizzy blur of the cool teal leaves that hang from these end-of-summer trees. My serene little view of passing America is suddenly interupted by the ratcheting thunderous clink of another train passing by and heading to where I’ve just come from, not 18 inches from our own and tons of barrelling steel. It’s beautiful, not just the outside, but life.
Our RV is finally fixed, after 21 days of false start. The conductor tells us there may be a delay, maybe only minor, maybe worse. I’ll be in Pittsburgh by 8, 8:30 tops, having a drink and a smoke, only an evening between me and that RV. The train is slowing down, almost close to crawling. Tomorrow morning I’ll rise and will I ever shine. I’ll catch a bus and hike a bridge and before noon I’ll be back at the wheel, God, time and our transmission willing. The sun falls completely behing the trees and hills as the train is all but completely stopped.