Trains, Cranes, Two Truths and a Lie

As usual Jan knew better. I was doubtful when she decided we wanted to commence our 2011 spring transcontinental in novel fashion: by train. My imagination ran to fits of claustrophobia and uncontrolled insomnia. But her balance of good ideas over bad is generally positive so I decided what the hell. We boarded Via Rail’s The Canadian on Tuesday evening and cast our fate to the guys in the lead locomotive.

Close quarters force train travelers to be friendly whether or not they’re normally inclined that way. Personal space is invaded in the corridors, observation car and dining room. We never had a dining car table to ourselves. We breakfasted with Diane of Calgary and 5-year-old grandson Isaac, both enjoying their first-ever train trip, lunched with Stan and Marlene, a husband-and-wife team from Sidney, both proudly descended from English convicts exiled to Australia more than two centuries ago. In strictly friendly terms we weighed whether it was the Aussies or Canadians who were the WWI pride of the British Army. Come suppertime we broke bread with another husband-and-wife team, Bob and George, of Philadelphia (George the wife half). Bob and I had lots to talk about, mostly books and baseball. They introduced us to a train parlour game: ’Two Truths and a Lie’. In my turn I tried this combo: 1] a naked young woman recently told me I am an attractive man with a good body; 2] I once turned down an offer of sex with Miss California; 3] I was a three-letter man at university. Which is the lie? Bob guessed right.

The train took us through no lifer territory. Travels in Leo and the Taj have led us through Vancouver-to-Winnipeg territory before. But I am normally at Leo’s wheel, duty-bound to pay attention to the road rather than what lies on either side of it. I discovered how congenial it is to find a comfortable seat and watch the world go by as someone else does the driving. There was much to see: the dry BC interior along the South Thompson River, Mount Robson and its sister peaks, still-iced alpine lakes. Unbidden, Gordon Lightfoot came to mind: There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run . . . John A. Macdonald too: I made a mental note to hunt down a well-worn copy of The National Dream and make time to read it this summer at Big Bras d’Or.

We detrained awhile at Jasper just as the skies cleared and the sun came out. We found the war memorial and learned that the community was tiny in 1914 and known by another name: Fitzhugh. The list of WWI fallen included just six names.

By sunup Thursday mountains were behind us, the train window featured long vistas under big prairie skies. I do not resonate with those who feel the grasslands are a bore. Every pothole flashing past the window featured waterbirds settled in for breeding season: ducks, coots, grebes. A pair of British birders claimed to see two whooping cranes. Yeah right.

CBC keeps us well advised of the troubles visited upon Saskatchewan and Manitoba communities by flooded rivers. Via Rail enabled us to see with our own eyes. At St. Lazare sandbag-ringed houses looked lonely and vulnerable amidst the Assiniboine floodwaters. A long delay ensued as Via Rail engineers weighed the safety of bridges. Due to the flood we arrived at our destination two hours late but welcomed nonetheless by Steve and Elizabeth. Five days in greater Winnipeg beckon.

Now viewed in the rear view mirror the train trip looks sufficiently swell that Jan might well talk me into another sometime soon. I shall invest some small effort in devising claims for the next round of Two-Truths-and-a-Lie.