Rolling BackOut Of The Route 66 Sunset OnThe Southwest Chief...

Rolling BackOut Of The Route 66 Sunset OnThe Southwest Chief... 

A friendly neighbor drove me to the tracks after the mad dash of stocking and packing,

My lovely Wife is no longer able to join me in the adventure,

Sad at that detail. We always were best at playing together,

A sunset of its own sort.

Seated for an hour in the hot dry evening wind of Riverside,

Tense with wondering which side of the tracks Amtrak's steel pony would show up on,

Knowing this is my last ride anytime soon,

A date you don't want to miss.

Dad is turning 85,

Little brother 60,

Big sister 66 like the highway,

We're all American classics now,

But I still have some steam left in my ventricles.

Stressing my ankle and puffing,

I made my seat and boarded like the big engine that could,

Wiped the literal sweat from my brow,

And rocked the rails in a coach seat bound for Chicago.

One my oldest and dearest friends,

A brother after so many years,

He will pick me up in the city after 46 hours of steel wheels rolling on rails.

The anticipation is a familiar glow,

And I am chatting on my phone while it charges with a long-time internet poetry friend in Louisiana,

Decades of conversation in phone calls,

Text messages,

And best of all two poets dancing with the muses together.

The rails take me out of Riverside following Old Route 66 past familiar places from my Fiber Cowboy days,

San Bernardino,

Hesperia,

Victorville,

Helendale,

Barstow.

The coach seats are wide and deep,

At 6'6" I stretch my legs straight,

Bright with the sunset windows of Americana on rails,

Run down in places but still magnificent.

The window panorama rolls from Southwestern architecture and palm trees to the depths of the Cajon Pass,

Ear popping 3,300' climb between piles of rock and stone and sand,

Creosote bushes and sparse chaparral the Earth's blanket here.

I walk-roll down to the observation car,

Step down to the cafe for a San Pellegrino sparkling water and a refill of black coffee.

The sky of the West has rolled on from a hot pink metallic sunset with high thin clouds of purple metal foil to a deep indigo cap atop an intense rosé blush that should be a lipstick color on a hot date in a classic film.

Now it's black,

A prelude to the train rocking me to sleep,

Occasional lights of desert life twinkling across the invisible sands.

The sound of the wheels and the rocking of the train bathe you in the essence of a twilight journey,

A rusty adventure that preludes the night.

It's all rock and roll,

America.

Sit up and ride.

AquarianM

Daniel A. Stafford

© 07/25/2026