Not so excellent - Day 2

Our trek to Florida takes three days – as opposed to the madcap days of our 60s youth, when we did the drive in two fun-filled 12 hour days.

 This year we decided to try the auto train, in which our car, loaded to the gills with My Guy’s paints, computer, and tax documents (yes, he’s been a finance guy all his life but it would be more restful to pay someone else to do our taxes) would be shipped along with the other 144 autos doing the same thing.

          There is some irony here in that we still had to drive the first portion down to Lorton, Virginia since the northern infrastructure has bridges too low to accommodate the taller car transport trains. And the first day is often the most traffic-heavy, bringing us through New York state, Baltimore, and around Washington D.C.

       

   Still, aside from the possibility of horrific death on the highway from a tire blowout at top speed, it all went well and we loved the hotel. It even had a spectacular breakfast for free, with omelets on demand.

          We were glad we’d booked our own little cabin, especially when we saw these poor souls clutching pillows and blankets in the terminal. I assume they were going to spend the night sleeping upright in standard seats.

      

    

We finally boarded, and bumped our suitcases up the teensy stair to our cabin. We stood in the doorway, a little aghast at the size of it. At least there was a nice long couch and we presumed the slab against the ceiling would come down to form a bunk.

 

And yes, we had our own bathroom, but flashes of the night before’s hotel room with its roomy tub and huge sink area passed cruelly through my mind. We both immediately resolved to continue the rest of the trip dirty, rather than shower by sitting on the commode while waving a hand-held sprayer about.

          Being a complete newbie to all of this, I panicked a bit over the sleeping portion. Where were the pillows, the blankets? Maybe that family covered in bedding knew more than we did. I eyed the towels in the eensy bathroom as possibilities for make-shift pillows.

  

        But hurray! The steward popped his head in to ask what would be a good time for him to make up the beds. At 8 o’clock I stepped into the corridor (two people in the room was tricky, three would have been a Marx brothers skit) and he worked his magic, tucking in sheets efficiently and leaving 2 flabby pillows.

         

I thanked my December return to yoga when it was time to climb the ladder into the top bunk. I was the chosen one - there was no way we were going to get all 6 ft 2 inches and hefty build of My Guy up there.

          Up was no problem, and I learned I could manage down pretty easily if I put one foot on the sink. The scary harness to keep me from plunging to my death in the night was a little off-putting. But it was the coffin-like environment up there that got to me, without the ability to sit up, since the ceiling was literally no more than 10 inches above my face.

          Dinner was quite good, although it was two long cars away and involved grabbing hand-holds to pass from one car to another as the track roared on beneath us. Especially tricky for My Guy, for whom a sidewalk can sometimes offer a challenge.

          And surprisingly, we slept fairly well, but we were happy to be reunited with our car the next day. Summary? Never again. It was more expensive than driving and still took three days to reach our destination.