a logscribble by hvincent

"We are actually the passengers for the 49," the conductor told me over his Dean Koontz book. "They have to wait for us." We're 40 minutes out, and I had given into my nerves to ask him. I bet he gets asked that question a lot.

Every time I'm on a train, I wonder how long I could get away with stretching out on an overhead luggage rack before I get kicked off. When I rode betwen Beijing and Anhui, any space with enough volume for a body was fair game for a body; I climbed into a dusty top rack and found it full of dried food and bad smells.

The ride got a lot bumpier all of a sudden; we're picking up speed to make better time for the transfer at Albany. My ancient laptop's battery connection is weak, and a hard jostle could interrupt power. That's what swap files are for. I've dropped this thing a million times.

We're going to switch over soon. This 449 has four coach cars and one cafe/business car, for the short hop from Boston to Albany. I'm saving my dinner plans for the next leg.