Why We Drive

Our youngest son left early today to return to Ithaca, New York and his studies at Cornell University there. My wife and I drove him as far as Toledo, Ohio, dropping him off at the AMTRAK station there at one-thirty this morning. His train was scheduled to leave at three.

We had offered to drive him back to Syracuse in New York where his truck lay parked in a field adjacent to the AMTRAK station there. Wendy and I felt sure the truck would have at least a dead battery since Scott had been home here a month. Scott wouldn't hear of that. Too far a drive for us, he said.

Too far a drive? We're driving to Florida next month . . . all the way down to the Keys! Flying? Forget it. Sure, I flew to London but I would have driven there too if I could have. Wendy's not too fond of getting on a plane now either, worried about those new scanners that peer through your clothing. She doesn't want to risk being the centerfold for the next issue of Airport Security Illustrated.

Scott said he didn't mind the long train ride from New York and back, nor being without his car while at home since he just drove our mini-van around. In fact, Wendy and I had to drive our other car pretty much the whole time our son was home during Christmas.

When we dropped him off in Toledo, there was already a large contingent of people waiting for the train, almost all of them Amish. They were certainly from one of the more fundamental Amish sects--the men all with beards and hats, and the women clad from head to toe, mostly in black. As I passed by I did notice one young Amish woman breast-feeding her baby. She didn't make much effort to hide it either, which I found rather ironic considering how conservatively dressed she was otherwise.

Scott said later that this particular Amish clan spoke no English. Leastways none that he heard. But it wasn't the Amish who made Scott's trip home a little more eventful.

The train hadn't even left the Toledo station when one man complained that he needed sleep and requested a sleeper car. There were none operating this trip, he was told. Undeterred, once aboard the man began going from car to car, looking for a sleeper. Not a good idea. He was summarily kicked off the train.

Down the tracks in Erie, Pennsylvania, a train official with a flashlight came up the darkened aisle checking the citizenship and identification papers of passengers. Wow, right out one of those Eastern European spy novels. But this is America! Of course, Scott was fine. But not the unfortunately fellow sitting a few rows behind him.

Scott heard the man say he left his student visa at home. And that it had expired in 2007. And that he no longer was a student in the U.S. Three strikes, you're out. Off the train, anyway.

Luck also wasn't with Scott's seatmate riding east on the Lakeshore Limited. This lady managed to catch a little sleep while the train rocked and rolled across the countryside. After one stop, the woman awoke to ask Scott where they were as the train rolled on again. They had just left Buffalo, Scott said.

"That was my stop," the woman said, panicking. She pleaded with the conductor and others but the best they could do was to let her off at the next stop. She could either rent a car, take a taxi, get someone to pick her up, or catch the westbound train early the next morning.

That's why we drive. Hmmmm, but today I turned on the radio in the mini-van to hear some techno-hip hop music of some kind. Scott must have been messing with my radio. I hit another button on the selector and now get Jimi Hendrix. Sheesh. I'll get Wendy to re-program my stations back. She knows how to do it better than I.

"'Scuse me while I kiss the sky. Purple haze . . . "

I need some road songs. Oh, and Scott's truck? Started up fine, he said.