My Big Adventure Comes to an End...I'm Home

Steven picked me up at the station, and I was so happy to see him. He asked if I needed to stop anywhere. I told him I’d gladly commit murder for a decent cup of coffee. “No need to kill anyone, Bunny,” he said. “Tim Horton’s is right around the corner.” I told him all about my adventure, barely pausing for air, while he drove.

It’s a strange feeling, this conflict within. I’m so sad to leave Michael and Camille and wish they lived closer. But I’m also so glad to see Steven and the kids and to sleep in my own bed.

I let Michael know I got home safely. He congratulated me on my journey and quoted John Howard Payne: “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” So true. I can’t find a roll of paper towels and my indoor plants are half-dead, but the kids kept Ernie the Kitty alive, and that was most important.

I’m going to save my pennies and hope to take this train trip again in three years. It was restful, peaceful, and gave me the quiet I needed. I spent real quality time with my big brother, who I cherish more than he knows, and would gladly help clean his garage again.

In the meantime, I’m going to practice the new dishes Camille taught me and start the new school year rested and clear-headed. Or at least rested.

Home Sweet Home

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It’s time to board the train in Chicago, heading east to Depew, NY and home. Most of this leg is overnight, so I board with high hopes of getting some rest. It was not to be.

Although riding in coach wasn’t bad heading west, the return trip told a different story. I was seated near the rear of the car, close to the restroom, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it was a short walk when I needed it. A curse because of the occasional scented waft that told me next time, I should sit elsewhere.

It was also considerably noisier heading east. People played games on their devices, watched movies without earbuds, talked on the phone, and snored. I got off the train in Depew the next morning no more rested than when I got on.

Since the ride was entirely at night, I wasn’t able to take any pictures. I watched the scenery pass in the dark and truly missed the solitude and comfort of my roomette. Next time I do this, I hope to have enough money saved to have a roomette for the entire trip.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo - Union Station, Chicago, IL

 We pulled into Chicago Union Station around 5:30, and I dropped my luggage in the baggage storage area and went in search of something to eat. I didn’t wander too far. I still had sea legs from being in motion so long, and I didn’t want to topple over on the streets of Chicago with no one around who knew me to help me up. I’m not exactly known for my tremendous grace and coordination, so I didn’t take chances.

 

The restaurant in the station was closed, so I ended up with another pretzel from Auntie Anne’s and an iced chai latte from Starbucks. I went back to the Metropolitan Lounge to sit still for a little while and eat. The Game Show Network was on the lounge TV, and I quietly challenged myself to get a few right answers.

Around 7:45, I wandered into the main station and struck up a conversation with a couple of Amtrak police officers. Amtrak has its own police department, and they’re a visible presence in Union Station. I asked if the flowers on the ceiling, which looked like delicate rosettes, were painted on with shadowing or if they were actual pieces attached separately. One of the officers told me they were separate pieces. That fact alone made me wonder how they managed to keep the place so clean. Not a cobweb or dust mote in sight. That is not a job I’d want, even if I made a fortune in tips.

Union Station’s grand architectural centerpiece is the Great Hall, with soaring ceilings and textured Roman columns. It’s truly a space built to impress. The station has a unique double stub-end layout, with 10 tracks entering from the north and 14 from the south. Unlike most of Amtrak’s major stations, every train at Union Station either begins or ends there. You can’t just roll on through. If you’re passing through Chicago, you’re changing trains.

And if you're me, you’re also eating a pretzel, counting ceiling flowers, and yelling Jeopardy! answers in your head while trying not to fall over.

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As my train rolled through Wyocena, Wisconsin, I finally saw some crops growing near the tracks—friendly green rows after miles of prairie stretches. For a brief moment, the land looked as though it might actually produce something besides train stops and dust.

Wyocena is home to just 756 people, according to the 2020 census, and it feels every bit like a small-town secret. In April 2008, it was struck by a tornado (an EF-1) that destroyed several homes.

Local legend has it that the village was named by Major Elbert Dickason, who said he dreamed about a bustling metropolis named “Wyocena,” woke up, and declared that would be its name. Sometimes, you just know what works, even if it comes from dream logic. Or maybe it was his medication.

The crops you glimpse from the window feel like a quiet contrast to the tornado’s damage and the intangible roots of a dreamer. It’s a place about patience and quiet harvest, both in soil and in community history.

Wyocena: tiny, steady, and nearly the end of the line for this train traveler.

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Lake Pepin, WI

Next on the rails was Pepin, Wisconsin. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Nestled in a valley carved by glacial melt at the end of the last Ice Age, this little town owes its dramatic landscape to a prehistoric plumbing situation. After a tributary delta partially dammed the Mississippi River, the water backed up and formed what is now Lake Pepin.

The lake got its name from Jean Pepin, a French explorer who settled along its shores in the late 1600s after adventuring around the Great Lakes. In the 1800s, Pepin became part of the lumber industry’s log-floating highway. Freshly cut trees were floated across the lake, though let’s be honest, trees are not natural swimmers, so steamboats were often needed to help them along. Pepin is also the birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder, author of the Little House on the Prairie series.

But not all lake tales are so lighthearted. In 1890, the Sea Wing ferry capsized during a violent storm on Lake Pepin, claiming 98 lives. It remains one of the worst maritime disasters on the Mississippi River.

Still, today’s Pepin is peaceful and lovely, with a wide, shining lake that reflects both the sky and a surprising amount of history. You wouldn’t guess it just by passing through, but this sleepy valley has seen ice ages, French explorers, logging empires, and tragedy. Not bad for a town you can blink and miss if you’re not looking.

Homer, WI

West Salem, WI

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We next rolled through Lake City, Minnesota, which sits right on the edge of Lake Pepin. The views were Absolutely Stunning. The lake stretched out like a painting, and for a minute I forgot all about prairies.

Back in 1680, French explorer Father Louis Hennepin camped on the shores of this very lake. He named it Lac de Pleurs (Lake of Tears) after witnessing Sioux captors grieving the death of a chief’s son. That heartbreak echoed across the water, leaving a name as poetic as it is haunting.

But don’t worry, not all of Lake Pepin’s history is tragic. Fast-forward to 1922, when a local kid named Ralph Samuelson decided snow skis were too limiting and became the first person to water ski right here on Lake Pepin. Lake City proudly claims the title “Birthplace of Water Skiing,” and they throw a big annual party called Water Ski Days to celebrate that fact. As they should. If you invent a new way to be dragged behind a boat for fun, you deserve a parade.

Lake City was one of those rare places that made me wish we had more time. Gorgeous scenery, deep history, and just enough quirk to make it memorable.

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After long stretches of prairie and farmland, the Mississippi River appeared…on my map, anyway. I never actually saw it, but I did see trees. Actual trees! More than I’d seen in quite a while. The view was gorgeous, and it felt like the landscape finally remembered how to breathe. Red Wing carries layers of history in its name.

Named after a 19th-century Dakota Sioux chief, Red Wing grew up near the Mdewakanton Sioux reservation. The reservation was established by the federal government in 1936, and the city developed around it. Early settlers quickly realized the land was perfect for growing wheat. In fact, before the railroads even reached the county, this little region outproduced every other county in the nation.

With the crops came industry. Immigrants from Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Sweden brought their skills and set up shop. There were mills and tanneries, boat-makers and brewers, brickworks and button factories. The town buzzed with craftsmanship and commerce. The historic St. James Hotel, still in operation today, stands as a charming reminder of that industrious past.

Red Wing is one of those places where the past still whispers—if you take the time to listen. And I was glad I did.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 3

 

Tucked into the hardwood hills at the meeting point of the Mississippi and Elk Rivers, Elk River, Minnesota feels like it was shaped by both nature and imagination. The hills here are a gift from the last glacier that passed through the state, leaving behind coarse materials better suited for gravel mining than farming. As a result, the land doesn’t boast endless waves of grain.

Elk River pulses with artistic energy. The town celebrates its local talent with festivals, performances, and art shows, but it’s the murals that truly catch the eye. All around town, blank walls have been transformed into colorful tributes to Elk River’s past and present. One mural might show a steamboat churning along the Mississippi; another, a portrait of the Native peoples who first called this land home. The murals tell stories.

Elk River is nicknamed “Energy City” for its early adoption of renewable energy initiatives back in the 1990s.

Winding trails, wooded parks, and two rivers give Elk River a natural calm, while its artists add depth and color. It’s the kind of place where you can breathe deep, soak in the view, and then get drawn into a conversation about how the old water tower became a canvas.

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Dodson, Montana might be the smallest place I’ve passed through so far with just 126 people as of 2024. It still manages to make an impression though. Set along Montana’s Hi-Line region, it’s surrounded by wide-open prairies, golden fields, and an endless stretch of sky that somehow feels even bigger out here. There’s something peaceful about a place where you can see for miles and still hear yourself think.

The town was named after a merchant who once ran a trading post and saloon here, back before the Great Northern Railway came rumbling through. I imagine him watching the horizon from his front porch, waiting for the train to arrive.

Each July, Dodson hosts the Phillips County Fair, billed as Montana’s longest-running county fair. Not bad for a town with fewer residents than my high school homeroom.

Today, Dodson feels like it exists just slightly out of time. No rush, no noise, just the hum of the wind across farmland. It’s a place that holds on quietly while the world moves around it.

Glasgow, MT

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West Glacier, MT

Shelby, MT

Havre, MT (still no harbor in sight)

Chinook, MT

 

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Coram, Montana may be tiny, just under 550 residents in 2010, but it’s a longtime neighbor to Glacier National Park. Named for lumberman William Coram, the community began as a logging camp back in 1905 and flourished when the Great Northern Railway laid its tracks through the area. The real boom came between 1948 and 1953, when the Hungry Horse Dam was built nearby.

Today, Coram is all about glacier access, rustic lodging, and quiet hospitality. You’ll find campsites, guest ranches, and a distillery, but mostly it serves as a gateway into Glacier Country. From my train window, Coram looked like a place I wouldn’t rush through. It looked like a perfect pause before the grandeur of a national park.

Just outside town lies the Coram Experimental Forest, established in 1933 for studies on western larch trees. Some of those trees are over 500 years old.

No grand downtown or sweeping views, just a quiet place anchored in natural beauty and glacier history, a whisper before the peaks.

My Big Adventure: Returning to Buffalo Day 2

 

Some towns are born of ambition, others out of necessity. Hungry Horse, Montana is a little of both. With a population of just 828 as of the 2020 census, this tiny town rests near Glacier National Park. It sprang to life in the mid-20th century when the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation dropped more than a hundred prefabricated buildings into the wilderness to house workers building the Hungry Horse Dam.

Back then, the new community had a fittingly practical name: “Damtown.” But that didn’t last. In 1948, Flathead County commissioners renamed it Hungry Horse, inspired by a local legend. Two horses, Tex and Jerry, escaped their logging duties one winter and nearly starved in the deep snow along the South Fork of the Flathead River. They were found, barely alive. The tale stuck.

I took this photo in the morning, when the light was stretched across the land. There’s not a lot here, but it is quiet. It’s a place built to survive the snow, the wild, and time itself.

And really, you’ve got to admire a town that went from “Damtown” to legend in a single name change.

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On our way back from the baby shower, Michael, Camille, and I made a quick stop in Leavenworth to recharge her car. I remembered this when I was on the way home and snapped this picture from the train. The view was all forest and mountains, completely hiding the charming little town. You’d never guess there was a Bavarian village tucked in there.

Leavenworth didn’t always look like what I would imagine a European postcard would look like. In the early 1900s, it was a timber town and a regional hub for the Great Northern Railway. But a series of devastating fires, followed by the railroad’s relocation to Wenatchee in 1925, left the economy in pieces. By the 1950s, Leavenworth was fading.

Enter two Seattle businessmen, Ted Price and Bob Rodgers, who bought a struggling café at nearby Coles Corner in 1960. Inspired by Rodgers' time stationed in Bavaria during WWII, they transformed the cafe into The Squirrel Tree and pitched a bold idea: remake Leavenworth into a Bavarian alpine village. Somehow, it worked. Today, the entire town center looks like it belongs in the Alps.

We didn’t stay long, but it made an impression…gingerbread trim, murals, and flower boxes everywhere, all hidden from the rails by gorgeous scenery.

My last photo of the day was taken in Cashmere, WA: 

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Skykomish, WA: 

My Big Adventure - Returning to Buffalo Day 1

Passing again through Gold Bar, WA: 

Then on to Baring, WA: 

As the sun started to head for the mountains, the train rolled through Baring, Washington, a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of place with a population of just 255, according to the 2020 census. It sits along a rare stretch of U.S. Highway 2 that’s surprisingly flat and straight, unlike the winding, dramatic curves that make up most of the highway through the Cascades. Locals call this part the “Baring Straight,” which made me laugh once I realized it was a pun on the Bering Strait between Alaska and Russia. My kind of humor.

Baring was originally named “Salmon,” which makes perfect sense. The Skykomish River runs nearby, and the area has a deep connection to the fish and the people who have depended on them for generations.

From my train window, Baring felt like one of those little places that lives quietly in the shadow of bigger, louder destinations. But there’s something comforting about that kind of stillness—something honest.

And here’s a fun fact: Baring was once home to a speakeasy during Prohibition, hidden in a log cabin deep in the woods. Apparently, even tiny mountain towns needed their moonshine.

The train didn’t stop in Baring, but I kind of wish it did so I could have looked around. It seems like the kind of place where time slows down just enough for you to catch your breath.

Leaving Washington

Time to go home. Heavy sigh.

I’ve really enjoyed spending time with Michael and Camille. Their house is so peaceful. Camille is so kind and generous, especially with her culinary knowledge, and Michael… well, Michael is the big brother everybody just wishes they had. I am so very, very lucky.

After I dragged my lazy butt out of bed around 10, I packed up my things and had a cup of coffee. I started browsing for audiobooks for the trip home while I ate an English muffin topped with the last of Bonne Maman’s strawberry preserves.

Then Michael and I sat on the deck, laughing at TikTok videos and chatting for a while. Truth be told, I can’t remember exactly what we talked or laughed about, but it was quiet and simple and memorable for the time spent together.

I had my leftover lasagna from Grazie’s for lunch, did a final sweep to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and before I knew it, it was time to head to the train station.

It took about half an hour to get to the Everett station through rush hour traffic, but we got there with time to spare. Michael waited with me until the train arrived—much too soon, if you ask me. I really didn’t want to leave, but I’ve got the cardiologist on Monday, so staying longer wasn’t an option. I really need to get to the bottom of the whole heart attack thing.

This time, my roomette was on the north side of the train, so the scenery was a little different on the way back. Greg, my car assistant, stopped by to let me know I had the 8:00 p.m. dinner reservation in the dining car.

And just like that, I was headed home.

My Big Adventure - Travel by Train to Seattle Day 3 con't

 

Everett, Wa

Ah, the weary traveler finally arrives in Everett.

Isaac, the young gentleman assigned to my train car, helped me off the train, where my big brother was waiting with a smile. I was so happy to be there!

It struck me as funny how... weird … my head felt. Even though I was on solid ground, I still felt like I was in motion. Michael said it would take a while to get my land legs back after needing sea legs for so long.

We stopped for coffee at Narrative, an adorable little place with a comfy sofa and a calm, welcoming vibe. I don’t even remember what I drank. I was too busy downloading train stories and observations to Michael. I probably didn’t even need the caffeine. Heck, I probably didn’t even stop for air.

He showed me where he works, and then we headed home. Surprisingly, I didn’t need a nap right away. I think traveling by train was ideal for navigating the time change. I found the trip incredibly restful.

Camille, culinary goddess that she is, made fixed her amazing Copper River salmon for dinner with broccoli and jasmine rice. I try to duplicate it at home, but it’s just not the same. Every time I visit, I ask, without fail, “Can Camille make her salmon one night?” And she’s always gracious about it. She is amazing.

I recently found out that she doesn’t even like to cook! She doesn’t think she’s very good at it (which I could definitely argue but I don’t want to risk becoming unwelcome in her kitchen). So, if you ever find yourself at Michael and Camille’s for dinner and she says she can’t cook, just (quietly) don’t necessarily believe her. Her salmon is legendary.

She says she follows just two rules when she cooks:

1. Use only ingredients you like.

2. Buy the best quality ingredients you can find.

Both make perfect sense and I’m adopting them as my new guiding principles.

My Big Adventure - Travel by Train to Seattle Day 3 con't

 

Monroe is one of those towns where the scenery stops you in mid-sentence. I got a perfect shot of the trees reflecting off the water, so tranquil it could’ve been a Bob Ross painting. But don’t let the calm fool you. Monroe has seen plenty of action over the years.

Originally called Park Place, the town was renamed Monroe in 1890 to honor President James Monroe. The town itself picked up and moved northeast to cozy up to the Great Northern Railway, which arrived in 1892 with the full swagger of a transcontinental connector. That strategic relocation paid off: Monroe became a hub for lumber operations, thanks to its location in the forest-rich Skykomish Valley. By 1894, the first shingle mill was spinning, followed by a sawmill on Woods Creek in 1897.

The town also became home to two major institutions: a condensed milk plant and the state reformatory, which, depending on how your day’s going, could be seen as equally humbling.

In 1902, Monroe opened its very first jail... and forgot to include cells. Locals joked that if prisoners wanted to escape, they'd have to let themselves out nicely.

So yes, Monroe is beautiful. But it’s also got grit, charm, and just enough quirk to keep things interesting.

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Gold Bar’s origins sparkle. In 1869, a hopeful prospector found flecks of gold glinting in a gravel bar along the Skykomish River and did what any optimistic miner would do: He named the whole place after it. Thus, Gold Bar was born. The gold rush didn’t last, but the name stuck around, along with plenty of tall tales and river grit.

The town later became a construction camp for the Great Northern Railway, bringing in workers, saloons, and the kind of rowdy chaos that tends to follow both. In the 1890s, that chaos turned violent: A racially charged conflict erupted putting Chinese laborers at grave risk. In a bold and desperate move, engineer Eduard Bauer saved their lives by hiding them in coffins and smuggling them out of camp under cover of night. (The phrase “ride or die” was clearly not coined yet, but this would’ve qualified.)

Today, Gold Bar is better known for whitewater rafting and stunning mountain views, so if you want to get your heart racing, the Skykomish River still delivers, but in a much more Instagram-friendly way.

My Big Adventure - Travel by Train to Seattle Day 3 con't

 

The scenery here was nothing short of gorgeous. I snapped a photo of a river edged by trees, the water glinting in morning light. That’s the Wenatchee River, cutting through this fertile valley and giving life to the orchards spilling down from the slopes above including Peshastin.

This tiny town has roots deep in the pioneer era, courtesy of the Peshastin Ditch, dug by settlers around 1889 to irrigate those orchards. Without it, this semi-arid desert wouldn’t be full of fruit trees and farming and would likely smell more like dust than apples. The ditch, and those orchards, are still the backbone of the place.

Today, Peshastin is modest in size: Just one elementary school, a library, maybe a taco truck or two, and the kind of small-town heart you don’t find in the big city. It’s also just five miles from Leavenworth (not THAT Leavenworth), so if Bavarian architecture and brats call your name, you’re close.

Peshastin sits at the foot of the Peshastin Pinnacles, a 34-acre state park famous for sandstone spires that look like natural cathedral towers. Hikers and climbers flock here for sweeping vistas of orchards, mountains, and, yes, the same Wenatchee River winding past your train window.

Small town, big river, even bigger views.