Slow train going...

Twenty-four hours on a train is a rather long time, don't you think? Especially compared to a squishy bed all night and then a large, stationary bathroom all to oneself, and then the whole wide world to walk around in. But grand adventures require putting up with inconveniences, and some might consider an entire night and day trainbound (but also Boston-bound) to be one of them. Priscilla, however, seems undaunted. I think she's been rather enjoying it, really.

This morning she had breakfast with a girl she met onboard and they discussed traveling in France and other parts of Europe. She also found time to use up the remainder of the index cards she'd taken along... unfortunately, a bright big stack of the index cards she meant to also take remains sitting on the dining room table-- I see it right now (yep, I can type without looking, and I kinda like to brag about it sometimes... here I go again, now typing with my eyes closed!). But really, who takes trips without forgetting at least one thing? And if you're going to forget something, why not something that can be found for about a dollar in all the gazillions of Walgreens this country is covered in? Go Priscilla! Way to have your forgotten thing be something as ubiquitous as index cards!

And guess what? The train, going on tracks across the country, probably has a view that includes a lot more interesting things than Walgreens, and Priscilla filled her eyes with lots of them today. Why don't we all pause to imagine some of the sights she saw slipping by (because she didn't mention what they were... because my phone's battery died and our conversation got cut short).

Go ahead, keep imagining if you want to.

Okay, I think that's about enough. You can stop imagining now and just read the rest of this.

Guess what else? On the train Priscilla also met some guy who has biked, curiously enough, across a bit of New Brunswick, northern Maine, and down into Quebec, just as Priscilla is planning to do. He said that part of Maine is gorgeous and lovely for biking (so reassuring-- that was the part of her trip that I found most sketchy-sounding and extra wildernessy) and he also informed her that crossing one of the bridges is a little tricky (I forget which one, but it's some significant crossing... shoot, I really can't remember), but that if you fill out a form you can get a police escort across. Priscilla didn't seem to think she truly needed a police escort, but I say need, schmeed. If you can have a police escort all to yourself, seriously, take advantage of it! Right?!?

Well, the train did arrive in Boston, and Priscilla was reunited with her bike and the gear she'd checked with the Union Station basement gnomes (the gear was a little grimier than it had been on Monday night, but everything intact). She crossed Boston safely from south to north and hopped on a commuter train apparently manned by Charlie Brown's teacher. "Waug waug waug waug waug," she announces unhelpfully, "waug waug waug waug waug waug." Priscilla thinks she might be saying something about which station is next-- hard to tell. Her target station is Manchester-by-the-Sea, and when she arrives she has just a five minute walk or an even shorter ride to the Zosses' house where she is spending the night. And voila! One leg done already!