NJ to Ann Arbor - July 2011 - Day 1

We started our cross country odyssey on Thursday. Myself (the driver) and daughter Brett were in the front with maps of fourteen states while grandkids Mike (10) and Anna (9) were stuffed in the back along with four hockey sticks, pillows, and numerous carry-on size bags covering their floor space. All around, driver's seat included, legroom was at a premium.

The entire trip would cover over 3600 miles – 2800 east to west and another 800 covering a north-south detour into northern Minnesota. The starting point was the New Jersey town of Madison. We were rolling west on I 80 by 9 AM.

It was a comfortable beginning, spiked with alertness from gulped caffeine, and all aboard sensing adventure with eager anticipation.

Along about mid morning a disturbance erupted in the back. Anna had constructed a barricade along the border of her seat territory and it appeared that Mike – doubtless from boredom – was launching various attempts at breaking through the fence. The manifestation of the “attack” was twofold, Mike giggling and Anna’s soft whine – a single word repeated incessantly – “Stop!” stretched out as “Stooooooooooooooop!” with a short "o" vowel sound. This lasted for what seemed like Allentown, PA to Pittsburgh.

Near Ohio things settled down. I asked Brett for a reading – “How much longer?” Our destination was Ann Arbor, MI. We are partial to college towns with hockey teams. Five hours into our journey we were barely half way. By this time I was quivering mildly from my constant death grip on the steering wheel coupled with an unfortunate bad night’s sleep the night before.

 Regardless, I plodded on.

Ten plus hours from departure we pulled into Ann Arbor. We found a Sheraton near town, then a quick trip to a downtown U of M souvenir shop for hockey shirts where I slumped into a lone plump easy chair amid racks of yellow and blue clothing. I tried to stir occasionally lest a local beat writer spot me and draft a headline, “NJ man succumbs amid hockey tees.” 

I survived - revived, in fact, momentarily, an hour later with pasta and wine and the joy of all gathered around the table. 

Post-dinner I flopped onto the hotel bed, oblivious to my daughter’s in-room traveling ritual - scouring for bedbugs.

Morning came and feeling refreshed, I considered ever so briefly the hard facts - six-hundred miles down, thirty-two hundred to go. I banished the thought, grabbed the wheel and it was off to Chicago and points west.

Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club

Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club

 

                  Chicago or Indiana Interstate
We headed south on I-94 out of Ann Arbor, intent on avoiding the Chicago jam that we dove into last year. In 2010 it was a Friday afternoon, late. This year we’d hit Chicago around noon. “Probably won’t be as much traffic at this time of day,” I told Brett.

We hugged the Lake Michigan shore – albeit no sight of actual water - as I-94 dipped south then came the decision point, just east of Gary, IN: 

1. Branch off to 80 west avoiding the windy city altogether or ...

2. Head through Chicago but I-90 instead of last year’s I-94.

As with the year before we were hungering for a cityscape and so couldn’t resist settling on option 2. A bit chancy I thought but hey - I repeated one of our travel mantras, “We only do this once.” We flew onto I-90 pointing toward mid-city.  It was when we passed The White Sox stadium that I realized we were actually on the same jammed road that we traveled a year ago. My second mistake was the prediction of light traffic. It was standstill at noon.

                            Let's Get Outta Here

“OK, why don’t we get out of here and head up one of the city streets, just keep going north – keep the sun at our backs.” I looked up for the sun. I was famous for this.

“Eyes on the road,” Brett warned.

“No problem,” I said as I rolled down the exit ramp onto, “What’s this street?”

“Thirty first,” my navigator said.

“OK head east – right? – where’s the sun?” We crawled east on 31^st.

Miracle of miracles, Lake Michigan came into view as 31^st Street ended. “Cool,” I said.

                 Bathroom Break at the Yacht Club

The kids needed a bathroom so I pulled into a cul-de-sac next to what looked to be a yacht-club-like building – definitely a members-only-type, I thought.  Lake Michigan glistened before us. The parking lot was $19 per hour (steep for a bathroom break) which caused me to reason that we’ll be chased out of here in a “New York (Chicago) minute”, but nature’s needs prevailed so I pulled up to a yellow curb near the water’s edge, waited in the car as kids and mom trudged with held hands toward the yacht club.

Their silhouette was so touching that I felt that the club might offer them a membership along with unlimited bathroom privileges.

I waited – illegally parked – anticipating sirens any minute.

                        Special Privileges 

The sirens never came and Brett, upon return, reported – not a yacht club after all, so I decided to venture in myself. I left B and kids, advising her to tell any officials that “Grampa with prostate problems needed a bathroom.” This made me chuckle, but not them, as off I went.

I noticed a store-like room on the right side of the building and feeling emboldened strolled in. Two public-service employee types stared at me. “Did I look so un-yacht-like?”

I put on my best natural smile and soon we hit it off. They offered me directions and suggestions for walk-about activities up the road and I complimented them on their beautiful store, building, park, yacht club etc. My praise was a bit exaggerated but I was sincere and they seemed to buy it. They told me there was a better bathroom outside to the left. We bid goodbye and although I’d already used the “bad” bathroom I couldn’t resist exercising my new privilege. The bathroom to the left was nice, more suitable for yachting types – me.

Back in the car, I reported details of my excursion to all, got behind the wheel and pointed the car north, thinking about the kids dipping their toes in Lake Michigan.   

Day 2 continued ... Chicago City Tour

Day 2 continued ... Chicago City Tour

 

The yacht guys said there was meter parking up the road. Of course we couldn’t find it. We settled on the parking garage.

$16 the sign said. “That’s expensive,” said Brett.

“Hey, we’re only here once,” I muttered as we rolled into underground parking. We swirled around and down finally to a spot at level 3. A little walk, feeling our way, and we found the entrance – exit – where we marched toward daylight.

                                   Hey Maryland!

I heard someone shouting, “Hey Maryland! “Not that way, Maryland!!!”

It hit me that the rental car license plate was Maryland. I turned my head.

“Can’t walk out there Maryland.” It was a security guard.

“OK. Hold up guys," I said. 

“I saw you drive in - Maryland right?”

“Actually New Jersey,” I said, “It’s a rental.”

The guard, a good-natured soul, directed us to the pedestrian exit, one floor up. Outside on soft grass we exhaled and headed for the banks of Lake Michigan. 

It was a people friendly “park”, mainly wide open lawns with bike paths, walking trails and the endless Lake shoreline.

Anna and I walked along the roomy concrete tiers, roman coliseum-like, abutting the lake at the north side of the park.

                                   Our TV Debut

Suddenly I heard a voice, “Would you mind talking to us about the Great Lakes for a TV show we’re filming?”
Huh?
A shopping mall questionnaire came to mind. I was about to refuse but then looked up at what had to be three of the most quintessential faces of youthful beauty in … Michigan - Illinois?
“No problem,” I said then pointing to Anna, “just keep the camera on the photogenic one.”

They asked questions about pollution and endangered species in the lakes. My learned responses surprised me – really. I related tales of boyhood swimming in Greenwood Lake, NY, and its later necessary dredging. “I grew up in lake country in NY State,” I gushed. They smiled approvingly.

Truthfully I couldn’t imagine anyone that knew where the remote was not using it by ten seconds into my interview. Regardless, a successful debut, I reasoned. The film crew thanked Anna and me profusely.

“We’ll be on TV,” I said to Anna as we walked away.

“Really?” she said.

“Probably,” I said, but I didn’t elaborate.

               May I See Your Badges Please

 We strolled on, leisurely circling the grounds when suddenly around a bend we spotted a small beach.

“Probably six bucks per to get on,” I offered as we trudged over.
I approached a woman seated on a chair with a shade umbrella at the entryway steps. I recognized the type from Point Pleasant, NJ.
“Are you taking tickets, or checking badges?” I said.
She looked at me like I was from New Jersey. “You’re not?” I said. 

“It’s free,” she said.

We (kids) raced to the water where they jumped and splashed for thirty minutes. 

                It's Sea Glass                                                             

Walking back from the water Mike spotted a piece of glass the size of a corn flake. “Sea glass!” he screamed, seemingly to all of Chicago. He rolled it through his fingers like a prospector with a gold nugget. But as luck would have it the nugget slipped through those fingers as we were walking to the car.  With treasure lost, the whole family dropped to the ground and combed the grass. Many minutes went by. Pleas from Brett to “Let it go,” went unheeded.  Cars rushed by on Lake Shore Drive. Chicago rush hour, Friday PM was in full swing. We hunted on.

“Look over there; they must have dropped a diamond ring.”

“Probably.”

“OK, that’s it,” Brett said, finality in her voice.

“No,” Mike pleaded.

This exchange repeated itself several times. I was tempted to say that commuters seeing us initially were now home enjoying cocktails, but that would be a trifle overstating. Just say that we searched long and hard. Finally Brett told Mike that the glass must have fallen out earlier on our walk - not here. Mike swore that it didn’t. We continued combing. I mean – it was sea glass!

The three hour trip to Madison, WI took us six. We traveled the scenic route.

more Day 2 ... Scenic Route to Madison

more Day 2 ... Scenic Route to Madison

 

Back in the car, and refreshed – kind of - after our beach excursion I announced “Might as well head straight north, up Lake Shore Drive – we’re right here.” 

“Go for it,” Brett said. Not exactly a vote of confidence.

Kids were in the back, fixated on their hand-held game “machines.”

 

                       Mike, Anna. Look.

It was the kind of “scenic” that Brett and I liked, cityscapes, neighborhoods, beautiful homes, and moving traffic. We implored the children to see the sights. “Look at that building – park – beach etc.”  They grunted, barely lifting their heads. “You’re missing everything!” Brett said.

“We’re not,” the kids responded. Again the raised heads, maybe two seconds.

 

Lake Shore Drive ultimately became Sheridan Road, also lakeside and northbound albeit not a speedway. Sheridan brought us through well kept neighborhoods, the campus of Loyola University and then Northwestern in Evanston. We gushed over the architecture and landscape declaring every so many blocks, “I could live here.”

 

No reaction from the kids.

 

                                This Road is Great

Not familiar with the road I was anxious about a possible disaster – dilapidated buildings, standstill traffic and window washers plying their trade. But Sheridan kept rolling, snaking its way north through small towns, through country woodlands and from time to time a peek at the Lake.

Sometimes it (Sheridan street signs) vanished (Where’d it go?) or changed names and just when we panicked, it would reappear, Sheridan Road once more - still pointing north. “This road is great,” I declared.

 

                                Military Only

 We passed the Great Lake Naval Training Center in North Chicago, slicing right through the base. Squads of uniformed sailors were out on the walks. Eventually the people thinned out it and it was just tan barracks-like buildings, then finally nothing. It was here the road widened, like a parking lot, deserted blacktop that appeared to have been hit with a wrecking ball. Was this a weapons test site?

 

“Better get out of here,” Brett said.     

 

“Yeah,” I said, but I resisted. I slowed down, barely rolling.  With 3000 plus miles still to go, turning back had zero appeal. “Forward only” was our motto, but any moment I was expecting a warning: “Military Personnel ONLY Beyond this Point.”  

 

I checked the rear-view mirror. Kids were still otherwise engaged. Torpedoes could have sailed by for all they knew.

 

But then the test site gradually faded. The surroundings slowly changed and we found ourselves squinting suspiciously at a line of warehouses (storage for torpedoes?). Then a miracle, an actual conventional street emerged  – Sheridan Road - believe it or not.

 

                           Where’s the Interstate?

 The Sheridan odyssey ultimately ended just across the Wisconsin border where we opted to take a chance on a due-west tilt. “We’re bound to hit the highway sooner or later – just head into the sun,”   I said, not at all sure.

 

The gods were with us though; soon we ran into our old friend I-94.

 

                       “Oh my God, it’s Pettit, the training center”

We were sailing now, northbound, then bending west at Milwaukee, where we got a nice view of the city, then passing the baseball stadium, its lot jammed for tonight’s game. “County Stadium” was my recollection of the Milwaukee Braves’ home field in the 1950s; now it’s the Brewers and Miller Stadium the sign said. "Makes sense," I thought.

 

But the highlight of the day was passing the Pettit National Ice Center - U.S. Olympic Training Facility just west of the stadium. Brett abruptly went into hockey mom mode and proceeded to rattle on about this for most of the next 100 miles. Not really sure about all she said but I wasn’t about to say, “What’s the big deal?” Not when she's in hockey mom mode. 

Next ... Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin, Iowa, and the Rockies

Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin to the Rockies

Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin to the Rockies      

Into Madison

We entered Madison, WI around 8 PM and immediately looked for Capital Square, our landmark from last year’s visit. We were tired from twelve hours on the road, and hungry.

I spotted a Hilton Hotel a couple of blocks from the square and said, “How about if I go in there?” 

“Too expensive,” Brett said.

“Maybe they’re full; so then I’ll ask for a recommendation,” I said.

“Don’t count on it,” Brett said.

In I went. “Do you have a room for tonight?”

“Unfortunately we’re full.”
 I feigned disappointment.

* I later saw that it was not too expensive so my subsequent disappointment was real. Maybe next time.

Armed with a recommendation we found a room at a Sheraton, checked in, then returned to town for dinner. Long waiting lines - over an hour - sent us back to the hotel “grill.”

“Sorry, only appetizers after 9,” the grill waiter told us. We settled on nachos and salsa, plus fried cheese.

Minneapolis, a Small Detour, then Des Moines

Saturday morning - a MacDonald’s egg on a biscuit, a quick gas-up and we were off to Minneapolis to meet Kevin at the airport.

After the overnight it was two hours to Deerwood in northern Minnesota. Our car was a bulging suitcase, five stuffed people, plus bags, and four newly purchased pillows all competing for breathing room. Peering over the pillows the beautiful lake country scenery was crisp and, at times, captivating.

Following the hockey camp drop-off Brett and I retraced our morning drive, then locked onto the interstate south through Minnesota and Iowa. All cornfields all the time, once beyond reach of the Twin Cities.

Lonely Road Paranoia

The night before I’d read about Ames, Iowa – ranked third, in all of USA, in a list of best places to live. I booked a reservation at a Hampton Inn. 

Ames seemed to be forever coming.

Rolling endlessly on a middle-America interstate can play with the mind - anxiety mainly. It was scary lonely out here, unless you were a cornstalk. Perhaps a crop dusting plane every two hours. That was it.

What would we possibly do if we broke down?"

There was no town in site - ever.  Just bare exit roads, and a lone green sign with a fake town name. Fake because looking left and right, far into the distance there was no town, not a single building, nothing. "Fake out.”  A glance in the rearview mirror revealed more emptiness, miles of straight concrete ribbon, not even a following car.

Call AAA? OK, but waiting through the overnight for the tow-truck - should we sleep in the field or the car? 

Finally there was a sign for Ames.

The hotel was right off the interstate.  On the access road a man with a deeply sunburned face and a plastic bag over his shoulder watched us roll in. He was not especially well dressed. Brett immediately labeled him a killer.

Apparently the lonely road paranoia was still in force.

“No way,” said Brett as we inched our way into the hotel lot.

I went in and told the clerk that – change of plans – we must now meet my other daughter in Des Moines, so we’re getting back on the road.

 

Five Stars for Des Moines 

“Only thirty miles to Des Moines,” I announced cheerfully.

At the city limits Brett, less than cheery, proclaimed “down and out.” It was her name for dilapidated and dangerous. Once into the downtown proper, however, things brightened. The Embassy Suites Hotel was exquisite. It was bordered by a park on the banks of the Des Moines River; there were railroad whistles and visible trains within earshot (a good thing) and restaurant row, just a block away, was quaint and attractive. In short, a magnificent evening – food, wine and afterward a lingering walk across the river bridge.

So five stars for Des Moines.

Monday it was off to points west. Where exactly, we knew not. It was a hundred-plus miles to the Nebraska border, then close to four hundred more to Colorado. We spotted Omaha and Lincoln so there are people in Nebraska – not just corn. The fact is - Ashley and I had enjoyed a stay in Lincoln a decade ago.

 When You’ve Only Got a Hundred Years to Live

Somewhere in the middle of the great cornfield that comprises most of America – actually western Nebraska in this case - a song came on the radio.

The wind was whipping through the windows drowning out the music so Brett upped the volume. Then she picked up on the words – with exuberance.  Unlike me, she can sing. I recognized the song.

“Five for Fighting.” Brett informed me.

Huh?

“The group, not the song,” she said.

Brett points out, that “Five for Fighting,” means that, in hockey, there is a five minute penalty for fighting, hence “Five for Fighting.”

“Get it?” she says, then adds, “They’re a Canadian group.”

Hmmm. Who knew?  I had heard the song before – 100 Years - but didn't know all the words. 

Brett knew the words and the tune and her singing filled the car, rising above the blasting wind and mixing into the entire scene – the breeze, the hypnotic fields whizzing by, the hum of our rolling tires with our car shooting through the plains, and most of all, the earnest melodic sound of my daughter’s voice: 

Another blink of an eye
Sixty-seven is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on... 

It brought a tickle to my nose and water to my eyelids.

Travelers Haven

We spent the night in Colorado Springs, pushing ourselves, as darkness neared, beyond Denver to what we called a “travelers haven” those now common interstate "cities" with all travel essentials - gas, food, and lodging – just outside of the USAF Academy grounds at the foothills of the Rockies.  

Just a final word. We ate a late dinner at a "travelers haven" chain eatery. Baked potato and veggie burger for me, Brett, some pasta. It was not crowded at this hour. As I sipped a beer, I could feel the tension slowly drain away. I looked at my daughter. Her smile was relaxed too and had that brightness of youth. - visible to me at seventy. A blessing of my age.

In my comfort I had to ask again - what did I ever do to deserve such blessings? 

Next ... on to New Mexico

Day 6 Cross-Country - Colorado, New Mexico

Day 6 Cross-Country - Colorado, New Mexico 

 

Campus Tour 

In the morning of day six we headed for the USAF Academy to embark on our version of a campus tour: the book store, the athletic fields, and hockey rink on foot, but the rest by car seeking a quick “college campus” panorama. Then it’s done.

The resplendent Academy grounds, set against the foothills of the majestic Rocky Mountains were compelling. They were pristine and manicured in a manner fitting of a national landmark with a defense department budget. 

 
I Should Work-Out More
“School” was not in session, but there were a number of “cadets” moving about on the various fields, courts and rinks. As I watched them it made me want to exercise more, plus it triggered my usual old man’s awe for the beauty of youth. No it didn’t make me sad- on the contrary, happy – for them, for me and the abundant blessings of this beautiful earth.

Looking at the grandeur of the mountains, the lush lands as well as the bright faces walking about, it was easy to forget that a significant product of this establishment was bombs dropped from the sky. I preferred to think of the young troopers as stewards of our land, akin to CCC or Peace Corps cadets.

Westward Ho
After our tour it was onward - further west into Colorado Springs proper, which I was looking forward to.

We managed to find the “town center” in our predictable hit or miss fashion.

“Turn down this street.” 

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Eventually we pulled the Toyota into a parking spot around the town green.

We saw immediately that the midday character of the city was offset by small but noticeable collection of homeless-hippie-beggar-types scattered around the green – often a characteristic of beautiful western American cities. 

Whether they were homeless, I was uncertain, but by the looks of their crimson faces and rolled blankets in overstuffed backpacks they appeared to be spending much time in the outdoors. Plus staking out positions in the middle of the sidewalk indicated that they wanted to engage the everyday passerby, especially tourists.

OK, I often give to beggars, usually even, but a gift here seemed unwise. Engaging one unfortunate street person, maybe, but getting involved with a group, no.

Lightening Bolts

So Brett and I were careful as we negotiated our way through the downtown streets. We purchased a cup of coffee and got back into the car and hit the road (interstate) pointing for Santa Fe, NM.

The route had us aiming for black storm clouds and menacing, but beautiful, daggers of lightening much of the way into Santa Fe. I stayed on the interstate rather than risk an auto-trek through the mountain pass trails to our right. Guess I've wised up at 70 despite seeing it work on TV with those off-road Jeeps, mud splattered, with rugged cowpokes at the wheel. Plus I was still carrying precious cargo – daughter Brett. 

 With our entrance into the Santa Fe city limits came the usual questions – how to find the downtown area and where to stay for a reasonable price?

Shark Attack
We spotted the Santa Fe Hilton a block from the town square. I put it this way to the pleasant young lad behind the desk, 

“Would my daughter and I be able to afford to stay here?”

“I can give you two double beds for $169,” he said.

“Sold,” I said.

“Hold on,” he said as he handed me a registration form. He had a phone call. 

“What?!!” he exclaimed into the phone. “A shark attack? Where? OK I’ll send someone. Bye” He hung up.

He got back to us, started to pencil in our reservation then looked up at our puzzled faces. “Shark attack is a clogged toilet,” he said.

Who knew?

“Not your room,” he assured.

We had a nice dinner, a good sleep (thanks to a barbiturate or two in my case) and breakfast on the green. Then it was off to Winslow, AZ - the surprise highlight of our trip.

     

Day 7 Santa Fe to Winslow, AZ

Day 7 Santa Fe to Winslow, AZ

We left Santa Fe right after breakfast, heading ultimately for Winslow, AZ. We had a reservation at La Posada, a reportedly famous historic hotel built by a man named Fred Harvey.* I had read about La Posada over the years and was enticed, not the least, by the promise of the Burlington Northern - Santa Fe railroad tracks running "just outside your window" as one reviewer put it.

El Rancho Hotel
We traveled south out of Santa Fe pointing toward Gallup, NM.  where we re-filled the gas tank. Next to the gas station was the historic El Rancho Hotel
The El Rancho Hotel has been the home for numerous Movie Stars while filming in the area including John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Errol Flynn, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, Humphrey Bogart and numerous others.
In addition to Movie Stars, numerous Political Figures have stayed at the El Rancho including two Presidents: President Reagan and President Eisenhower.
El Rancho was advertised on various billboards approaching Gallup as a historic gem, a destination of the famous of a bygone era: John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Errol Flynn, and even politicians like Reagan and Eisenhower.

The billboards piqued my curiosity but I was still a bit apprehensive about going in and asking to look around. I forced myself, remembering "we're only here once." Approaching the front desk, I settled on, "We’d like to stay here on our return trip, so do you mind if we look around?"
"Of course not," was the reply, so Brett and I wandered upstairs. Maids were making up some rooms and we peeked in smiling and saying we were thinking of staying here. Everyone was most gracious.
My assessment? Wonderful, but perhaps not for the modern upscale traveler. Authentic history buffs, yes. Clean, safe and comfortable, just not updated to modern ways. But nicely maintained and truly historic.

 Route 66 to Winslow
From Gallup we got back on US 40, which closely parallels, and at times coincides with historic Route 66. We finally rolled into Winslow. I was excited about Winslow. In addition to La Posada was my liking for the Eagles’, "Take It Easy," which begins with the words, "Standing on a corner in Winslow Arizona… "

I figured that a particular "corner" in Winslow would be memorialized and I was correct. It stood out with sign and a lone eagle perched on a window sill. That was it – a bit of a letdown.
We rolled slowly through the in-town Route 66, inching our way eastward anticipating at any moment an abundance of quaint southwest architecture properly fitting for a spot so immortalized in song.  But quaint never appeared.  Instead the style was a bit on the strip-mall-like side.

The Magnificent La Posada
Brett labeled it, "Down and out." I too was disappointed and as we pulled into the paved La Posada lot we both had apprehensions. It didn’t help that directly across the street was an empty warehouse looking structure with open-air windows. A group of teenage boys stood beneath one of the windows tossing their backpacks through before hoisting themselves up and in, head and shoulders and finally their feet, disappearing inside.
Though the boys appeared young the idea that came to my mind was "Crack den." I kept the thought to myself lest we repeat our Ames, Iowa experience. See 2011 Wisconsin to Rockies
The hotel looked fine from the lot but I feared the worst. A couple was walking toward us heading for their car.
I risked a question, "How’s the hotel?"
"Great," they said.
I was doubtful.

Within minutes, our fears were allayed. Brett and I wandered the inside first marveling at the exquisite restoration of authentic southwest architecture. The room was even better, spacious, pristine, magnificently restored. Perfect.
Restaurant and bar. Perfect. The back lawn and garden? Perfect.  And the BNSF railroad tracks at the edge of the back lawn – a train watcher’s dream.
We walked around inside and outside for an hour finally admitting that the hotel was so marvelous that we both agreed that La Posada was the kind of place that was, in itself, a desirable destination.

Our dinner was wonderful with a window looking out at the railroad tracks where the promise was that the Amtrak Southwest Chief would be stopping around 10 PM. We strolled around the grounds for an hour after dinner, then sat on the patio chatting with the restaurant manager as BNSF freight trains rumbled by. I was in heaven.

Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind
As we talked an unusual looking passenger train pulled in, not the normal Amtrak look.
We were told by a reputable source that this train was filled entirely with BNSF "bigwigs." With few exceptions, the window shades were drawn and no passengers peered out at us or at La Posada. Nor did anyone get off. The train remained stationary, going on an hour now. Of the few glimpses into the windows we could see exercise equipment. Gymnasium car I supposed.
Still no visible passengers. I suspected there were none on board. We were assured otherwise and we were also assured that seeing this train stop like this was extremely rare and therefore most exciting.
Not really. Aliens from outer space was my guess. Like the famous Roswell UFO Incident, circa 1970s, this was the 2011 Winslow Alien Train Incident, witnessed by just three people, a NJ man and his daughter plus an unknown mysterious man who has never come forward.
But we’ll never know the truth because Brett and I finally gave up and went inside to sleep.

After a restful night and stop for breakfast in Williams, AZ, 100 miles west, it was back on the road pointing for the California desert, a 400 plus mile section, of the day’s 550 total.
We were home before dark.