All Aboard at 7:27 A.M., Track 3

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Pop tarts, check. Frosted blueberry, two to a crisp silver pouch that reminds me of astronaut food. Sustenance for a long voyage ahead. I travel nowadays with these tasty, processed treats as reliable in my kit as chapstick or sunglasses. Something from my childhood, maybe? I don't specifically recall Pop tarts in the station wagon, jammed with sleeping bags, puzzle books, and siblings. I'm sure Mom bought them a few times as durable, mess-free car snacks, so I connect them with travel. Same with those single-serving boxes of breakfast cereal, shrink-wrapped within an inch of its life, and my sisters and I anxiously waiting for tomorrow's morning meal, 500 miles from home, just so we bust open and grab the coveted Froot Loops or Sugar Smacks. Conversely, we knew the trip was coming to a close when the only losers remaining were Corn Flakes and Product 19. Pop tarts, likewise, are travel food in my head. I dont think I've ever eaten one at home.

Busting out the travel blog as a diversion. Just a weekend jaunt up the coast to New York City. Thank you, Amtrak, for a fairly painless and clean experience. And punctual! God forbid the schmuck who thinks the train will wait for them, or that it won't start on time like movies in the theatre these days. No sir, 7:27 a.m. and the scenery outside my window seat starts to roll away like a memory.

"Gauge" refers to the distance between parallel rails. Train tracks with different gauges will mess up what train cars can fit onto them, so we now have a "standard gauge" of 4 feet, 8.5 inches so all trains can fit onto all tracks. I remember a story about a resort town in the Swiss Alps that wanted to attract new tourism, so they built a train station between France and Germany. They induced both countries to build a railway line to meet at their new train station. Each country obliged the little resort town's request. But the tracks from France and the tracks from Germany were different gauges, so no train could run from one country to the other. Every passenger with all his or her luggage had to get off one train a d board another to finish the trip.

The resort is now a ghost town, with rusty tracks and an abandoned station.

I see this trip as a gauge for me as well, a device to measure magnitude or contents. How much pressure do I feel? How much fuel do I have in the tank? How am I doing? A typical gauge is measured with a visual display of some form---maybe my magnitude or contents can be read on my face or posture as well. Maybe I'm easy to read. It's time to stop, take a Pop tart break, comfortably aboard the Northeast Regional 174. Time also to take a measurement and stare at the scenery rolling by like a memory.


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