10 July

Loaded, station-bound.

Walking the route they all will have taken, dragging our effects with little pause for thought because there’s a train journey to be had ahead, with all of the characters and chancers and scoundrels that this may bring.

In the ticket hall at Halifax Station: solo travellers, couples, families, sports teams, groups of intrepid voyageurs … all become equal in travel.

Until we’re split into two queues, that is – one for sleeper class, one for economy class.

Some join the wrong queue.

These are the chancers and scoundrels, inadvertently exposing themselves before we’ve even gone anywhere.

Outside in the bright sunshine, a gleaming stainless steel silver bullet, a retro marvel; confident, proud, waiting for its moment.

I take my cabin for two, with bathroom and private shower – a luxury and a sweet delight; my ablutions will not be publicised.

This is it, the start of an epic railway journey, heading west across the whole of goddamn Canada.

How did I get here – after years of daydreaming, of staring out of the office window – is the question I’m holding off on asking.

As we slowly start moving out of Halifax two minutes early, strange wooden structures jut out to meet us, with an enormous cruise ship lurking behind them.

Then we hit reverse, back to the station, with a few jolts and a bang.

I think we nearly forgot one half of the train.

Fifteen minutes later, finally away again – this time properly, pretty much to the original published departure time, 1pm.

If I’d have known, I could have spent more time pretending to be a learned dandy in the drawing room at the Waverley Inn, pipe in hand.

I’ve barely drawn breath, to take in my surroundings for the next 24 hours or so, before it’s a hot foot to the dining car for a three-course lunch.

I’m immediately sat down on a table with Jean from Dartmouth, NS, and Sunny and Ralph from New Jersey, and it’s all so very civilised.

We all drink mimosas to toast how great we are. I have to ask what a mimosa is … as if I might have declined it, or spent some time making my mind up.

The exchange of life stories and travel stories over hot chowder, vodka pasta, and a tough-to-conquer Napoleon (vanilla, choux – essentially a mess waiting to happen).

Jean and I soon put him in his rightful place – our stomachs. Out of sight, out of mind.

Washes away nicely with a craft ale, which I enjoy immensely despite the fact I’m the only one drinking as my luncheon partners are all on tea or mineral water, the party poopers.

We watch the scenery come and go, presenting itself at the window in postcard snapshots.

I retire to my cabin to watch the afternoon pass by in lazy waves of rocky outcrops and undulating canopies of trees and trees and more trees, punctuated by occasional towns which appear without announcement or fanfare through clearings.

At around 4pm, a drink appears with forewarning and a flourish in the bar, taken through to the dome car, and suddenly I’m on top of the train with an unbeatable view forwards.

We’re cutting an arrow-straight path through dense green forest … it’s like we’re creating the railway line as we go.

My beer is sipped slowly in between occasional announcements and incredulous smiles.

Us passengers, pioneers together as one, flying through Nova Scotia and into New Brunswick, ensconced in the safety of a stainless steel silver bullet, discovering possibilities, creating our own spheres.

I take a late dinner, where I’m placed without choice at a table opposite a miserable-looking man with a thousand yard stare.

This is Hal, sat with a bottle of Snapple, looking bored and out of place amongst the other passengers, all of whom are like excitable dogs wagging their tails.

Yet this man Hal barely acknowledges me as I sit down directly opposite.

And I’m thinking, this is going to be hard work … this is going to be an uncomfortable dinner, sat in awkward silence.

Yet the next hour or two pass by in the most entertaining blur of tall tales and remarkable yarns and unexpected anecdotes of a life lived with all opportunities and advantages fully taken, as and when they have arisen and presented themselves.

Right now, with a frown, the first cautionary words mumbled in my direction: “Don’t drink the wine on here – it’s garbage!”

Shakes his Snapple and announces the best thing to do is to bring your own booze, and smuggle it into the dining car.

This immediately sets me at ease and I order a beer with a grin. And no swill, please – craft ale only!

I inquire of the circumstances which have led him to Nova Scotia, and with a completely straight face he informs me he was meeting his girlfriend’s parents.

My eyebrows raise so far above the both of us, it forces him to immediately add: “I’m 81, she’s 31”, proceeding to go into the background of how they got together.

As we eat and drink, I get the highlights of a full life … building businesses, refurbishing surgical instruments, designing boats, selling timeshare in shorts and T-shirt … never saying no, never believing you can’t do anything – even if you know nothing about it.

I’m reminded of two things: Memel’s lesson to the children (to wit: take whatever you want in life); and Bernie Ecclestone (erm, similar).

When Hal gets up to bid goodnight and withdraw to his quarters, I’m left wanting more … I need an encore!

So I head to the lounge car, the art deco bar, where on the scotch is the boy scout patrol leader, en route to a jamboree.

We raise a glass to that, as the sun sets around us, speeding through the countryside; creating our own stories, setting our own scene.