Prince George BC, before cornflakes, 7.30am: congregating in the train station waiting room – us, the eager Skeena passengers, spilling over onto the platform and also the other way into the ticket hall.
Discontent spreads throughout the assembled horde when we discover that today’s take-off aboard the Rupert Rocket is delayed; and no-one can say with any certainty for how long.
Some bright spark opens up the rumour mill, turns on the lights, and invites everyone in for a brew and a free exchange of idle chat and careless whispers.
As always, I hang around on the peripheries; I want no part in these conspiracies. The only kind of Gossip I’m interested in is pre-recorded, in a studio … so I know where I stand.
Two hours later, we’re finally herded onboard, where a welcome breakfast tray is thrown at the ten of us in Touring class, while the train driver floors it through low-flying greyness.
Forget walking on water – at times we’re running on it, speeding directly over lakes and rivers.
Big rigs, breakers yards, churches, bridges; glimpses of out-of-focus BC scenery through low-hanging clouds.
Our panoramic car, virtually empty, provides a blurred view of western Canadian life from the train.
History, myth, tradition and intrigue, all within striking distance, yet also a million miles away.
I take a late-morning beer in the Park Car, because it seems like the most sensible thing to do, given the regular stoppages … road traffic now overtaking us.
Heading over rivers and bluffs and sometimes directly through rock, the sky constantly moving around us in increasing shades of grey.
Long delays for the double-stacked freight traffic.
Gliding past Burns Lake and Smithers, on the way to a gold rush, via the Bucket of Blood … a log cabin hideout for speculators and chancers.
Following Highway 16 to Houston – this one more NXNW than SXSW – and the blue-and-green Bulkley tributary, to meet up with the Skeena River.
Where a chicken arrives at my table for dinner, along with a tin of swill, while we’re going nowhere very fast.
The landscape after this starts to fold in on itself again, pushing itself up to New Heights.
It’s all I can do to sit back and enjoy all of this roll past with a post-dinner beer.
Shortly afterwards, darkness descends and we spend the remaining few hours speeding towards Prince Rupert in complete darkness.
At midnight we’re finally approaching our destination, only to be held up one last time.
While masked bandits circle the carriages, I quickly pack away my belongings.
Then I wake up, and quickly pack away my belongings.
As the train trudges into our west coast destination and to a final stop, bleary-eyed travellers step off and straight into a queue for cabs.
Nearly three months after arriving in Canada, I’ve made it to the west coast, in a taxi with a complete stranger, in drizzle and darkness, on empty rain-soaked streets.
We jump out at the Pioneer Inn, where thankfully the door is open and sleep is waiting to meet me.
An Outside World 