Pauline Nevins

Times have changed. Five years ago, you would have found me guzzling Guinness in a Dublin pub, or nibbling cucumber sandwiches in the tearoom at London’s Ritz Hotel, or even sampling amuse-bouche under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. A week ago, I was dining in Reno.

The morning of our departure by train from Colfax to Reno, I parked the car, and Jim and I rounded the corner of the depot and peered through the window of the waiting room. The group huddled inside were our travel companions. I signed up at a senior center anticipating the need for support with excursions and transportation, now that Jim has difficulty walking and used a cane. Besides, I heard about those fun-filled train trips.

We joined the overflow crowded into the Visitors’ Center next to the waiting room. I introduced myself to the group leader. I’ll call her Daphne. I learned the original group leader had fallen ill. The advertised “goodie bags and games” were sequestered with her in Placerville. Bang went my vision of a rollicking ride to Reno. Daphne handed me a bottle of water.

Above the din, I heard a familiar voice. Swend Miller? We hadn’t seen Swend in years. He’s the archives director for the Colfax Area Historical Society. He and his lovely wife, Chris, are longtime volunteers at the Colfax Heritage Museum next to the Visitors’ Center. I mentioned to Swend that I frequently refer to the chili recipe he donated to a Colfax library fundraising cookbook. He included in the recipe an unforgettable notation: “You can experiment with red pepper flakes or some jalapeno peppers, but that way lies madness.” Swend was so entertaining we barely noticed the train was an hour late.

I relaxed as the train swayed gently along the tracks. It was too early for heavy snow, but flurries appeared briefly at the Summit. Jim and I looked down at the speeding vehicles on Interstate 80 and smiled.

As we exited the train in Reno, Jim, standing behind me, let out a yell. “Pauline, that guy grabbed our suitcase.” He pointed to a burly man on the platform. I hustled over to him. “That’s our suitcase,” I said, pointing to the small burgundy wheeler. “It’s mine,” he shouted. Then he looked down, let go of the handle and ran down the platform, yelling at the train staff that someone had stolen his bag.

Outside the Reno depot, I looked around for a taxi. In years past, Jim and I enjoyed the brisk walk after sitting for three hours on the train, but times had changed. We trudged the half mile from the depot to the hotel, stopping every half a block so Jim could rest against a building.

With Jim safely settled into the hotel room, I scouted the casino and located The Roxy, one of our favorite restaurants. It was 5:45. “If you get here by six, you’ll be eligible for the specials,” the cheerful Roxy greeter informed me. I speed-walked back to the hotel for Jim, rounded up a couple of people from the group, and we high-tailed back to the restaurant and enjoyed a scrumptious meal.

Our second night in Reno mandated dinner at another favorite: The Louis’ Basque Corner restaurant on the corner of Evans and East 4th Street. The traditional Basque food was plentiful and delicious. Seated family style, it’s impossible not to meet and enjoy a conversation with your tablemates. Jim proudly shared the story of our trip to France to locate his Basque grandfather’s home. My recently published collection of Auburn Journal articles, titled “The Last House Before Spain,” features the house on the cover and includes the story of its discovery.

The next morning, we learned the train home was on time. On time? For years, I’ve bored passengers with the story of a return trip from Reno with my daughter.

On that trip, the train was scheduled to arrive in Reno from Chicago at 9:15 a.m. The evening before, we received a text message. The train wouldn’t arrive until 11 a.m. Next morning, another message. The train was scheduled to arrive in Reno at 3:30 p.m.

“Are we still in America?” my daughter quipped. The train eventually arrived at 5 p.m. Not only was the train running late, but it stopped en route for mysterious reasons. We arrived at the Colfax depot at 10:30 p.m.!

On this current trip, the train was also not on time. It pulled into the Reno station – ahead of schedule. Times, perhaps, had changed.