The sort of sailing I do could never be done in this dress. I don’t lounge on the deck of a grand yacht with a glass of champers. Instead, I’m in a dinghy, heeled over as far as possible, barely in control, and always in danger of capsizing.
One of our dining companions commented, “The train is the only civilized way to travel.” He may have been romanticizing it a bit. The toilet and shower situation, even in the sleeper car, was certainly uncivilized. I was happy to return to my own facilities and take a long, thorough shower.
I’ll also admit to missing my makeup while on the train. I had access to it, but there was no way a cateye was going to happen on the bumpy ride. (And I didn't dare get my sharp, pointy tweezers anywhere near my eye.)
Passing through Colfax meant we were amost home!
And then I promptly got dirty again at agility class.
We returned from Denver (to Sacramento) by train. When our car attendant warned us of mooning along the route, we didn’t take him seriously. It turns out that the Amtrak Salute is serious business. Rafters, fisherman, and campers along the tracks were quick to drop their drawers and show us their butts. I never knew that mooning could be so enthusiastic. There was bouncing, twisting, slapping, and general manipulation. The conductor warned us not to respond in kind. Personally, I think a line of butt cheeks pressed against the windows of the observation car would have been a perfect response.
Tunic, Forever 21. Tank and jeans, Old Navy. Boots, Ariat. Sunglasses, earrings, and scarf, Charming Charlie. Bag, Guess.
Had I known about the Amtrak Salute, I would have brought the telephoto lens instead of the fisheye. If you click and squint, though, you can make out three bare butts in the boat.