Doug Clark: Amtrak trip is not flush with success

This is no way to build an empire.

As I write these words, my lovely wife, Sherry, and I are marooned in downtown Spokane on the train they call the Empire Builder.

On a whim, I decided that it would be fun for us to ride an Amtrak superliner to that fabled Montana whistle stop near Glacier National Park known as Essex. I told my editors not to worry. I would chronicle our adventure in a two-part series to be concluded Tuesday.

My editors were ecstatic. They are always telling me to get out of town.

My wife and I needed a getaway. A week ago we saw our daughter, Emily, get married. The following day she and new hubby, Shane, took off on a honeymoon to Mexico.

After paying for a wedding, Sherry and I had to set the ol’ travel bar a little lower.

“You won’t believe this,” I told her. “We can go to Essex for 84 bucks apiece. Round trip.”

You can’t get airfare anywhere near that dirt-cheap without buying the tickets at least 10 years in advance.

Then there are the added horrors of air travel: the invasive security checks, the possibility of being shoe-probed in an airport toilet stall by a ranking member of Congress.

Q: Why doesn’t Larry Craig travel by train?

A: There aren’t any wingtips.

So I called the Izaak Walton Inn, the Essex lodging landmark, and booked a night in an orange caboose. (It’s the Inn’s version of a honeymoon suite!)

True, traveling by train out of Spokane isn’t the portrait of convenience.

The Empire Builder is supposed to leave the Lilac City about 1:15 a.m.

But as I told Sherry, a little sleep deprivation is a small price to pay for a romantic rail ride.

“We’ll just get on the train, sleep all night and wake up to a glorious dawn view of the Rocky Mountains.”

That was our plan until …

A lady from Amtrak called our home at 8:42 p.m. She said something happened to our train after it left Seattle.

There would a delay.

A delay? How much of a delay?

Oh, about three hours.

OK. So now we’re choo-chooing out of Spokane about 4 a.m.

No problem. We’d still get to Essex in time for a late breakfast.

Here’s an interesting fact about sleep: It can’t be done when you’re fretting about missing a train.

Groggy and numb, we called for a taxi and arrived at the Intermodal Center about 3:40.

The delay, we learned, has been delayed another 45 minutes.

“The engine got a headache,” a friendly and apologetic Amtrak representative told us.

A headache? I’ve suffered through dozens of headaches and still managed to make all my deadlines.

The Amtrak official allowed us find a seat on the section of our train that had rumbled up from Portland. But there would be no departure, alas, until the tardy Seattle train came in and hooked up with us.

“A train is more than a mode of transportation,” exclaimed the free Amtrak brochure. “It’s an experience.”

They got that right.

Sometime around 6 a.m. the power ceased. The air inside our train began to smell like a hobo camp.

An elderly lady sitting several rows behind us started blabbing on her cell phone.

“Hello. No, I’m still sitting in Spokane … I’ll never take the Amtrak again.”

Now, now. No need for that.

She did have a point. Being stuck in a train station and having to stare at a glowing yellow Shell gasoline sign for hours is not a great way to begin a captivating romantic getaway.

“Let’s get off and book a room at The Davenport,” said Sherry.

This is no headache. This is a migraine.

6:40 a.m. – Passenger grumbling is sweeping through our coach car like the Ebola virus. I am reminded of the old “Twilight Zone” episode where a power blackout turns a neighborhood into a bat-wielding mob.

6:58 a.m. – A train attendant walks by my seat. I ask: “Do you have any idea what time …” He responds tersely: “I have no idea,” and keeps walking.

7:05 a.m. – A very large passenger lumbers past me. He announces that he is going to check on Greyhound bus schedules.

7:06 a.m. – A voice booms over the intercom telling us to stay in our seats.

7:06:05 a.m. – “Oh, yeah?” I mutter. “Maybe if you get the train moving, we’ll stay put.”

7:10 a.m. – There is talk among passengers about a certain bathroom where someone has indiscriminately pooed all over the floor. I tell Sherry that a Larry Craig toilet tap would be preferable to that.

7:12 a.m. – “We need Clorox,” bemoans a woman passenger. “We need gasoline and a match,” offers a second voice.

7:13 a.m. – I coin a new railroad word: “Amcrap.”

7:14 a.m. – My wife is a saint.

Will Doug and Sherry make it out of Spokane? Or is this the last train to Clarksville?

Stay tuned Tuesday for the conclusion of our saga.