The ghost train

STRASBURG, PA -- This one is for Mom. That's the first thing you need to know.

I'm sitting in a baggage car as I type on a brief vacation that needed to happen. It was overdue.

I realize COVID-19 is still very much a thing and we need to be cautious, but we can also live our lives if we're smart.

Last June -- Father's Day weekend, in fact -- Sean, Mom, and I went to Waffle House in Allentown, PA. It was a goofy long day of food, a stroll through the VF Outlet in Reading, a Wawa visit near Easton, PA, and a lot of driving. I also made sure -- for some prophetic reason -- that we drove through Butler, NJ to see the house she lived in as a little girl.

By August, she talked about doing it again. We also talked about staying at the Red Caboose Motel in Strasburg, PA, which has -- you guessed it -- repurposed cabooses and other train cars. My mother was the daughter of a railroad man so she was always fascinated by trains. I knew she'd love the Red Caboose Motel.

But as the summer began to reach its own dusk, Mom said she wasn't quite up to the trip.

"You and Sean should go," she told me. I knew that was a terrible sign.

I knew she was concerned about getting in and out of the train cars and, yes, stairs were a difficult reality for her. She used a chair lift at home and any other stairs required the help of Sean or me or someone else.

She died before we had a chance to convince her that we could make this trip happen.

For nearly six months, Sean and I kept thinking about it. I know for a fact that a little birdie would whisper in Sean's ear occasionally to encourage him.

"Yeah, we'll make it happen." That quote could be attributed to either of us.

Sean thought maybe we'd do a day trip, but I decided to go all-in and give the Red Caboose Motel a try. Granted, I'm one for doing my research and normally staying in chains but everything looked good about this.

After a prolonged process in which rooms dwindled down and prices went up, I reserved a room and we left this morning.

I packed in a suitcase that was Mom's to bring her with us somehow. I also had our route pass along Interstate 80 through Paterson, NJ. She was born there.

We were soon at Waffle House near Easton, PA. Breakfast was phenomenal. We were both pleased.

But we were also well ahead of schedule, as I had booked us tickets on the 1:30 train at Strasburg Rail Road, within site of the motel.

The time I thought I'd waste in Reading at VF Outlet, for instance, went out the window because it closed in December. That one hurt, for what it's worth, as we'd made many trips there, especially in the past 20 years.

Wyomissing, PA used to be known for outlets before it was known for Taylor Swift

The other thing I noticed was snow was drifting on a cold, blustery day in Pennsylvania Dutch Country. I slowed to a crawl a few times to avoid sliding.

We got to the Red Caboose much too early to be checked in but the woman in the lobby told us we'd be in "Room 31."

So, we took a look. From the outside, it was nondescript.

At best.

It concerned me.

We stalled. We headed over to Strasburg Rail Road. We approached the booth far ahead of the 1:30 train (it was 11:45 a.m.) but the girl at the window welcomed us on the noon train.

It might be the finest antique train ride anywhere. This was our third time on it, and I always think it's well-narrated, clean, comfortable, and expertly maintained. Plus it's very kid and family-friendly, including stopping to tell the story of a ghost train whose whistle can still be heard nearly 200 years later.

It's not inexpensive but it's worth it.

We wasted some time by going to lunch (Wawa, of course). We grabbed a pack of water for the room at Target. We drove around and watched Amish life.

We were in Intercourse at one point. Heh heh. Heh heh.

The official greeter of the Red Caboose

We returned to the motel and officially checked in.

I braced. Sean seemed bored at times and even a little short with me throughout the day (he's almost 19 so I get it).

I took the key and put it in the door. Yes, an actual key.

We walked in.

He gushed like a kid. He couldn't wait to text his friends pictures of how cool our baggage car was with two double beds and bunk beds. Six people could fit in here and it almost made me sad that we didn't have others with us.

But, to be clear, it was also important that this weekend was ours. We haven't done just father and son on the road in a few years and it was an annual thing at one time. For us, this needed to be a sort of pilgrimage, to honor our mother and grandmother.

The grounds include a small petting zoo and a converted silo that serves as an observation tower. If this turns out to be a good experience, we said we'd try to come back to stay in a real caboose, since -- as I said -- we're in a baggage car.

We had Golden Corral for dinner and we'll have Waffle House for breakfast tomorrow morning before heading home far too soon.

Work awaits. Thirty podcasts to record (I've lost count).

Incidentally, we encountered terrible ice going to dinner tonight and hit some more on the way back. I'm just glad we're safe.

Mom should be here.

We could have done it last summer.

We would have gotten her into the room.

Would have...could have...should have...

I know, I know. Mom is here. With us in spirit.

Maybe she is.

She's in the backseat, as always, with Sean riding shotgun.

Her mark is all over this trip.

Believe me.

Her train ticket is validated.

She's that ghost, blowing her whistle in the distance.