It was train day and we were packing to go to Lane Creek. The day before, Dan and Will took the Tundra Long Track out of the shed, got it started, oiled it up, ran it around the yard, declared it ready and loaded it into the bed of the pickup. No room there for all this cargo and the little bit of room in the stretch cab won't hold it either. We will have to take both vehicles.
Dan's been running through a mental check list of food - his department - he does the cooking. He has already packed boxes of staples and cans and Christmas goodies. He has his sourdough starter, frozen blueberries picked last fall for the pancakes, apples from our orchard picked in Sept. and held in cold storage. for the pies. He has fixings for pizza which he and Will like to make together, cream and half and half to make ice cream, chocolate chips for cookies. He has frozen caribou steak packed in the cooler with frozen salmon and the ham we will have for Christmas dinner instead of a turkey. He stands peering into the open refrigerator to see what else he can find. "We always forget something," he says. "Don't worry," I tell him, "We won't starve".
Will, in the meantime, is loading the equipment. We actually have all of this at the cabin but this is the best stuff. Back and forth to the car with three pair of snow shoes, the old-fashioned kind, two pair of Xcountry skis, his and mine, ski poles, two pair of ski boots, both his. He can't find mine. He thinks there at the cabin. Hmmm. I make a mental note to check the shed but I'm busy dealing with phone calls, emails, and talking to our dear friends who look after our chickens when we're gone. I've packed a big box with our Christmas presents. Will also has a box of presents. They get loaded too and now I'm busy stuffing sacks with all the extra warm cover clothes we'll need.
Back and forth to the car for two hours and we finally get everything loaded. Dan's in a rush to get to the train station early but now we are running late. In spite of Will's efforts to reform us our family tradition is breakfast at McDonalds but as we turn the corner we see the drive-in line practically out to the road. Skip that. Dan makes a quick u-turn and we follow. We get breakfast instead at the Subway at the gas station where we stop to fill up the gas cans for the snowmachines. More to Will's liking. The gas cans get put into plastic bags and packed into apple boxes, the better to hide them from view, and loaded with the rest of the cargo.
Now we're speeding up the highway trying to beat the train to Talkeetna, Dan leading, faster than his normal, right-on-the-speed limit pace and Will, driving the suburban, working to keep up with him. More than once, as we pass a car on the snowy road, Will asks if the suburban tires have studs.
We pull into the Talkeetna station with the train due in fifteen minutes. Will and Dan rush to get the snow machine out of the truck. If Will gets the machine over the Talkeetna River bridge and six miles up the trail along the tracks before the train comes he can then hop on the tracks in back of the train and follow it to Lane Creek without having to keep an eye out for other rail traffic or maneuver the machine on and off the tracks.
While he and Dan wrestle with the snow machine, folks at the station help me unload the car. The station manager asks if we we're planning to stay the winter. I tell him, "Just a week" and watch his brow knit as he looks over the pile of stuff. "Christmas presents" I say. He nods his head knowingly.
I watch Will roar off towards the bridge just as the train whistle blows about a half mile out. Something about Dan looks out of place. I realize he only has a down vest over a flannel shirt which isn't particularly unusual except today its 11 below zero. "Where's your coat?" "I gave it to Will, " he says. " He was heading out with just that light windbreaker he wears". How did we do that???
Finally on the train we plop down in the comfortable passenger car and look at each other pleased. Will's coat aside we pulled it off one more time. Every thing covered. The conductor stops by for a chat and as we pass the six mile point he radios the engineer to look for Will. We hear through the radio, "Yeah, I see him. He's by the Nodwell trailhead pulling on the starter cord."
The worry wart in me takes over. If he doesn't get the machine started he'll have to walk six miles back to Talkeetna and hope he can find someone to help. Meanwhile we'll be sitting at our trailhead 20 miles up the tracks wondering what happened to him with no way to contact him. I work my way back through the baggage car to the window at the back of the train looking for him behind us. No sign. Hail Mary full of grace. Finally, after rounding a bend we straighten out at the ten mile point and he comes barreling into view going flat out down the middle of the tracks catching up. Everything's fine.
Back in my seat I relax and enjoy the sights; a bunch of moose on the other side of the river, the mountain in pink light, the ice heaves on the river, the sun. The train stops at our mile post and many hands in the baggage car make quick work of unloading. A neighbor from three miles up the creek has come to meet the train to get a newspaper and he helps too. Just as the train pulls out we hear Will about a half mile down the tracks.
It all came together. Christmas at Lane Creek. Home. The best present of all.
