A Trip on the California Zephyr Sleeper Train

2025-11-28 - Reading time: 27 minutes 🌐 日本語版 🌐 中文版

Translated from Japanese original by ChatGPT and reviewed by Me.

AMTRAK eTicket
[PRESENT THIS DOCUMENT FOR BOARDING]

CHI        >        SAC                      One-Way
Chicago, IL         Sacramento, CA           AUGUST 23, 2025
Union Station       Sacramento Valley Station

TRAIN   CALIFORNIA ZEPHYR   DEPARTS         ARRIVES (Mon, Aug 25)
5       Aug 23, 2025        2:00 PM         3:05 PM
                            Chicago, IL     Sacramento, CA
                            Union Station   Sacramento Valley Station
1 Roomette  |  Car 531 Room - 13

VLD DATE/TRAIN TICKETED. NO SHOW: FORFEIT VALUE.
COACH/BUSINESS: CHNG/CNCL NO FEE. ROOMS: CNCL FEE MAY APPLY.
ADULT FULL FARE ID REQUIRED

1 ADULT RAIL FARE            $293.00
1 ROOMETTE                  $1080.00
Total Charged by Amtrak     $1373.00

---

After spending a little over eleven hours freezing my feet in an economy-class seat on a flight from Tokyo, I finally arrived at O'Hare International Airport on the outskirts of Chicago. Maybe I got lucky with the timing, because immigration was unbelievably empty - I was through in just three minutes. I still had four hours before my train was scheduled to depart, and it didn’t look like I'd have enough time for sightseeing in Chicago. I might as well head straight for the station.

---

Last time, I took the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) train to get to the station, but there were sketchy guys wandering between cars - which you're technically not allowed to do - trying to sell the very kind of weedy substance imaginable to prepared passengers. So this time, I decided to call a rideshare on my phone instead. According to locals, however, your choices are basically "traffic" or "secondhand weed" - nothing in between. Meanwhile, Chicago’s commuter rail, Metra, has plastered the perfect advertisement along the gridlocked highway saying, "Next time, take the train." I've never actually ridden it myself.

---

Chicago Union Station is a historic and proud landmark - the largest terminal for intercity passenger rail in the United States. To the west, trains depart for Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles; to the east, New York and Washington, D.C.; and to the south, Dallas, Miami, and other major cities across the country. The station is shared with commuter rail services as well, and it supposedly has more than thirty tracks. With a sleeper ticket you can access the lounge, but after getting off the plane I was far too exhausted to even think about photographing it. (The concourse photo is from my previous visit.)

---

Check-in began thirty minutes before departure. An attendant led us to the end of the platform, and from there we were left to find and walk to our assigned car on our own. Passengers who couldn't - or simply didn't want to - walk with their luggage were loaded onto a small station vehicle and driven directly to their sleeper car. Many intercity and medium-distance trains in the U.S. use double-deck rolling stock, which can feel incredibly imposing. Just try standing on a dimly lit underground platform, wedged between two of those giants - I could feel cold sweat running down my back.

---

For a while, the train rolled through peaceful residential neighborhoods in the suburbs of Chicago. This stretch of track is shared with Metra commuter services, and occasionally we passed straight through Metra stations without stopping. Before long, the conductor announced, "We can't move because the commuter train ahead of us has stopped."

It’s certainly a busy line, but this section has not just double track but three tracks. Do we really have to wait for a commuter train? Perhaps the express tracks are already filled with freight trains doing whatever they please - very American, in its own way.

---

The train stopped at a level crossing, blocking the road. Apparently we were inside a station area, pausing to handle passengers. "Wait... doesn't this basically make it a permanently closed crossing?" I thought, but one must not underestimate America. This station sees exactly one passenger train per day. A little track-blocking isn't going to be a problem.

Once we departed again, the conductor repeatedly reminded us that "the train and station are federal property, the wacky weed is illegal." So there really are people who try to smoke it on board...

---

At 11 PM, for the first time since leaving Chicago, we arrived in a real city - Omaha. Nebraska is often called the middle of nowhere, but I at least remembered the name Omaha for the birthplace of The Wizard of Oz, not far from Dorothy's home of Kansas. A crew member asked where I was from, and when I said I'd flown in from Tokyo, he asked, "Did you come first class?" Oh dear - I hope the day comes when I can answer yes.

---

After leaving Omaha it was past 11:30 PM, and I headed to the shower room, which sleeper car passengers can use for free. Even though there was a partitioned changing area, the rocking of the train and the wet floor made it difficult to undress without slipping. The shower itself produced plenty of hot water, and it felt as if all the fatigue so far had melted away. I'd always assumed that ordinary shower faucets could turn a human sashimi into a human hotpot with just a millimeter of adjustment, but this one needed several full turns before it finally warmed up.

---

My private room. It looks like a comfortable bed now, but in reality, it's just two sofas flattened out, and in the morning the attendant will convert them back into seats. There's another bed fixed to the ceiling, and when there are two passengers, it's lowered to make a bunk. As expected of America - perhaps because many people here are quite large - the bed on this train feels a bit longer than the semi-double (120 cm by 200 cm) I have at home. When I am 180 cm tall, if I slid down even slightly my feet would stick out from the end of the bed, yet when I stand 5'11", not once did my toes touch the wall on the far side.

---

In the middle of the night, a streak of yellow lightning flashed far in the distance. Clouds briefly revealed themselves in its glow, the whistle still sounding endlessly, and faint rumbles of thunder reached my ears. I guess it really was a lie that my fatigue had melted away - because I woke up at 4 AM. On impulse I checked the weather on my phone, only to find, unsurprisingly, that there was no signal. Outside, separated from me by nothing more than a thin pane of glass, the world was happening right there, yet instead of looking at it, I was trying to pull information from a server thousands of miles away. Maybe that's just how life is in 2025. Or is it just me?

---

The first station after entering Colorado was Fort Morgan. A familiar rural American landscape unfolded, with single-story station buildings and a mix of industrial or agricultural facilities I couldn't quite identify. For those accustomed to cities, this might feel like the "other side" of America, but riding the train, it's just the ordinary, everyday American scenery. Dawn appeared in the east far away, and my watch showed 6:55 AM. Ah, right - I'd crossed a time zone, so I needed to set it back an hour. It was actually 5:55 AM.

---

Denver Station. The last major city in Colorado before entering the mountainous region. The train stopped here for about an hour for resupply and cleaning. Just past 7:30 AM, I headed to the dining car. I was seated with strangers, and while making small talk in English, I enjoyed the specialty Amtrak Signature French Toast. It had been a while since I’d eaten American food, and as expected, the sweetness was extreme. The person sitting across from me poured an additional 80 grams of syrup on his. Half of it, 40 grams, was "sugar-free syrup," as if to offer some consolation, but what good could that do? I knew it already, but I couldn't help being reminded once again just how outrageous American taste buds are.

(The french toast was not bad, without any syrup.)

---

The train wound its way up the mountains. The open plains from the city vanished in the blink of an eye, yet in the next instant, I saw the tracks we had just passed from the window! Towering rocky peaks, endless plains stretching below, and tunnels with exposed rock layers - this is what one might call a breathtaking view. A newly constructed dam and a valley lay between, and before I knew it, the train had stopped again on the main line amidst the twisting slopes and curves of the mountains, waiting for a signal. Well, this is American railway - by now, such delays hardly faze me.

---

As the altitude continued to rise and my eardrums began to feel the pressure differences, we entered a stretch where the railroad, a road, and the canyon ran parallel. Between one campsite and another, five or six men and women of various ages, dressed for hiking and carrying fishing rods, had stepped aside along the tracks. When I waved, they waved back, and behind them, the river splashed as it flowed down the mountain. I also spotted a pair of cyclists pedaling along the road. They've really made it this far.

---

Over the train's broadcast, the conductor announced that we would soon enter a tunnel six miles long, and within it, we would pass the journey's highest point at over 9,000 feet. The 97-year-old tunnel lacked continuous ventilation, so during the passage, the train's air conditioning was switched to recirculation mode, and moving between cars was prohibited to prevent losing clean air. A dozen or so minutes after emerging from the tunnel, we stopped at a moderately sized town. Across the busy road, houses stretched along the mountain slopes. The mountain wind was sharply cold, yet upon returning to the train, I was struck by the warmth inside, even with the American air conditioning running full blast.

---

By the time the river's flow shifted from rightbound to leftbound, the conductor's voice echoed once again. He announced that we were about to enter the most spectacular section of this route, and I readied my camera. At times, the train passed through trees overgrown along babbling streams; at other times, it crossed wide-open pastures where cows grazed leisurely; and occasionally, a rugged rocky mountain would display a single clump of yellow flowers piercing through the stone. Even I, still jet-lagged, found myself unwilling to blink.

---

Once again, something faintly echoed from outside the window. It lacked the solemnity of thunder and instead sounded more like a fart. When I looked, a man had gunpowder smoke rising from the tip of a pole he was holding. Ah - so there was a shooting range here. Truly, this is America, where the right of ordinary citizens to own firearms is enshrined in the Constitution. The range was bustling, with several family groups even bringing children along - that's when we talk about hands-on education.

---

By the time my phone, showing the now-rare "3G" signal, indicated some connectivity, the train had entered a stretch running alongside the canyon for a long distance. The railway, winding along the course of the Colorado River, reminded me of the Soya Main Line (from Asahikawa, middle of Hokkaido, to Wakkanai, the northernmost point of Japan) in Hokkaido, which runs parallel to the Teshio River - but while the Soya Line is lush and green, it rarely passes through mountains as rugged as these. Look at that - a hill colored like a poorly aged steak, just the cross-section is red. Fascinating.

---

This canyon is a resort area, with people everywhere rowing boats or fishing. There were open plains scattered about, crowded with families who had parked their cars and set up camps. From the train, I looked down at the canyon and sometimes waved back at people who waved at me. Several of them were pants halfway down, their bare buttocks facing me - what on earth are they doing?

---

The chill from the American air conditioning was unpredictable, and so was the mountain weather. The clouds suddenly turned ominous, and it grew completely dark. Along the roadside, I could see a massive swarm of colorful cars, and the air had a strange barbecue scent - then raindrops finally began pelting the windows one after another. The conductor’s voice came over the intercom: apparently, there was a wildfire, and that massive convoy of cars was actually firefighters. I was glad the rain had come just in time.

---

We were finally emerging from the mountains into a desolate, desert-like area. The dry expanse seemed to steal my consciousness itself, leaving my eyelids unable to stay open. It was 4:30 AM Tokyo time - the hour when I’m always the sleepiest at home. Apparently, I still couldn’t shake off the jet lag. Good night.

---

After waking up, I spent a few hours fiddling with my smartphone to fight off sleepiness. Around 11 PM, the train stopped at its final station of the day, SLC. The abbreviation, like a type of SSD, stands for Salt Lake City, the capital and largest city of Utah - literally, the Salt Lake City. I stepped off the train for some fresh air, only to find the right half of my head caught in a light drizzle. Puzzled, I walked a few steps to the right and immediately got rained on. Thinking the roof overhead looked unusually short, I turned around - and there was no roof at all, just an elevated road. I have a lot of memories tied to being under overpasses, but I have to admit, this was a clever use of the space, and I felt genuinely impressed.

---

As the night passed with little sleep due to jet lag, the train crossed yet another time zone and sped across the vast Nevada desert toward Reno. I visited the dining car and joined a four-person table as the last occupant. An African-American man, temporarily relocated for a job at a newly established lithium mine in Nevada, said this was his first time on the train returning home in three months. The new job paid reasonably well, "but after all, everything in the world is still driven by politics," he quietly muttered.

---

The train arrived at Reno station. Although not as famous as Las Vegas, there are apparently casinos here as well. Stepping off the train, a tall wall rose up right in front of me, blocking the view of the city, and only the ground beneath my feet greeted me. Looking down, I noticed the manhole cover in Reno stamped with "Made in India." You, are living in a foreign land, just like me! As the Chinese proverb goes, "a tree dies if moved, a person thrives if moves" - I have left my hometown and am thriving in Tokyo. I wonder, for you who have put down roots in this perpetually cool Reno, do you ever recall the muggy air of India in your dreams?

---

Crossing the rugged Sierra Nevada, I arrived in Sacramento, the city of gold, railroads, and the capital of California. About 160 years ago, Theodore Judah, who led an expedition departing from here, devoted himself to surveying this mountain pass route, which apparently differs little from the route in use today. The railroad, which shortened the six-month journey from New York to San Francisco to just seven days, brought profound changes to the nature of the United States, though eventually much of its role was taken over by airplanes and automobiles. Nowadays in America, the only ones who take long-distance passenger trains are probably weirdos like me.

---

Just outside the station, the California State Railroad Museum quietly tells the story of the hardships, sweat, and tears of the railroad workers who built America’s first transcontinental railroad, as well as the former glory of passenger rail. Actual historical train cars are also on display, so any readers with an interest should definitely stop by. That said, this railway journey of mine came to its conclusion here. Ironically, the next day I had to board an airplane, rather than a train, to reach my next destination. I hate taking airplanes - crowded, cramped, unable to move, and with barely any Wi-Fi. Just like life itself: nothing ever goes quite as I wished.