When I was a teenager, my mom lived in Amherst, Massachusetts, and my dad lived in New York City. I was a Northeast Corridor kid; I'd get on the Vermonter at the one-room 19th-century train station in downtown Amherst, or the impersonal post-apocalyptic one in nearby Springfield, and emerge into Penn Station with my most "urban" outfit on, hoping to pass.
The bummer of it was, it took at least five hours, and often more than six. By car, it was three and a half. The train showed up late, or it got stuck in New Haven for an hour switching power sources, or it had to slow down between Palmer and Windsor Locks because of track repairs. The sandwiches were sub-Quizno's muck. There were a lot of empty seats. Now Amtrak—the Northeast corridor in particular—is blowing up. Gas prices, blah blah blah. Congress is considering more than $30 million ...
