Rivetti's Blog

April 15-16 – Salt Lake to Martinez. Joan Chittester’s commentary on the Rule of Benedict for April 15 begins by quoting Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “There is a meaning to every journey that is unknown to the traveler.” The coach seats on Amtrak are almost comfortable. I find myself struggling against gravity all night long, pushing on the foot rest to keep from sliding down onto the leg rest. I am very grateful to Zuma Lee and Nick Staba for the inflatable neck pillow. It’s perfect. Intermittent sleep and perusing the Amtrak schedule. I’ve decided that it will not be worth my while to ride for 4 days in a row like this from Santa Barbara to Florida. A plane trip is in the offing.

Breakfast today in the dining car – French toast, in the company of a young man from Wilmington, NC, a FED-EX driver, who is hitting Moab, UT, Reno NV, Seattle, and Juneau in 4 days of plane/traine and ski before returning home — and an 80-year-old widow from Portland, Maine, Paula, who has been on this train since Chicago, headed to Sacramento to visit a friend from her college days. Paula and her late husband chopped their own wood together. This winter, she’s finally finishing up the last sticks of the pile they split together two years ago, before he died. She tells me each twig is a reminder, a moment of gratitude.

We’re stopped now in Reno, where I have a commanding view of a concrete retaining wall. I thought I’d share the Nevada desert with you instead.

We pull in to Martinez at around 3:30 this afternoon. My hosts will be the Rev. Bruce Smith and his wife, Deb. Bruce is rector of the Church of the Resurrection in Pleasant Hill, and was my supervisor for two years of part-time field education while I was in seminary. Bruce has absolutely not aged one whit in the past ten years.  From Pleasant Hill, I’ll hitch a ride to Berkeley with friend Pat Smith (no relation to Bruce) who is a parishioner there, and a former parishioner of my first parish, St. Paul’s, in Walnut Creek.

On the Rivetti blog I’ll upload photos and details of the extended Salt Lake Rivetti clan.

Leaving Salt Lake yesterday felt so full – a little heartache for driving down streets where George and I had our first cup of coffee. I had dinner at Lamb’s Restaurant, toting my luggage into the booth with me, the first place I stopped when I got to Salt Lake, just about. It didn’t look at all changed — same old pols and newspaper hounds in the back room.

Michael, the volunteer, is beginning his narration of the history of this portion of the railroad. Time for more learning.

Early morning train