The California Zephyr Outside Denver

These photographs record a liberating moment when the passengers revolted and began opening the window of a door on the lower level of the train. The Amtrak staff, when they were not being officious and unfriendly, were nowhere in sight for long, long stretches. I observed that they had a lounge that they disappeared into rather than have to assist passengers in any way.
At the same time the train got behind schedule and they began cutting back on the already sparse "smokers' stops" as the brief opportunities to go outside and refresh ourselves were called.
Cigarette smokers made the first move and sprung the window which was boldly labeled "Do Not Open." It swung wide open for the conductors to use in their work and it closed quickly with a handle like the door of a cooler. There were only bathrooms near it, seats were on the upper level. I began to use it myself for my own private smokes and, as in these photos, for an occasional burst of exhilaration. There is no feeling like training at a good speed in open air in wild country. It was single-digit cold in brilliant sunshine that day. Just having the window open roused you from the perpetual drowse you fell into with so little activity and so few periods of deep sleep while riding in coach.
These happen to be the last exposures I shot on the trip. I had carried a disposable camera the whole time. But I got a little shutter-happy during the week spent in Massachusetts and neglected to buy another camera in Chicago, my last chance. In general it was quite difficult to photograph with these cameras while on a train passing through the great vistas. The flash, which couldn't be disabled, just gave you a reflection in the train window. I had stopped attempting to take any way back in Canada. But I had not anticipated the open window option, otherwise I would have been sure to have had a camera at the ready.
These two photos, then, take on a significance as a result of being the last from the long journey which was far from over at this point. Instead, it was entering perhaps into its most fantastic phase at this point: the mountains and deserts of the western United States. Ascending toward Colorado's myriad peaks and dramatic high landscapes, it was as if a "no cameras beyond this point" degree had been inveighed. In any event, photographs would have fallen short thereafter. I would have to rely on poetry to record the experience and to express my continuously expanding perception of it.