I'm just back from my annual train trek to Cincinnati, from whence I sprung, full-grown and note quite 40, in 1984.
I've written before about my struggle to come to grips with my birthplace, a smugly provincial city with a high crime rate, the worst racial problems in the Midwest, outside of Detroit and parts of Chicago, and my family, who by and large stayed there their entire lives and couldn't understand why I'd left such an evidently bountiful existence.
I've finally realized, better late than never, that my endless war with my past, which mostly means Cincinnati, is over. I go there now to visit my 90-year-old mother, my sister Karen, my brother-in-law Jim, my stepsister Julie, my nephew Mike, my niece, Carrie, and the two or three friends who remain from various stages of my earlier life.
I stayed 10 days with my Mom, saw my sister and step-sister twice, played golf with Jim and Mike, for the first time beat them both, had lunch with my old friend Fred Smith, then climbed back on the Cardinal for the first leg of my return trip (Cincinnati to Chicago) at 1 a.m. two Mondays ago. The second leg of the rip (Chicago to Seattle) is on The Empire Builder, a newer, nicer train than the Cardinal.
The Builder winds its way through central Wisconsin, follows the headlands of the Mississippi River to Minneapolis, pauses for re-fueling, then bangs across poor, flat, but much-loved by its natives, North Dakota (the only state besides Wyoming to LOSE population over the past decade), eases into eastern Montana, which looks almost like No Dak., then climbs into Glacier National Park, the most beautiful country other than Big Sur in the Continental U.S.
I lived long enough in the Idaho Rockies to know that the winters in Glacier would finish me if the grizzlies didn't, but man it's great-looking country, especially in the deep golden-green of a mountain sunset. The Empire Builder doesn't' require you to stay on it for the full two and a half days like I did, so I heartily recommend catching it at 4:45 some afternoon down at historic King Street Station, riding it overnight to Havre Montana, and catching the return train - that way you'll see the heart of Glacier from the comfort of a lounge car TWICE - once at sunrise and once just before sunset. Better hurry though. By late October Glacier will speed by in darkness until the following April.
I boarded the train happily because I had a good visit with the surviving remnants of a once, much larger German-Irish family, and because Cincinnati's bizarre hold on me is way over.
This is a city that only two years ago, deep into the torturous second-term, happily invited then vice-president, Dick Cheney, to throw out the first ball at the Cincinnati Reds' major league opener. This is also a place that ranked 97th of the 100 fittest American cities (we're in the top 10), and proved it every day on its sidewalks - I saw more beautiful women my first day back in Seattle than in 10 days on the hustings Zinzinatti.
The climate in general sucks too, although this year they stole our summer; it was 70 to 80, and breezily sunny the entire length of m y visit, setting record for low temps while we set records for unseasonably high ones.
To give the flabby old (founded in 1788) urban devil its due, Glenview Golf Course, owned by the city of Cincinnati, was every bit as nice as Jefferson, Jackson or West Seattle. Winton Woods, a county course, may be better.
And the place kicks our butt in one area - fast food. Cincinnati has White Castle, the greatest little burger ever made. Oft rumored to be horsemeat, if it is, I say tallyho, the stuff is lip-smacking good. I buy it frozen at Metropolitan Market, because that's the only way it comes out here, but it is NOT the same. They also have Skyline Chili, a Greek-originated concoction that is maybe 10 times better than Tex-Mex chili. LaRosa's, a local pizza house chain, is simply tastier and heartier than ANY local version offered.
Still, burgers, chilies, pizzas and a few friends and rellies aside, I'm happy to be back where I belong. Hip-deep in blue state stuff, away from virulent homophobia, racism hidden as political commentary, and really bad baseball - the Mariners can beat the Reds like a dirty ol' rug. Seattle is easier to spell than Cincinnati too.
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