You step onto the platform comfortably -- it's at ground level -- and plop into a window seat with plenty of room to stretch your legs. You can order a drink if you feel like it, or a sandwich. There's a restroom in your car that's downright massive compared to airplane bathrooms.
You've made this trip dozens of times, but it still manages to take your breath away every time you see blue sky meet white peaks. You're gliding quickly and quietly over the highway. You look down at the cars and think back to all those long days in traffic, always rushing to beat the early rush or the late rush and still ending up smack in the middle of a twenty-mile backup. You remember all those weekends you stayed home instead of going hiking or biking or rafting because you were so frustrated that the winter traffic jams had bled into your spring, summer and fall. You remember driving with your nose practically pressed to the glass because you couldn't see past the snow. The fear. The anxiety.
But those trips are long gone. Now you drive I-70 when the mood and weather suits you. It's wide open these days. Of course the highway is wide open, you think before drifting into a quick catnap. Who wouldn't rather ride this train?
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