Report: The Amtrak Theory

日本語版

This report compares American train passes with Japan’s JR Pass, focusing on the culture of people who love riding long-distance trains.

This report comes on the heels of the recent setback on my American Odyssey, which led me to choose to get on the Amtrak train headed east from the West Coast to escape from the drowning stagnation I felt in Los Angeles. I travel the world with a folding bicycle, and while I can place the bike in checked baggage on airplanes, the additional baggage cost and hassle made me not want to fly out of LAX. One of the compelling advantages of a folding bicycle is that it can easily be taken on board trains and buses. So instead of flying, I decided to cross the vast distance of the United States by train, and bought an Amtrak pass.

Los Angeles was simply boring. LA society is characterized by its chasmic inequality. At the very bottom are the homeless, often struggling with fentanyl addiction and severe mental illness, while those at the top rungs of society seem to spend their days cavorting in West Hollywood gay bars or shopping at trendy stores selling overpriced goods. High-society life seemed shallow and superficial, so I wasn’t much interested in them. On the other hand, observing the homeless was MUCH more interesting. I saw them everywhere; defecating openly on the street or starting fires  – even a homeless man in a wheelchair receiving oral sex from another homeless person on the sidewalk. Watching them lead out their cracked-out lives on the kerb was supremely interesting, but I didn’t come to America for hobo-watching. The real reason was to sell books. Unfortunately, my scheduled lectures (selling opportunities) were canceled, and I had no idea where I could hawk my books, leaving me in a kind of dangerous limbo in LA.

At the hostel where I stayed were a few Japanese guests, but they weren’t in LA for tourism; they were here participating in clinical trials for American pharmaceutical companies to earn $10,000 as lab rats. I was surrounded by these Japanese lowlives, and was disgusted and repulsed every time I saw those lazy individuals selling their bodies for quick, easy money. Because I saw no end in sight to such tepid days, I decided to leave Los Angeles and purchased an Amtrak pass (10 rides for $500). Incidentally, when I was in Japan in the summer of 2023, I purchased a “JR Pass” which gave unlimited travel on JR lines for three weeks. I bought it just before the 50% price increase, so it felt like a bargain. At that time, I also ordered a cheap folding bicycle from Amazon and took it with me on those Japanese bullet train rides. In short, this wasn’t my first time riding with a train pass, and I was in a rather unique position to compare long-distance train travel in the US and Japan.

The train pass systems in the United States and Japan are different. The JR Pass is available only to foreign tourists, while Amtrak does not discriminate against its passengers. A detailed comparison chart is provided below.

	Amtrak	JR Pass
Price	$ 500 / 10 rides / within 30days	$ 900 / Unlimited rides / 21 days
Ride length	~ 52 hours	Max. 5 hours
Service	Dining car, Scenic car, Luggage car	None; refreshments trolley service
Comfort	2 x 2 (no middle seat), reclining + footrest + desk	Reclining + desk
Hygiene	Good! But some passengers are dirty / smelly	Good. But many Chinese travelers
Atmosphere	Depending on train, 10/10. Generally spacious with windows everywhere	Congested, luggage everywhere, low air quality
Night	Lights-out, quiet, ready to sleep	LED lights ON, announcements ON

As an aside, the Trans-Siberian Railway running across Russia, or India’s top-class long-distance train the “Maharaja Express”, are considered the ultimate paid experiences for train enthusiasts. However, researching those would entail venturing into the realm of serious train geeks. I wish to write something simpler, about a more entry-level train journey experience, where the main purpose is simply getting from one place to another.

For long-distance, long-duration journeys, people spend their time in various ways. Amtrak provided a quiet, comfortable environment and ambience where passengers can indulge in their respective hobbies. In the “Sightseeing car” you can see people doing all sorts of things at the table. The photos below show passengers assembling model kits, writing diaries, and knitting, as they speed through the great Arizona desert.

Being able to do what you love while gazing at the stunning scenery of America flowing across your window is a special, special experience. If you can combine it with truly purposeful travel, it’s even better. And so, having finally left behind the stagnation of Los Angeles, I quickly found a new groove, riding the train and writing with the industry of a committed researcher and adventurer seeking to explore the great delights of the world to the fullest.

So far, I’ve taken long-distance trains in the US three times. Though I’m green, I’ve already noticed a certain pattern of behaviour related to women riding on long-distance trains. Each of the three times I rode Amtrak trains, some action taken by a female passenger caught my attention. The first time was in Florida 2 years ago; I was talking to other passengers about my book-writing and travels when one of them suggested we exchange phone numbers and meet up that evening. Unfortunately, I already had plans that night, so nothing came of it.

The second time was more recent. On the train from Los Angeles to El Paso, Texas, a black girl wearing tight clothing kept walking between the train cars, swaying her hips seductively and deliberately. It seemed to me she was soliciting men’s attention. Sure enough, a quick-witted, long-haired white dude hit on her. I observed them from a distance engaging in seemingly pleasant but promising conversation. “Aha” I thought. That’s when the Amtrak Theory was born: Long-distance trains operated by Amtrak were in fact ripe pick-up venues.

And finally, the moment came to test my Amtrak Theory on my third train journey.

After disembarking at El Paso, Texas, I found myself right on the Mexican border. Juarez is the name of the shantytown across the river, complete with dirt roads and Mexican drug cartels. Having never been to Mexico, I decided to stay two nights in Juarez to take a break from the long train journey eastwards to New Orleans. The authentic burritos and tacos made by hand from freshly baked tortillas were delicious, and I bought plenty before crossing the border back into the US. I waited under the blazing Texan sun for the next train passing El Paso on its way to New Orleans (a 37-hour ride). As the train pulled in, I rode my bicycle towards the furthest carriage, and that’s when I noticed a woman. She was out of place – tall and dressed in a glamorous blue-gray dress that looked like something you’d wear to a five-star restaurant. She walked in my direction in high-heeled stilettos, swaying her hips as if on a catwalk. The sunlight was blinding, but as we drew closer, I noticed her red curly hair (it was a wig) and the plumpness of her breasts from her cleavage. We looked at each other, and our eyes locked. She had on light blue contact lenses in her eyes, and her gaze fixated on me. We both said “Hello” to each other at the same time, but I also involuntarily muttered “Wow!” before that. As she passed on by, I calmly assessed the situation while watching her strut from behind: this woman, walking without any luggage, must have only disembarked to stretch her legs – meaning there was a great likelihood that we would be riding the same train together overnight. In other words, I understood that this woman represented an opportunity for me to test out my Amtrak Theory – the theory that a handful of women ride long-distance trains open to encounters with a mysterious stranger.

As the train set off in motion, I confirmed that the woman from before was sitting about five meters behind my seat. I walked past her several times to check her out some more, possibly looking for an opening, but each time she would quickly look away after making momentary eye contact and gaze out of the window. Afterwards, when I looked back at her from my seat, I saw a young train conductor casually sit down next to her and start talking to her. I gave up for a while and worked on my laptop in the sightseeing car for about an hour, but I couldn’t get her out of my head.  So, I decided to take a chance, closed my laptop, and went over to talk to her. I found “Luna”, who was by now sitting alone, looking out of the window at the Texan desert hills, barely visible now as the last of the light after sunset faded. I sat down in the seat across from her in the opposite row and said “Hello”.　

Luna: “Hello.”

J: “Could you give me your phone number?”

Luna: “Haha. Don’t you even want to know my name?”

J: “Okay then, tell me.”

Luna: “Not yet. It has to be more difficult.”

The two of us laughed, fully enjoying each other’s fresh energy and the new tension of the situation. Cautious, yet irresistibly curious to explore each other’s vibes. A few moments in, the full moon came over the horizon coloured blood red. Mesmerized, the woman muttered: “My name is Luna” revealing her self-selected “profile name” to me whilst maintaining strict anonymity. Less cautious, I introduced myself plainly as Julian, but since the sweater I recently bought had the word “RISKY” emblazoned across the chest, I joked that my street name was RISKY. Pleased and calmed by the playful Englishman who approached her, Luna extended her hand towards me, saying, “Nice to meet you, Risky.”

I gently took her hand, but didn’t let go. Because, as I slowly examined each of her long, black fingers in my hand, I was experiencing a powerful internal flashback. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you letting go of my hand?” Luna asked:

J: “Your fingers are very long. Are you a DJ?”

Luna: “LOL. No.”

J: “Just kidding. Heh. Actually, I’m experiencing some powerful emotions from touching your hand right now.”

Luna: “What kind of emotions?”

J: “One is a sense of mission related to a certain theory I have. The other is a flashback from an encounter I had a while ago.”

Luna: “What theory is that?”

J: “That women on Amtrak trains are actually waiting to be picked up by a mysterious stranger.”

Luna: “LOL. And the flashback?”

J: “I traveled around the world by bicycle and wrote a trilogy of books. Sometimes, I would take a long-distance journey, by plane or by bus, and if there was a cute girl nearby, I would make a rather cute proposition to her.”

Luna: “What’s that!?!?”

J: “I ask if I could hold her hand.”

Luna, whose hand was already in mine, started laughing. She still didn’t pull her hand away. Indeed, I had gotten up to many adventures during the Eurasian Odyssey. The riskiest yet most rewarding (to-date) was on a long-distance bus trip in central Iran, where I successfully pulled off my hand-holding technique and, right there in a dark, warm corner of an Iranian night bus, inspired the Iranian woman sitting next to me to a strictly forbidden physical liberation – in spite of her Islamic regime’s best efforts to control and suppress the Persian Woman’s God-given femininity.

And with that experience on my back, now, on an Amtrak train running through the southern portion of the United States, under the watchful gaze of the blood-red moon peering through the window at us, I was once again chancing a beautiful woman with a gradual escalation of physical contact. For work. For scientific knowledge. To get closer to the truth of the hypothesis: Do women on Amtrak trains really want to be hit on? The answer to that question was gently landed in the palm of my hand, like a fighter jet coming home from a risky journey.

We cautiously yet steadily grew closer to each other. I told Luna that I had become increasingly sensitive to the scent of a woman since maturing as a man, and told her that I was fascinated by her and how she might smell. She accepted me as I went in headlong, completely captivated by her beauty and her world, signaling to me that I may lean my face against her bosom. The moment my long beard, turned grey with age and tumult, touched her breast, she flustered and pulled back, her ambrosia intensifying in that very moment. “Oh my god, I just got turned on so much right now” she confessed to me.

＊＊＊

In long-distance train encounters, one has to maintain a certain balance of tension. Since you can’t jump off the train and escape midway, you have to approach the other person with mutual respect whilst taking risks. A timid approach becomes boring and annoying if the initial sexual tension is lost, while being too aggressive can lead to introduction to law enforcement at the next train stop. One must proceed gradually, maintaining a tightrope-walking balance.

That being said, once sexual tension has been established, you’re unlikely to cock up unless something drastic happens. I took my time, and patiently waited to be invited to sit next to her when Luna was ready. That opportunity came when she offered to show me her innermost sacred thoughts in the shape of her diary. Luna, whose body and voice trembled with the slightest brush or touch, allowed me to finally kiss her about an hour and a half into our meeting. An erotic kiss between passengers. The young conductor passing by (the guy who had tried to hit on her about four hours earlier) interrupted us, asking me: “Hey? What’s your seat number?” – but it was too little, too late. In order to win this woman over, he first had to get out of his work uniform. Once the conductor had gone away, I asked Luna to show me her breast. Biting her lip, she revealed her plump, full breast by taking it out from the satin dress she wore. She said, “I want you to lick them”. After I licked her nipple a little, Luna said she would show me a party trick. She opened her mouth wide and out came a long, slithering tongue from her throat, like a serpent. She pushed her breast up to her face and did the impossible: She licked her own nipple. Seeing this, I got so excited and immediately joined in on the act, licking her nipple together. She blushed, saying, “Oh wow, this is actually the first time I’ve ever licked my own nipple with someone else”, which was adorable and hot.

Completely engrossed in each other, we lost track of time and continued our intimate adventures. It was already past midnight, the lights in the train car were turned off, and the few other passengers had fallen to sleep. Luna, who had taken off her thong, said, “Touch me inside” and I proceeded to simulate having sex with her with my hand. The next logical escalation was to engage in full sex, right there in the open coach car in full public view. I stood up from my seat and took out my hardened cock. Luna grabbed it and protested, “No, no… That’s too much.” That’s when I made my first mistake of the night. I looked around before agreeing with her protest, concurring, “You’re right, this is ghetto as fuck” and pulled my trousers back up. From the moment I realized my mistake, there would be no further escalation. I was no longer “RISKY”. The moment I showed hesitation or doubt, a crack appeared in the romantic train story we had created together. With perfect hindsight, in that dark train car, as other passengers slept nearby, I should have relentlessly sweated and pursued this woman to a natural escalation of: fellatio and sex, of unprotected intercourse and cumming inside of her, to completely ravish and destroy Luna’s carefully constructed self-image of a stylish woman going someplace on an Amtrak train. But by accepting her protest in spite of her clear-as-day interest, I showed fear for the first time in that moment, and from then on, there could be no further escalation.

It was 4AM. After spending the entire night together, the time had come for the two of us to finally part ways, as our train was splitting in two. I was heading east to New Orleans in the front half of the train, and she was going north to Chicago. Luna, with tears flowing down her cheeks, said she wanted to go on to New Orleans with me, but fear and anxiety held her from taking such a risk with a stranger. It was at this point that she finally revealed to me her true identity: Luna was actually a professional belly dancer, and had spent a large sum of money to audition in Arizona to pursue her dream, and was now on the train home. She said that the night before catching the train she had spent the night wandering from hotel lobby to lobby in Arizona because she had run out of money. This is the reality of America. People chase the American Dream, but in doing so, they lose everything. It’s an old tale in this town. Even though I promised to take care of her as my guest if she rode with me onto New Orleans, her mind was set: this unforgettable “experience” had to end. Ultimately, we men are passengers to the emotions of women, having little choice but to follow their caprice.

Luna still had to spend at least another 48 hours on the train to get to Chicago. I pulled out a sole $100 bill from my money clip and handed it to her. “You’ve got a long journey ahead of you. I won’t let you go hungry”. Luna thanked me as she tucked the $100 bill between her breast and loose satin dress.

Before we parted, she gave me her real name and address. She said she would wait for a letter. And then, our trains separated. The rear cars went to Chicago, and the front cars went to New Orleans.

But in that one night, I felt love and shared an unforgettable experience with a beautiful American woman. And I learned something. That you cannot fathom the limits of what is possible unless you push and keep on pushing. That applies to her limits, but also to my own. And when you see the limit, you must push even harder. Most people live and die without ever knowing their own true limits. But if you are confined to an Amtrak train all night with a man or woman willing to show you your limits – then isn’t that something that is just purely and outrageously delightful?

Of the 10-journey Amtrak pass I bought, I still have 8 remaining. 😈