"Rendezvous at Williams Junction"

Ten-thirty at night and already an hour behind schedule. All outside the car was inky black, save for a few punctuations from passing streetlights. A frantic, steady click-clack from underneath as the train strived to make up time. As I scrunched up in my seat trying to rest and stave off panic, there came a soft knock at our cabin door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Buck? Will you need help with your luggage?"

"Erm, no, we should manage," my husband replied.

"We should arrive at the junction in about ten minutes. Gather your things and meet down by the entrance door."

Most peculiar.

Was this a sort of secret stop, unknown to the other passengers? No announcement made. No public preparations demonstrated.

We gathered our things, as directed, and found ourselves in the fluorescent-lit common way, fumes from the locomotive swirling about as we wondered if we were obeying a dream.

Slowly the train came to a stop, and we were ushered onto the ground. An unmarked white van awaited, highlighted by a single pole light, eerily blue in the midst of a gravel field. We stumbled forward, weary and exhausted from the previous days' travel.

We did not trust the situation.

Here in the middle of no where, in what we could only presume was Arizona, delivered to an unknown person…

More travelers emerged from other cars, bolstering our confidence for a bit. So we boarded the van, which seemed at least to be in manageable mechanical condition. Though it was dark - very dark - inside.

"Welcome to Williams Junction!" said the jolly man behind the wheel. He might have been Santa's more sinister cousin. "That there's our only train stop - we used to have a depot, but it burned down."

We drove down roads in ill repair, bordered by forests so dark and thick that only the nearest trunks stood out in white silhouettes against the overwhelming blackness. There was nervous laughter amongst the passengers. And jokes concerning The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Which didn't help.

"There's our Bear amusement park," our driver announced as he turned a corner, "They're planning on getting a couple o' grizzlies here soon, and they have some browns and blacks already… And this here's ol' Route Sixty-Six."

And, as disconcerting as the rest of the trip and narrative had been, I was immediately struck with a sense of wonder. Forget the ominous conditions and the amusement park centered around live bears for some reason - we were traveling down Route 66. I looked to the sides of the road - the two-lane road that was much too narrow for today's cars, pock-marked by today's heavy loads and neglect - and I saw diners and old gas stations and pool halls tiny enough to fit into our coat closet at home.

I blame the resulting tears on lack of sleep.

Then the van made another turn and we were in front of a warmly lit lodge, in which awaited modern conveniences and the most comfortable beds on the planet. We curled up, safe at last, and fell dead asleep.