March 2024 Edition
Well, howdy and greetings from the front lounge of a tour bus rolling up I-35 at 5:26 am. I can’t sleep. This happens sometimes when you get out on the road for the first time in a few months and have to remember how to catch your Zzzs at 72 miles per hour. Ever since we leased our first bus sometime around 2007, I've been sleeping at cruising speeds at, above, or below the speed limit. Some folks acclimate quickly to the jarring, gear jamming accelerations of sleeping in a bunk on a tour bus, and others never quite get what we experienced road dogs call their “sea-legs.” For me, I had an early predisposition to riding through the night because I rode Amtrak. Which brings me to the subject of this letter I write, the third installment of these Old Crow Confessionals which I’ve so enjoyed composing (almost as much as reading your wonderful comments and stories). This 25th anniversary year of Old Crow brings a lot of milestones to the surface, and one in particular I can still hear whistle somewhere up a not-too-distant rail in my memory. Cue the music for “This Train is Bound for Glory” — this month we celebrate the anniversary of the Railroad Revival Tour.
I was a travellin' man even as a kid. Pop made sure of that. We lived in 5 states by the 5th grade and in-between these towns Dad added a dozen more to satisfy his wanderlust. In the early 80s we went through a couple VW Microbuses, then upgraded to air conditioning with a Ford Country Squire just like the one Tyler Childers sings about. We rode Greyhound, Trailways and Peter Pan too, but it was waiting at the station for an Amtrak train that really defined the travels of my childhood. By the time I was 12 I had ridden The Silver Star, Silver Meteor, Ben Franklin, Crescent, City of New Orleans, Empire Builder, Sunset Limited, Cardinal, Lake Shore Limited, and The Montrealer. And so, when in 2011 I received word that Old Crow had been invited to join Mumford & Sons, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, and a cast of characters as rich as train lore, on a transcontinental railroad tour, the first person I called was my father. “Hey Dad, want to come with me on a train trip?” He was onboard.
The tour started in Oakland and we arrived at the hotel excited and a little nervous. We had already toured as Mumford’s opening act in Europe and sat in with them at their inaugural Bonaroo set in 2010. That previous March we'd met the gang from the Magnetic Zeros in Perth at Western Australia's West Coast Blues and Roots festival. So, we were all pals from the onset, but nobody had any idea what the shows were going to be like, how the train travel was gonna work, and what if any collaborations anyone had cooked up. But this nervousness was quickly remedied when we went into a rehearsal space in downtown Oakland and worked through a couple great encore ideas. The first show was down along the docklands (where nowadays I’m wishing they were building a new Oakland A’s stadium instead of moving to Vegas, BOO!) in front of an adoring crowd. In the film we made of our exploits Big Easy Express, Emmet Malloy had us walk out to the very edge of the water in front of the brilliant San Fransisco skyline to play some train songs. We had about 40 train songs to pick from and chose “Train on the Island.” This was all before we’d even caught a glimpse of the train that would be carrying us to New Orleans. After the show in Oakland was all packed up, about 1 am, we were shuttled to a freight yard where we boarded our Amtrak home for the next 8 days. The party started before the driver’s wheels even turned, before the whistle even blew.
What made the train so incredible was that, except for the locomotive itself, every car was a vintage rail car, privately owned by railroad enthusiasts, many of whom were onboard for the journey. These cars were 75 years old and in pristine condition, restored to the specs of the golden era of railroading. When my dad hopped on board in San Pedro, our second stop on the tour, he literally cried. “Oh my, son. It's like the train is a time machine.” We stayed up all night together, just going car to car. Each one had a scene. Up front in the dome car the film crew and some of the managers were in a poker game. Two cars back in the bar car was a rip-roaring party, spilling out above the couplings. Cory was playing a melodica in a swaying chorus with a few of the Zeroes. The next car over was the double-decker observation deck, where Morgan slapped bass to Norah Kirkpatrick and Ben Lovett’s accordion while Jake Gyllenhaal sang impromptu German lyrics to a made-up-on-the-spot polka. In the parlor car there was an acoustic set with Willie and me singing old Bob Dylan songs with anyone who chanced by. And in the diner car the line was four dozen deep for the "cup-cups" Vavine, the chef, was pulling hot out of the oven. My dad and I spent a lot of time in the baggage car, one of the oldest the train pulled, just rattling along into the night, awestruck.
The next stop was Tempe, Arizona. I woke up to Kevin and Willie singing “Wish I was a Mole in the Ground” out a car window as the train pulled into town. They’d been up all night as had about a dozen others. People lined the tracks to see us. I waved so much my arm felt like it was going to fall off. In Marfa, our fourth stop on the tour, there where brushfires alongside the tracks, and at one point we were stopped and questioned by the INS for over an hour. At a short break at El Paso’s Union Depot at dawn I talked with some CSX Employees who hopped on and got a quick tour of the train from my dad. On a towering hill behind the station on the other side of the border in Juarez white stones spelled out "La Biblia es La Verdad Leela” or "the Bible is the truth, read it,” a fitting message for this Easter Sunday on the rails. There were quite a few children on board and my dad and I set up an Easter egg dying station in one of the dining car booths. Funny, the kids who raced up and down that train shouting and reaching for eggs hidden in the most random places are all old enough to vote now.
Well, Austin throwed down and Critter, who was born in Travis County Memorial, came out of retirement (and rehab) to sit in with us, playing a beautiful rendition of “Take Em Away” with Marcus Mumford singing the second verse as only he can. Little did we know then that his trackside appearance that day would be the first of another 10 years back in Old Crow, some of our happiest times to date. On to New Orleans we rolled, the last stop on our glorious RR Odyssey. Setting up beside the tracks in the Crescent City’s Woldenburg Park alongside the muddy Mississippi, we played a bittersweet show, knowing that the Railroad Revival was over, and that life on the road would never be so sweet again as it had been on the rails.
I’ve got a lot of memories of railroading, a whole lifetime’s worth. Maybe you took a train once or twice, or a hundred times like me, and love the legend and lore of railroads. Maybe you just like to sing along when Johnny Cash says “I hear that train a-comin” or you’re teaching your kids “Dinah won’t you blow.” Maybe you used to love Thomas the Tank Engine. Or had an HO Scale train like me and built a little station and always spilled the glue to the chagrin of your mother. How ever you feel in your heart about American railroads I just want to say this: buy a ticket and take a train trip with someone you love. Do it this spring. You won’t be disappointed. Go near, go far. Go across the country. Or just ride one stop and Uber home. But get on a train and take a ride. Next to good old-timey music, it’s probably the most American thing there is.
See ya down the rails this spring!
