Is it a conveyance? A metaphor? Or a hungry machine...
By W Goodwin
Our travel day began at dawn in the Caribbean. Now it’s a dozen hours and a thousand miles later, and I notice the sun is setting outside the downtown Denver transit complex. Lynn and I clamber with our luggage from the airport train. A down-escalator takes us to a tunnel-like hall running beneath tracks and streets. At the far end, an up-escalator leads to the terminal of the commuter train we intend to catch.
We’re both schlepping roller bags filled with mostly diving and photography gear; each bag weighs barely less than the 55-pound limit on international flights. We’re also wearing heavy backpacks. Tired and probably sleep-deprived, we follow the siren-call of home. Most of the travel hassles are behind us and all that remains is the commuter train to our local station and a short drive home. Or so we think…
In the subterranean chambers of the transit complex, we’re surrounded by travelers hurrying, buses idling, transit police watching, janitors mopping… and in front of us, a moving staircase rising toward the surface. We arrive at the foot of the escalator and I signal Lynn to go ahead. She steps onto the grooved surface and pulls her roller bag onto the following step. Just behind her, I do the same. The…
