After losing a bid for mayor in Keane, New Hampshire, Pindell, an English teacher, set out on several train trips around the United States covering more than 30,000 miles. On each stretch of track, he alternates between descriptions of the people and sights he encounters and the history of the rail line he is traveling on. Both are incredibly detailed.

Upon reaching the west coast on the first leg of his journey, Pindell writes, “I had a sense of being far from home that is backed up by a tactile feel of the landscape I have crossed to get here.” It is this tactile feel of the landscape that makes train travel so appealing to those who enjoy it, and Pindell’s descriptions give us that tactile feel.

Perhaps it is because I read this book two years into the Covid pandemic, but the atmosphere Pindell describes aboard most of his train travels is incredibly convivial, with passengers gathered in the bar car for a lot of cocktails, card playing, smoking and occasionally seeking liaisons. In any case, the party-like atmosphere is appealing, and Pindell’s writing gives us a sense of being right there in the middle of the party.

Pindell’s epilogue looks forward to what he saw as an optimistic future for train travel. Written in 1991, his reasons for an expanded network do not mention an impending climate disaster, but he does write about pollution and how rail creates less of it than other forms of travel. It is a bit depressing to read this more than three decades later with the realization that service has been cut, not expanded, over these years, with some of the routes Pindell describes no longer in existence.

If Diski’s Stranger on a Train was my favorite among the travelogues in this selection, Pindell’s Making Tracks is a very close second.

Many train travelogue books are written by and for people who love trains. Jenny Diski's Stranger on a Train: Daydreaming and Smoking Around America with Interruptions, on the other hand, is written by a talented, accomplished writer from the United Kingdom who chose to travel on Amtrak not to witness anything spectacular nor meet interesting people, but rather, to daydream and be lost in her own thoughts. She documented her travels simply because she needed to earn a living: “I just want to drift in the actual landscapes of my daydreams, and drifting, other than in the imagination, is expensive,” she writes, adding that she does not consider herself a travel writer and unlike most travel writers, she did not want any events or incidents along the way. “It will be a book about nothing happening,” she told her editor.

Diski begins her journey on a three-week transatlantic cargo ship carrying 25 tons of potash to Florida, and while not a rail journey, her reflections on this mode of travel would resonate with rail fans: “After a very short time, when you are traveling so far at such a snail’s pace, and with no urgent need (or in my case, any need at all) to get where you are going, you become an aficionado of detail. I took on the task of witnessing the sea, as if someone, somewhere had to be constantly alert to its shits and nuances, and here and now the job was mine I kept an eye on the windows when I brushed my teeth for fear of missing something.”

Stranger on a Train documents two train trips: One across the American south and southwest, and another circular journey beginning and ending in New York City. When not in her own sleeping compartment or the dining car, Diski spent much of her time in the smoking lounge (back when smoking was allowed on long-distance Amtrak trains), which she described as both a “sin bin, the punishment cell, a capsule of degradation,” and a wonderful party that was not to be missed. It was mainly, but not exclusively, there where she met most of the characters she describes in detail.

For someone who wanted to be alone, one of the many strengths of Diski’s writing is her descriptions of the people she meets on her cross-country train travels. She acknowledged the apparent contradiction: "There was not the slightest possibility, I realised as I stubbed out my last cigarette of the evening on the platform of Chelmut station, of coming across anyone who led the kind of uneventful and routine life that the vast majority of humanity were supposed to lead. Wherever these hoards of the normal were, they didn't travel by train. Or not on my trains."

Her descriptions of the passing landscapes and her own interior monologue as she interacts with those landscapes are equally compelling. If you want to read one travelogue about rail travel, let this be it.

Named for the Zephyus, the god of the west wind, the California Zephyr has captured the imaginations of travelers since it debuted in 1949, connecting Chicago with the San Francisco Bay Area. In Zephyr, Tracking a Dream Across America, longtime Chicago Sun-Times book review editor Henry Kisor takes readers with him: “No other American train traverses such a variety of terrain: the industrial backside of Chicago, the Midwestern breadbasket of Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska over the Mississippi and Missouri rivers to the high plains and towering Rockies of Colorado, the intermountain desert of the Great Basin of Utah and Nevada, the high Sierra of California, the shore of San Francisco Bay,” Kisor writes.

In Zephyr, Kisor shares details of crew, passengers and passing scenery, as well several tangents with anecdotes from longtime employees, answering many questions passengers may have -- and several they probably never thought of: pets aboard Amtrak; how the toilets work; sexism, racism and homophobia among the crew; problem passengers; theft; and sexual liaisons among passengers. Kisor also offers historical sketches, such as the development of time zones, the role of the railroad in distributing news and mail, how the Colorado Rockies were initially traversed by rail, and the story of a horrific 1952 crash in Galesburg, Ill.

Those unfamiliar with traveling by Amtrak should be reminded that Kisor’s trip aboard the Zephyr is a distinct snapshot in the train’s history. The book narrates a 1994 trip, back when the consist departing Chicago split in three along the way, the Pioneer bound for Portland and the Desert Wind bound for Las Vegas and Los Angeles. Mindful of the changes, Kisor’s 2015 edition includes a final chapter of updates, pointing out changes in smoking policy, dining car offerings, toilet operations, locomotive technology and more, as well as an update on the lives of the crew members featured in the book.

For the uninitiated, Zephyr is a great introduction to the joys of slow train travel and riding one of Amtrak’s greatest routes. For rail fans like myself who have traveled the Zephyr in recent years, this book not only rekindles the memorable experience, but also gives historical and behind-the-scenes anecdotes, as well as a keen sense of how Amtrak has changed in the nearly three decades since this book was first published.

Journalist and professor James McCommons crisscrossed the country on Amtrak in 2008 trying to answer a few key questions: Why was our once-extensive rail system was allowed to fall apart, and when would we again have decent passenger service. Logging nearly 100,000 miles on Amtrak, Waiting on a Train describes the scenery and history of every major Amtrak route, as well as its unique characters. What makes his book different from most travelogues is that McCommons spoke not just with fellow passengers but also with transportation officials, policy makers, advocates, academics and more, seeking a window to the future of America’s passenger rail system.

McCommons digs deep into policy, explaining, for example, how subsidies work in other countries’ rail systems, and the differences between operating surplus, and construction and maintenance costs.

His book is written against the backdrop of the Great Recession, a time when the threat of rising energy prices might have meant a brighter future for interest in Amtrak. In his epilogue, McCommons writes about high-speed rail and other infrastructure funding in the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009, as well as the election of a Vice President who commuted on Amtrak for much of his Senate career. Reading this book more than a decade later and seeing that many improvements — even those planned before the stimulus investments — have not yet materialized is depressing. I would welcome a book that follows up on many of the planned improvements described in this book.

A self-described a blend of travel writing, memoir and investigatory journal, this book is enjoyable and informative, both when I first read it nearly a decade ago and again today

McCommons ends his book with a succinct conclusion that remains true today: “America is a third-world country when it comes to passenger railroads. Someday, maybe I’ll be nostalgic for these old trains. Then again, maybe not. I know this: If the country wants a robust, well-functioning train system, it will have to pay for it. There’s no way around that.”

Richard White’s lengthy history examining the building and growth of the transcontinental railroads took a dozen years to research and write. His extensive research delves into notes and diaries, giving colorful descriptions of the businessmen behind the building. In fact the book is just as much about business and economics as it is about trains — and the author acknowledges that many of those running the railroads didn’t know about trains but they knew how to sell stocks and bonds and lobby for subsidies.

White is setting out to write something different, not one of many accounts of the building of the first transcontinental railroad, but an account of how all of the western railroads shaped North America. He debunks the traditional caricatures of railroad financiers as shrewd ruthless businessmen, portraying them instead as disorganized men running precarious businesses that ultimately failed.

White’s overall thesis is that these railroads were built too soon, spurring development in areas that were not ready for development, ruining the land and spurring the death and demise of native Americans, who might have had a better chance at physical cultural and political survival had white men and railroads come a few decades later. For anyone who has enjoyed one of the many histories of the building of the transcontinental railroad, this would be an excellent sequel.

Written by three railroad historians, this book give a thorough and readable history of Amtrak, explaining not just the who, what, when and where of Amtrak, but also a lot of all-important whys — why did private passenger rail need to be rescued, why is our current system struggling, and so forth.

The first quarter of the book is a history of pre-Amtrak passenger rail in the United States documenting its mid-20th Century decline. The authors describe the government policies that made it difficult for private railroad companies to move passengers around the country by rail, and the ever-increasing government investments in air and car travel. The second quarter of the book is about the rushed formation of Amtrak and a decade-by-decade review of service additions and cuts throughout the 50+-year history on Amtrak. Next, the authors offer perspectives from three Amtrak presidents, a communications official who served under seven Amtrak presidents, as well as passengers, crew members, and officials from towns served by Amtrak.

Hanging over this entire book is the depressing realization that this country lacks a comprehensive transportation plan, and that passenger rail service hangs on the whims of elected officials who appoint allies with little experience to Amtrak’s board. Our system struggles because of a lack of leadership, vision and investment, the authors argue.

Not to be skipped is the first appendix, an informative, and much-less-depressing survey of state-supported passenger rail routes, many of them thriving and expanding, that also form the Amtrak network.

Starting with the premise that travel in some form or another is central to the human condition The Mind of the Traveler sets out to answer questions about why human beings have traveled since we emerged as a species — and how the transformations of travel produce the mind of the traveler, and what features of the journey shape the identity of travelers.

Breaking travel into three segments, the departure, passage and arrival, Leed outlines motivations for different of journeys throughout history: departures that induce suffering and departures that promise freedom, heroic journeys and non heroic journeys, arrivals that include a battle and arrivals that include a sexual act.

While this is not a book about train travel, those interested will be drawn to Leed’s comments on passage, specifically how smooth, frictionless, unresisted motion induces a “flow” state of mind, how the continuousness of motion can give rise to an idea of space as endless, and how travelers surrender to the conditions of motion.

While the subtitle of this book suggests an expansive history of travel up to and including much of the 20th Century, Leed focuses more on travel in ancient, classical, medieval and early modern times. At times it might be difficult to connect the Epic of Gilgamesh to contemporary mass tourism, but Leed makes these connections in his Epilogue, “The Mind of the Modern Traveler,” where he notes that travel is no longer about achieving distinction, but rather about achieving a norm — and how many travelers now are desperate to distinguish themselves from “the traveling masses.”

Though more than three decades old now, Leed’s book remains relevant and is frequently quoted in recent pieces about travel and tourism.

“What would I notice, what would I want to know more about, what would I find compelling and be fascinated by if we were having lunch in Warsaw right now, instead of New York?”

In that sentence, Tony Hiss sums up one of the main points of his 2010 book, In Motion: The Experience of Travel. When visiting a new place, travelers often enter into a heightened state of awareness, which Hiss calls “Deep Travel.” He refers to this state as the mind being “in motion,” but much of the book is about motion leading the mind into a state of Deep Travel.

Author of 15 books — and a fan of rail travel — Hiss provides readers with incredible depth of knowledge and literature. One takes away not just a better understanding of the traveler’s mindset, but also topics as varied as the nature of commuting and the origin of human beings. Among the books’ many benefits is that it offers readers a jumping-off point to explore travel writers, psychologists, anthropologists, novelists and more.

Follow railfans will enjoy Hiss’ detailed description of a winter train trip out of Rutland, Vermont. He once relied on a bumpy stretch of track north of Albany — in a worn, dated 1960s car, with coffee brewing, and outside, a bright blue sky and bitingly cold temperatures — as a promising source of Deep Travel. “Energied, untethered, unhurried, and protected, your mind can be free to explore any subject at all, because all possibilities lie open,” Hiss said.

In a generation where cramped airplane seats, invasive security processes and seemingly endless fees have become the norm for long-distance travel, the 19th Century railroad connotes a quaintness, a simpler time where one could converse with fellow passengers and enjoy the passing landscape. Wolfgang Schivelbusch’s The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space reminds us that in the early 19th Century, many regarded railroads the way we regard discount airlines today.

This is not a book about the romance of the rails, but rather an exploration of the connections between the railroad and industry. The railroad emerged at a time when most travelers were drawn by natural means, horses, over the hills and bumps of worn roadways. Steam-powered locomotives changed that, with steam and iron prevailing against nature. Travelers at the time, Schivelbusch writes, felt that the railroad alienated them from nature and from each other. Travelers became human parcels.

The chapters are filled with contemporary accounts of travel by rail that open our eyes to thoughts about 19th Century travel. While the initial chapters are about the emergence of rail travel and its effects on human psychology, subsequent chapters forge connections between the railroad and industry, architecture, warfare, trauma, urban design and even department store shopping.

Schivelbusch’s thesis forces 21st Century readers to realize that statements about travel are relative to time. Two centuries ago, stagecoach was pleasurable and the norm, while rail travel was dizzying, disorienting and dehumanizing too many. The Railway Journey is a sobering reminder that the rails were not always alluring, and that they were developed at a time of rapid — and oftentimes unwelcome — change.

The 1840s was a pivotal decade, marking the beginning of photography and of mass travel, two intertwined themes in John Urry’s 1990 classic The Tourist Gaze. In this second revision, Urry and co-author Jonas Larsen continue to track the development of, and historical transformations within, the tourist gaze. Whereas Eric J. Leed’s The Mind of the Traveler focuses more on ancient, medieval and early modern travel, Urry and Larsen focus more on the era of mass tourism, beginning with the development of seaside resorts in 18th Century England, and continuing through the development of the railroad, air travel and digital photography. Of the five senses, sight has come to be seen as the most important among people, and the most important when it comes to visiting new places, hence the authors’ focus on the gaze.

Chapter by chapter, the authors explore this concept of the tourist gaze in relation to economies, workers, design and architecture, photography and performances. Perhaps most intriguing is their speculation on the future of travel in their final chapter. Mindful of the negative environmental effects of increased travel, they envision three scenarios for the year 2050: a high-speed hyperconnected world, where fast travel does not negatively impact the environment; a world where everyone is forced to stay close to home and minimize travel, with a focus on local sustainability; and finally, a dystopian future controlled by warlords, where resources are scarce and only few can travel. As none of these scenarios is desirable, they suggest a better answer: a near-term future where we exchange the “exotic gaze” for the “local gaze” and better appreciate wonders close to home. In such a future, long-distance travel would still be feasible, but not as widespread, and, ideally, undertaken with more sustainable transportation, such as high-speed rail. Interestingly, a focus on the local gaze complements Tony Hiss’ thesis of his 2010 book, In Motion (see above), where he opines that “Deep Travel” is a state of mind into which one can enter at any time, not just while traveling to exotic locales.

This compilation of articles gives a broad overview of Slow Tourism, from the theoretical to the empirical and practical. In his introduction, University of Hartford professor and author Michael Clancy begins with an overview of the “Slow” movement, which is not a single unified movement, as some elements are related to consumption, others to spatial organization and still others to personal and family practices. The rise of Slow, he writes, is best understood within the context of crises of modernity. Speed was supposed to give us more leisure time, instead we work just as much and, according to surveys, the economic well being that comes with this work does not make us any happier.

The next four chapters give the philosophical and sociological roots of the Slow movement, with discussions of the concepts of stillness and rhythm, the ethical implications of speed and slowness, and the differences between Slow Travel and Slow Tourism. As Peter McGrath and Richard Sharpley point out in Chapter 4, Slow Travel allows us to engage more intimately with the communities through which we travel — but Jennie Germann Molz points out in Chapter 2, choosing to go Slow is a privilege. Part II — the following six chapters — provide overviews of related movements: creative tourism, Slow Food, intelligent cities and the Cittaslow movement. Finally, Part III looks at on-the-ground implications of the movement, from Switzerland to Spain to the wine country of Vancouver Island.

While not directly related to rail travel, the theoretical pieces in Part I help make a case for ditching airplanes and engaging in slower forms of transportation while traveling.

For those envious of people who travel for months or years at a time, Gesota writes to convince people that they, too, can live on the road. She opens The Art of Slow Travel with several pages touting the benefits of slow travel. In subsequent chapters, she writes to demystify this form of travel, beginning each chapter with a compelling personal anecdote from her many experiences living around the world, followed by practical, how-to tips for those planning to embark. Though part travelogue, this book is primarily for people preparing for long term travel, with practical tips and checklists.