Unfortunately the trains do not go far. The scenic dinner train runs from Hyannis to the canal and back. It doesn't even cross the magnificent railroad bridge, as it did in my youth when I rode across it clutching my absent older brother's cheap 1970s panasonic camera. Too much trouble, no doubt, all that lowering and raising.
Meanwhile all the tracks in Falmouth and running up and down the lower Cape have been ripped out, paved over, and turned into bike paths. Lovely if you've got a bicycle and a Sunday afternoon. But what about those of us with a ticket for the conductor? What if we get lonely in our cars and want to travel someplace together?
The trash trains get to cross the canal, though. They haul everything from Hyannis on down, I guess, to the Semass processing plant, where it gets burned and turned into energy. One could hop on and ride it that far, I suppose, and maybe make a decent adventure of it, huddled among the garbage. But I'd be ready to hop the next train back. I've already seen the Southeastern Massachusetts.
I'm tired of driving. My car needs an oil change and a new muffler. Every week it wants new gas.
I miss the subways of Boston, despite and all they're falling apart. From what I understand there's even more trains in New York. I think we need to live there for a little while before we're dead. I'll make a hobby of learning every station, little islands in a vast infinite world. Little places to remember until we forget.
Not for a while, though. All our stuff is here, and all our stuff is tired of moving around.