Crazy Times in Coach, on Via’s Canadian

This is a raw and honest (and imperfect and disjointed) piece about a weird adventure. There’s adult language and situations, funny moments and sad moments and few that’ll have you scratching your head. It is what it is and nothing like our normal style postings. And it’s a long one folks, so grab a coffee.

Sometimes the best laid plans…turn to crap. You do your homework, formulate, consider every single option and variable and get the ball rolling happily along. Then boom, almost immediately in it’s this realization you miscalculated and now it’s clear your naivete or a lack of forethought and research sold you out and this is not going to end well.

Here’s just such a story. It’s about a cross-country rail trek many days long, a test run that if successful would lead to a big commission and perhaps our break out piece, that turned real strange real quick. Oh, it got so spun around that there was never a hope of the plans working, leaving us dazed and confused and the project in ruins. And so the dream died on the vine even before the ride was over.

Then again we have this story. And we got comped a burger. Hell, we’re laughing here. If life gives you lemons…

So we polish that turd, turn face and embrace the experience and share it in all its bizarre magnificence with you here. It was case of if you don’t laugh you’ll cry and we ain’t crying. And as time softens these hard memories, it almost brings a smile. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t so bad. We’re big into the human experience, the beautiful, the ugly and the odd, and this adventure had it all in spades. Come ride along.

A request arrives from a publisher…a piece on Via’s Canadian, fly on the wall style. They ask we do a trial run and see how it plays out, do it as cheaply as possible and get back to them. Then if it shows promise get Via on board – something I suspected there would be push back to even if a lower functionary at the firm seemed fine with it on initial contact – and then do it all over again, proper like. Yeah, that’s doable.

Over to the big TO – solo outing this time – no money for two. On the ground in Canada’s biggest city and with many hours before departure, adventure calls. It’s walkabout time. Cool streetcars, a vibrant downtown, the shared Via/Go Transit Station (also used by the airport shuttle) with lots of train watching opportunities here and nearby and lots of historic old buildings. There’s much to pass the time. A real Kosher style hot-dog, street food done proper that’s cheap, yummy and without the pretension and expense of those trendy fish-taco or fusion food places you see in Cowtown.

About 10pm a boarding call. We’re in coach, as we soon find out Via’s unloved stepchild, the ghetto side of the Canadian, a steel-wheeled Sunnyvale where the human trash hangs (…and breath…) a couple worn and weary chair cars with dated interiors and a dome car with a snack bar our rolling home. On that end it’s a posh hotel, and on this, d’hood.

Those questionable stains. Repeat after me, it’s just spilled coffee, it’s just spilled coffee. Yeah…that’s it.

We head out in darkness leaving Toronto behind. Sleep calls.

And for a next few days, this here Via train, the legendary Canadian, a shadow of it’s former glorious self, will be the setting for a surreal play. A sometime participant, but more so it’s from a distance I simply watch and listen, streaming real life as it happens before me. The train is but a backdrop.

The Players…

There’s Mr Mennonite Pants, aka Sir Burps and Farts a lot, aka the Human Harley, The Daddy Issues Dude, Wendy Withdrawals, The Nervous Attendants, The Laughs a Lot Lady, The Uber Pissed Guy, Bobby Big Business and others.

The Places…

From Toronto to Edmonton, so half of Canada, as seen through a window.

The Train…

We’re in coach #8118. It’s an oldie dating back to the 1950s, coming from the Budd Company in the US. It’s made of Stainless Steel, meaning it’s indestructible. Originally owned by the Canadian Pacific Railway, Via Rail Canada inherited it in the 1970s, when the firm took over CPR’s passenger routes (and that of competitor CNR too). The train is made up of matching cars – dome cars, many sleepers, diners and so on and is a long one. When the sun hits it just right, it’s blinding!

One the ground in the big TO.

Being in coach on the Canadian, we’re only allowed in the first few cars. Thou shalt not pass the dome/snack car least ye face eternal damnation. And you’ll get a stern lecture too. I broke that rule once or twice to take in how the other side lives. For research purposes.

Inside, the car looks like time stopped in the 1990s (around when it was last updated) and has a distinctive musty odour mixed with what smells like perspiration, stinky tootsies and something best described as wet dog. Home sweet sweat home. But this is coach – can’t expect much. Things creak and groan, windows are well coated with grime, not just inside and out but between the two panes. At higher speeds the car rocks back and forth violently – slam left – slam right – feeling like a pinball here. Woohoo…hold tight, it’s a wild ride! Those who stand and pee, rethink a bathroom break till the train slows. They told us we’ll top out at about 100kph or so, by the way. Pretty good I guess. In contrast, in Spain we took a slower local that did 250kph – but hey.

The AC runs all out – “full power captain!” Come night it’s downright freezing. Tonight’s forecast an arctic blast coming in from the west. I can see my breath! They told us the system is malfunctioning. Two jackets later and I’m snug as a bug. Oh wait it’s the yellow one. My cover’s blown…

Leading the train are three of Via’s 1980s era General Motors Diesel Division, London Ontario (the factory now closed) F40PH-2 locomotives. These are a mainstay of Via’s western lines. Talking with an engineer at a station stop, one engine was suffering from an issue and died a couple times on the road. He said two could handle things, if needed.

Interestingly, the Canadian does not use legacy CPR routing in the south, its journey instead taking that of the old CNR Super Continental, a once competing train that travelled a more northerly line. Funny how that worked out. CPR name, CPR cars, CNR line.

Dawn arrives in Sudbury Ontario. That smoke stack! That moonscape. Yup, it’s a mining town. Then it’s into the north county bush – a vast expanse of forest with no signs of civilization to be seen for hours at a time and a place of amazing beauty. There’s lakes, lots of them, the near impenetrable rock of the Canadian Shield along with occasional villages, fishing and hunting camps, youth camps, all only reachable by train. We’d stop at some. Mr Mennonite Pants across from me celebrates the morning with a giant belch. We’ve been introduced. Classy. And soon after, he breaks out the electric razor, shaves and proceeds to dumps the leavings in the aisle. While I watch.

Hornepayne Ontario and we’re AHEAD of schedule. We stop for a time and get out and stretch our legs. I wander about and get to know my train – yup there’s canoes in the baggage car – this is Northern Ontario after all. And take in that old dilapidated train station here, unused and falling down.

All aboard!

The coach ahead of my car was populated entirely by youth heading to camp with many others participants in a student exchange program. For some, it was fun and adventure, and for others, who had that look, a most fearful experience away from home.

Bouncing along through Northern Ontario, a remote corner of the country little touched by humans, it’s this feeling of being in the proverbial middle of nowhere. No one lives out this way, no one! Here we’d make good time. Ah those good old days of old when the Canadian actually rolled. Ah, the memories! The Laughs a Lot Lady makes herself known. As I find out later time means nothing to her. Two AM and she’s got the giggles over something her seat-mate said. Slam-slam-slam! The wheels drown her out.

In the seat ahead it’s Wendy Withdrawals, perhaps in her twenties but looking much older. She fidgets and bobs and weaves as though shadow boxing. And she scratches her arms and wrists both of which show heavy scarring. Her look tells me that stopping would mean the very end of the world as we know it. These are her rituals I suppose keeping her occupied while she suffers through – she does hard-core drugs and needs a fix. She puts on a band-aid to stop some bleeding. And she mumbles under her breath. Later we’d chat and admittedly I was rather surprised by her intelligence and the clarity of which she spoke. Guess I’m guilty of judging a book by its cover.

Somehow I don’t see her living to a ripe old age. That poor broken girl.

Over there Mr Mennonite Pants downs copious amounts of Coke and Chips. Pace yourself man. And on getting up from time to time, he’d let one rip. From one or both orifices. And there would be this smug look on his face. He did the deed and was proud of it. Dude…some respect!

The train rolls along. Once in awhile we’d pass a waiting freight on a siding. Later our train would be the one taking the sidings. Braaaaaap! Jesus man! Mr Mennonite Pants has an entourage to which he barks orders loudly in German, often with his mouth full and BBQ chip bits spewing everywhere. Some of the ladies sew or knit and the kids seems well behaved. Little is said among themselves. They continued on after I left the train.

Wendy needs a smoke badly. At the next station stop she detrains and quickly dispatches two or three in succession lighting one off the other. Later with the train in motion she’d vanish at times and come back with that distinctive odour of a cigarette. There’s no smoking allowed, something all passengers were lectured on, but she seems to be finding a cove where she can go do it unnoticed. Funny, when these train cars were built smoking was the norm – how things change – and there would have even been ashtrays in the seat arms.

Bobby Big Business discuses a huge money deal on his phone – loudly so everyone can hear. Huh, I’ve got no cell reception. Later I’d ponder, if he’s such a big wheel and he played it up as though the King of Wallstreet himself, what the F is he doing on Via’s Canadian? In coach?!

For the love of God, that stinks! Mr Mennonite Pants strikes again.

A trip is made to the snack car. There’s the usual offerings, burgers, chicken fingers and that kind of stuff. It’s all tasty enough and not too expensive. Above is a dome to view the passing countryside. It’s packed…always. This here car is as far as those in coach can go, the rest of the train supposedly being off limits. I peer around – no guards, no one watching and make a bee-line for the club car deep in the forbidden zone…to see how the elite live. I heard it’s a most wondrous place…champagne and caviar, hot stone massages and personal butlers. And the sun shines every day. And poop smells like roses.

Wait, they’ve seen me – dodge left, deke right – run! Much later in the ride, the Attendants would all but completely disappear and people from lowly coach would wander about the entire train unmolested, your author included.

Night comes. Mr Mennonite Pants takes the empty seat behind me and soon passes out, his snore drowning out all but the loudest of noises. Thank goodness my meds knock me out, a pleasant side-effect here, as there would be no fricken’ way one could sleep with a chainsaw buzzing nearby. Even with the noise of the car slamming back and forth you could hear him. In back, there’s the boisterous sound of laughter, heard over all the din. Steamy windows means there’s little to see, but it’s dark anyway. Earlier I tried wiping it with my sleeve but it only made the view out worse. And now’s there’s yuck on my jacket. Slam left! Slam right! We must be up to track speed.

The view from Via’s Canadian.

Introducing Daddy Issues Dude making his first appearance well into the night. He’s been drinking and we know how that kills inhibitions. Announcing it loudly…seems Papa is critical of every single one of his life choices – that he’s a cross-dresser, that he’s bi, that he’s been in and out of institutions. No support structure there at home I guess.

First it’s hate and resentment, then tears lamenting a relationship lost. Collectively we’re his Dr Phil with words of encouragement coming in from those seated nearby and calming him down. He states we’re all his dearest friends, as drunks often do. Each every one of us, is in his heart for all time. On sobriety he’d loose the sentiment. Later he’d befriend Laughs a Lots Lady. Giggle here, giggle there, giggle giggle everywhere – they really hit it off. Like real good. Looks like love…on Via’s Canadian. And the train speeds along through the night.

Day two in Ontario. Damn, it’s one huge province. Once in a while we’d stop at a First Nation’s Village, someone would get on, and maybe twenty minutes later would get off at another. There are no roads out this way. Look at that, we’re still on time. But things would unravel later. Wendy’s on edge. Bobby’s working on a big deal – seems Bitcoin’s his thing and he’s getting rich on it (ed: as of the publishing of this report Bitcoin is in the dumps). How the does heck does he have cell service here in this remote hinterland? Oh wait…

Sounds of laughter. Mr Mennonite Pants let’s one rip…and don’t dump your stuff on the floor! The car slams side to side and it feels as though we’re in a boat in a storm on the ocean. It’s freezing. All those wondrous aromas. I can’t see a damn thing out the window! Wipe, wipe, wipe. Bobby’s speaks loudly of Maybachs and yachts and vacations on the Riviera. This weird is the new normal.

Wendy starts up a chat, maybe distracting her from those deep powerful cravings. She reeks of smoke. And she’s got all those visuals that speak of a nasty addiction, her body appearing frail and weak. She talks honestly of leaving an abusive relationship and on turning over a leaf and heading west to a new one. She smiles – probably the first one in a long time. At every stop she’d dart outside for a puff almost knocking people over in the process. She’s a slave to it.

Forest and lake, lake and forest. This is Northern Ontario. Then without warning, now having crossed over into Manitoba, it’s soon farms and fields. Like a line was drawn, we’re now on the Great Canadian Plains.

Arriving in Winnipeg, there’s a couple hour layover. Everyone’s gotta go so the cars can be cleaned. Don’t forget those windows! And a good vacuuming – that beard stubble is grossing me out. My jacket, left on the seat, on my return goes missing, but is later found in near the snack counter one car down.

I head into town for a stroll. Back in the 1970s your author lived not far from the station for a stretch. I know, or rather knew the area well. It’s changed a lot. The old site of the Alexandria Hotel where I broke my arm bad, just over there, and the rail yard and freight sheds out back behind the station that I’d explore freely then. It was full of old box cars, as I recall, likely headed for the scrapper and we’d climb up on top of them and jump around as though it was a playground. A big steel – one wrong move and you’re dead – type playground. Now there’s a market here. I remember that building with the stack – now it’s TV studio. What’s that? A Boler? Oh yeah, there’s my fix. Find a food store and stock up on junk. Reconnect with the world using station wifi – if we believe the Via website, it’s supposed to be available on the train. Recall as a kid there used to be a good sized model railway, here under the dome.

Not immune to those with a potty-mouth.

We depart – bye bye ‘Peg. Hope to come back one day. This short visit had me reminiscing.

Then it all falls apart…

With the city just out of view, we take a siding, perhaps the first this trip. And we wait. One long freight passes, then hot on its tail a second, and soon after yet another. Maybe it’s just a one time thing? And we’re off again. Where as Ontario was all forest, here it’s fields of grain stretching off as far as one can see and gorgeous in it’s own way. That Canola matches my jacket! Many small towns are passed, and a few old grain elevators are seen. Try as I might, photos of them, what with the glare and filth on the windows, don’t work well (the fog comes and goes). But, hey, I have the memories.

Our station stop in Portage la Prairie has us blocking the street. No one in town seems to mind. And barely out of the place, we take a siding. Two freights and some twenty minutes pass. Our Attendants get questioned and insist even with these stops, the mighty Canadian should keep schedule. Without question, we drink the Kool-aid. Silly us. I later talked with one Attendant, and she spoke openly and frankly, and it was equally shocking and eye-opening. “They did what? They treat you how?”

More sidings, more freights. In the old days, passenger trains had superiority over all. Today it’s hit and miss, the ratio of us taking the siding over freights worsening as we continue west. I seem to be the only one who enjoys seeing those other trains. Later the shine would be off even for me. For a time – I’m all cured now.

Into a siding, and then a wait, then make a run for it like an Olympic Sprinter, hit another siding and wait. Rinse and repeat. At one point we pulled into a super-long siding, already holding two freights, one pointing east, the other west. We could see both thanks to a curve affording us a view. Three freights pass in quick succession, two east bound, and a hot one west. At one point we back up a few clicks to take a different siding.

More meets up the line. More waiting. This section of track sure is busy. The Attendants when questioned think the train can make up time. No one seems convinced anymore. More meets, sitting and waiting, darting from siding to siding only to wait more. We’re sitting more than we move. Now they say, with a forced smile, we might be a couple hours late into Edmonton, still over a province away. Okaaaay…

Then it’s burps and farts and the snoring, the grimy windows, the chill. Wendy’s arm is scratched raw. Bobby’s wheeling and dealing. The laughter, those fields of gold and sitting still in the middle of nowhere. It must be a bizarre fevered dream. Yeah, I convince myself, that’s it. A gentle slap across the face…nope I’m awake.

Another click or two and another siding. Sorry, sounding so repetitive here. The CNR, whose track we’ve been sharing is doing work along this line here in the Western Provinces, adding new sidings, lengthening others and even connecting a bunch together to make two tracks to add capacity. But slow orders account men and machinery working nearby add to the delays. Via’s Canadian seems damned at every turn!

The more things fall apart the less we see of the Attendants. When the do pass through, finally, it’s at a good clip with a dead froward stare so as not to face all those questioning eyes. Still, they announce we should arrive in Edmonton, my destination, by around noon-ish, so some five hours behind schedule. We should make a drinking game – every hour Via’s late slug one back – but then we’d all be dying of alcohol poisoning.

The wilds of Northern Ontario.

Sleep soon. I can hear Wendy mumbling. Mr Mennonite Pants is nowhere to be seen…or smelled…or heard. Maybe he’s off farting in the dome car or something, the arrogant prick. Drifting off…perhaps the train will make up time overnight? In hindsight that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever thought.

Morning comes – is it day three, I think – I’ve honestly lost count – and we’re some couple/few hundred clicks from Edmonton and sitting. Not good. The mood here is getting ugly. Passengers confront the Attendants – “when, when, WHEN?!” “We’ll be there about noon comes the answer.” But no one, not even they, believe it. But God Bless Them, they tow the company line…almost to the bitter end. Mere minutes later, an update, noon-ish becomes three-ish. No one’s surprised.

It’s anger and frustration all around. Laughter Lady is quiet and stern faced – nothing’s funny anymore. Mr Mennonite Pants, who’s returned, is cursing in German under his breath. Between stuffing his face that is. Wendy’s in meltdown. “But my new boyfriend is waiting for me!”, she desperately exclaims to a passing Attendant. I lend her my phone so she can give the new beau a head’s up – and she’s continuing on to Van by the way. She may be leaving an abusive relationship, but what I overheard tells me she’s walking smack dab into the middle of another – I could hear him cursing. She tells him it’s Via’s fault and starts crying, but it sounds like he’s not buying it. Such a caring sensitive fellow, this here guy. This is not going to work for her. Like the drugs ain’t bad enough…now this…being unloved and treated as though worthless. Still, I can’t help but think this is a typical day for her.

Now my phone smells.

The Attendants retreat and are not seen again for hours. One guys paces the car anxiously. Wendy’s a wreck and crying – and flat-busted she tells me. I offer to buy her breakie but she refuses. She goes off for a smoke between cars. Daddy Issues Dude is awake and is back in therapy.

We enter the community of Wainwright, and sit. For a good two hours. Freight after freight passes and still we sit. Then comes another. Use to be they’d move out of the way, now it’s the other way around. At some point, we pass the eastbound Canadian, or rather it passes us. Looking at the schedule, it’s also running late. Between sidings, we’d fly, outpacing cars on the highway paralleling the tracks. We must be doing over 100, easy. And the car slams side to side and nothing is heard over the din. Bam! Then a brief silence. Bam! And again. And again. Then comes a hard braking and we all know what’s coming. We take a siding. More freights pass. One hundred cars, two hundred, keeping myself entertained. No one’s seen the Attendants for a while.

With cell reception now good many are on the line with Via, myself included. And we’re together getting nowhere fast – I see a pattern here. “What about my connecting ride? What about the hotel room I booked? What about this? That?” Too bad is what I’m told and from the looks on the faces of those others they’ve gotten a similar heartless response. And to those who dare ask for some kind of compensation or refund, it was a flat out no. All the care and compassion of an SS death squad. Lost hotel rooms? No! Rental cars never picked up? Too bad! Missed flights? No! Inconvenience? No! No! No! No! You lose. One guy smacks his phone down hard. Another curses as though a truck driver. F this, F that, F’ng Via! Happy customers all! Not sure how it’s going over there in the sleeper section but this side of the train here coach, it’s a powderkeg.

Fellow passengers.

A couple passengers arrange a search party to go looking for Attendants, going as far back as a couple diners, a dozen or so long cars away, (which recall is a no go zone for us coach riders) before finding any, not our regular Attendents but someone at least. They come back with news – they still say 3pm. And I’m having a dinner date with the Queen.

More stop and go. Hours drag by. Headway is glacial. Then news…second hand from someone who wandered in from the sleepers…the train will be stopping soon, not on a siding but at the next road crossing. The head-end crew has timed out (outlawed as it’s called) and can’t continue. They’ll taxi some replacements in from Edmonton…some hundred plus clicks away. Everyone’s thinking the same thing I bet…maybe I can catch a ride back…good idea, eh?

And it’s here we meet The Uber Pissed Dude. On hearing of this new delay, he snaps. He’s been quiet the whole time, but here her starts in on a four-word laden triad that goes on and on. I’m used to drive truck and I was blushing. Others try and calm him. He insists he’ll jump off the train here and now and call for a ride. He opens the Uber App and swipes furiously. Then he retreats, heading back to his seat and quieting down for time. Every now and then he blurts out something ugly and profane about what’s happening then goes back to Candy Crush.

There’s kids on the train, who more than anyone seem the most confused by what’s happening, but no adults seem to be able to check their potty-mouths by this point and so the ugly banter is heard by them and everyone else.

Lots of people are still on their phone to Via. Everyone’s got this look of sheer frustration and based on what’s overheard everyone’s clearly getting the run around. Via’s response, when we spoke with them, tells us it’s just another day at work for them, listening to angry customers and countering it with a general indifference and a total lack of empathy or compassion.

The train move. Cheers! Then it stops. Boo! But the train will arrive! The train will arrive! If said enough times it’ll happen! But it’s a sad case of shared denial. Picture it years down the road, they’ll find this ghost train, our scattered remains still inside among the spent coke bottles and long dead cell phones.

The outskirts, the home stretch! Attendants return, running past and handing out chits for a complementary meal. Gotta burger out it – life is good. That they’re doing this, however, within sight of what is the destination for many of us, tells us we’ll be sitting longer. And we did – there was still over an hour or so to go. Even calm and cool me is on edge. I swear if that guy farts again.

Views of refineries and chemical plants. Welcome to scenic Edmonton.

Slowly at first, at a walking speed, the train moves forward. Could it be? There’s no chance it’ll stop again? Is there? Creeping, creeping. Past a cemetery (did they die waiting for the train?). Creeping further. There’s Yellowhead Trail. Slowly, slowly. The mood has calmed. Bobby’s back to making deals. Wendy’s openly smoking in between cars. Mr Mennonite Pants is chugging a coke. The Uber Dude seems calm. Normalcy has returned.

Details of our old 1950s rail car.

“I can see the station”, someone shouts. We all move to that side of the car. “I can too”. The Edmonton Train Station, heard of in legend…it exists! Then, with clunk, it all comes to an abrupt halt. No big deal…maybe they just need to throw a switch or maybe back up or something. The the minutes pass. We can see the station – we can see people in the station – it’s right over there maybe half a city block away! Looking at the watch…it’s been half an hour now. The temporary calm is broken and the mood angry again. It’s not a pitchfork mob but everyone’s damn close to breaking. Wendy’s in tears again. Sounds of anger in English and German. Some Australian tourists sit there dumbfounded mouths agape. I’d chat with them at the height of the chaos and it was clear to me they couldn’t believe what was going on right there in front of them.

Looks like someone’s recording it all on their phone.

Another search party is dispatched. There’s no Attendants anywhere on the train. Passengers from the Sleepers come forward looking for same. No one’s seen any of them. A couple fellows suggest we just walk off en masse and hoof-it the final couple hundred metres to the station. That raised-eyebrow look on some suggest it’s being considered. There’s a real Lord of Flies thing happening now, people breaking into factions and groups and discussing a possible way out of the situation. Even if by force. And who should be in charge now that there’s a power vacuum with the Via Staff MIA

About this time Connie, my ride home, calls – I can see you she says – and from my seat I can see her. I mean literally I could. “Hi there!” She says it’s near-anarchy at the station too some people having been waiting on the train since 6am and angry as wet bees. Connie takes it in stride, but she’s a no bother bear. Get this, some Via guy brought in “a” (as in single) pizza to appease those waiting. One slice only, please. Among the dozens waiting. There’s a special place in heaven for that guy! I tell her of the lunacy unfolding here on the train. I wonder if she even believes me.

Connie mentions taxis sitting and sitting, connecting buses having waited and left and other interesting happenings. I could hear in the background it was pretty loud.

One hour, maybe a bit more. Looking at your watch becomes a habit. People are now at that phase of anger where they’re actually calm and reserved. That’s the most dangerous. One little poke and Kapow, they’ll explode. Then suddenly the train moves, and there’s not so much as a peep from passengers. As we pull into the station, Attendants appear. No one gives them the gears. No one says much of anything, as though in some catatonic state of disbelief. It’s happened. We’ve finally arrived. At least those who have Edmonton as a destination. Pity the rest.

Exiting, the silence is broken by someone shouting about hostages being freed. A big laugh all around. “Don’t do it”, comes another loudly, directed at those new passengers waiting to board. A forced smile and WTF looks all around from them. It’s a joke, right?

Those getting off in Edmonton rejoice. Those continuing on hang their heads. Wendy’s one happy girl, a cloud of blue haze enveloping her as she puffs away furiously. She’s continuing on and need to binge to make it to the next station stop. Bobby’s nowhere to be seen. Uber Pissed Dude, interestingly, is seen jumping into cab. Mr Mennonite Pants and the rest of his wander the station grounds. Other players have left and like I are back in the real world. The train of the damned has arrived!

It’s now 7:30pm and we’re thirteen hours late.

Connie and I meet, and she looks as me and asks…”so?” I shake my head, give her a big hug. “I’ll tell you about it over a pint. Now where’s the nearest pub?” Wait till your hear…

Later…

A call is made to Via to complain about the rather shoddy service. Comes a reply, something about being thankful I wasn’t on the 24 hour late or even the 30 hour late train. Did I just hear that? Quickly Google it – yup it happened. How dare we!

Funny they think saying that makes it all better. What an odd way to conduct business.

Here’s a complaint we posted online.

“Where to begin…

Via’s Canadian, Toronto to Edmonton, in coach.

Overcharged on a ticket. When asked for a refund of the difference was told flat out no. No choice but to go to my bank on this one.

Expected arrival 6:30am, actual arrival 7:30pm. Sitting within shouting distance of the Edmonton station for a hour with no other trains in sight. A excruciating eight and half hour stretch to get a hundred and sixty clicks (correction, it was closer to 200, but hey). A two hour stop that almost turned into a riot. A passenger near in tears pleading to be dropped at the nearest road crossing so they could call an Uber. It was a angry circus.

Website said we had wifi. We didn’t.

Ratty car interiors with torn seat cushions and “questionable” stains. A musty smell. A malfunctioning air conditioner that wouldn’t shut off, causing the car to be freezing the whole time. High humidity causing windows to fog. Grimy windows otherwise.

Customer service who were surly, arrogant, and anything but helpful, repeating the tired old song “it’s beyond our control” when called out for the poor service. It’s like they’re reading from a script.

GREAT onboard staff who are overworked, under incredible pressure (you can see it in their faces). They openly spoke of their loathing for the Via organization, how badly it’s run and further how they mistreat both customers and employees.

What an experience.”

They said they’d take action if we didn’t retract it. Not sure how they’ll like this post!

The Aftermath…

We relay our experience to the publisher. Silence. Then laughter. “A comped burger, eh?” Okay, that idea’s in the toilet. How about a series on…

Via Rail double charged us on a ticket, something you’ll see mentioned in the complaint above, which we’re still fighting. We can’t really speak of it openly here because of that but I think we’ll lose. My bank told me if we used a credit card, it would have been reversed. In a heartbeat. Stupid us, using a debit card.

The station in Hornepayne is falling down.

Funny Fact. Via lists the arrival time at Edmonton to the minute, that being 6:22am. Ballsy! For the sake of clarity, they should just list it as “maybe sometime next Wednesday…if you’re lucky”. We made some calls and Via has not arrived on time on this route for years. If any other business they’d have long since been called out, but for some reason seem to get a free pass.

Research shows most trains seem to run late by five or six hours at minimum with ours and far too many others being a bit more extreme. A fair number have been late over a day. I know the CNR isn’t playing nice with Via, but that’s Via’s problem which is then forced on the passengers who are told to accept it and all the other transgressions.

Interesting tidbit. Just prior to our “Canadian” experience, we visited Spain. RENFE, the national train network there, has well over a 95% on time ratio (some reports say 99.5%), with partial refunds being given for late trains. I know, it’s an apple to oranges comparison in many ways. Still. We took one RENFE train and it was all things wonderful. Fast, clean, comfy, dirt cheap and with no suspicious or odd billing activity, friendly and cheerful staff and so on. And it kept schedule. To the minute.

Via has a iron clad no compensation policy. Zip, zero, nada. No matter how late, how bad, no matter the level of suck, you get nothing. Period.

With Greyhound pulling out of Western Canada, it’ll be interesting to see what Via does to capitalize on that potential business. Drop the ball or run with it? Your guess!

Via Rail Canada: A Comfortable Way to Travel. Priceless!

Update December 2018: Mixed signals from Via. There’s been threats, apologies, the legal department calling, reps telling us to ignore the legal department, more threats, and no one seems to know what the others are doing. And in the end, six months into it, no resolve to that billing “issue”.

Update January 2019: “Via double charged us on a sleeper. A call to Visa got that cleared up quick and a full refund on the entire cost was posted to our account soon after.” Bronson Wing

“Via’s Canadian is the train of the damned. That’s funny!” Joy McNab.

“I don’t know where to start. The tickets were expensive, the train twenty hours late and customer service a joke”. Kelli Dickerson.

“I purchased tickets online and was charged more than the price shown.” Jose Hernandez.

“Zero stars. Via’s a total failure and we missed a connecting flight due to the train arriving late by more than half a day.” Leslie.

Ride along…
The Railway – a short line adventure.
Train Day at Aspen Crossing – our friends in Mossleigh.
A day with the Battle River Railway – 90km arrow straight!

If you wish more information on what you’ve seen here, by all means contact us!

Date: July, 2018.
Location: Via’s Canadian.
Article references and thanks: Via Rail employees and staff. Passengers onboard the Canadian, Canadian Trackside Guides.

Through a fence.

Canoes for the north country.

“The train of the damned.”

It’s a rough rider.

The rain falls and it’s this.

When we move…we really MOVE.

Reminders of another time.

The pride of?

Under the dome, Winnipeg.

Boler!

Used to play here as kid when it was a rail yard.

Underpass.

A grand old building.

Yellow field, yellow jacket.

No one seemed to mind.

A little train on a big train.

Brought to you by…

Showers, as we sit.

Lost in Saskatchewan.

Sunset, the last night onboard.

We sit, a freight moves.

Track construction in Butze.

Slam, slam, slam! Click.

Pacing chemicals.

Outskirts of Edmonton – and an hour to go.