"You know, this is the prettiest railroad country in the world," says Woody Vinson, who by this time certainly should know. He is gazing over a plate of Traditional Trainman's French Toast, past the plastic yellow rose, out the window of the dining car of the California Zephyr as it leaves Salt Lake City behind and makes for the mountains. The tables are full of people ignoring their breakfast, a comment less on the quality of the food than on the galactic beauty of the scene outside. Vinson and his wife Lois are on their way home to Memphis the long,...
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