LITTLE MR. TRAIN TAKES A CROSS-COUNTRY RAIL TRIP.

Byline: Barbara Mahany Chicago Tribune 

Once there was a little boy who, quite literally, had a one-track mind. Trains. Trains. And more trains.

Many a night, he drifted to sleep with a little wooden engine clutched in his little-boy fist. At breakfast, he tore his waffle into bits and lined each crumb into a freight train that chugged across his high-chair tray.

He could spot a train in a magazine from across the room, and he could pick a train whistle out of the din that you and I would never ever notice.

That little boy was ours. So we took our 2-1/2-year-old Willie on the trip of his dreams, riding the rails right across America.

We booked ourselves a sleeper on the California Zephyr, counted down the days and, finally, headed down to Union Station to climb aboard.

It didn't take more than one step into the station for Little Mr. Train to see magic. There it was, down a long hall: a red wooden engine big enough for a gaggle of little people to climb, to crawl through, to dive from and to drive down the train tracks of their dreams.

Never mind the rail yard full of real live locomotives outside, nor the Zephyr sleeping car awaiting him, a narrow slit of a bunk for which his father had plopped down $720, round trip for all three of us. Heck, we might as well have hopped a bus to the depot for the afternoon.

Even when the big clock ticking on the station wall warned us it was time to head to Gate C28, he sighed, as if leaving a long-lost love, ``No, Mommy, I don't want to go. I looooove this train.''

Good thing we were greeted at the platform by Big Al, a kindly gentleman who would be our attendant, our guide and our bedtime magician. (Have you ever tried turning a room the size of a refrigerator into sleeping quarters for three, one of whom measures 6-foot-3?)

Little Mr. Train didn't mind. He was in railroad heaven. There was so much to do. ``Mommy, could you read me this train magazine?'' he asked for the first of 1,037 times, handing me a copy of the ever scintillating ``Passenger Safety Instructions.''

There was the sliver-thin coat closet to try to squeeze into. Then there was the squeaky bed lever to push up and down, the trash can lid to push in and out of the wall.

At 3 o'clock sharp, the Zephyr let out a glorious whistle, and the thump-thump that would be her pulse from one stop to the next surged under our seats. Holding little Mr. Train, his nose pressed against the glass, in my lap, I felt his little heart pumping right along with the Zephyr. Outside the window were more trains than he had ever dreamed of.

Yes, this trip was magic, and we would have paid whatever it cost for the simple pleasure of taking time to watch a life's memory being made for a little boy who cannot inhale enough train.

He dined with silver and linen in the dining car, choosing from the menu something called Choo Choo Chewies, a nifty little box filled with books and games and Oreo cookies, cheese ravioli, string beans and corn.

And hours later, after watching the moon glow over the fields, he climbed into my lap and, lulled by the whistle and the rocking of the Zephyr making her way through the middle of America, he conked out, the only one among us who slept soundly.

The next morning, he devoured pancakes and strawberry sauce through eastern Colorado, and by the dash back to our sleeper to pull together our backpacks to ``de-train'' in Denver, he'd mastered the fine art of beelining through each coach car, deftly pushing the button that automatically slid open the doors between cars and, without the stumblings of his mother, wending his way to the car he called his own.

Did he have his fill of trains? Never. After rolling into Denver's Union Station, before we'd even climbed to the platform and handed Big Al a blue train cookie we'd made just for the ride, he asked: ``Mommy, can we go see the Red Train now?''

On Location

Amtrak, patron of long-distance passenger rails in America, couldn't be kinder to kids. When you call for reservations, let the agent know you're traveling with children (fares are free for kids under 2, half fare for kids 2 to 15) and they'll guide you, station to station. The Amtrak Travel Planner, a slick brochure filled with train-trip packages, travel tips and regional best buys, has a whole section on traveling with children.

Each meal in the dining car (included as part of the First-Class, or sleeping car, fare) offers special meals for children under 12.

If you're traveling with more than one child, Amtrak offers family cars, with two adult bunks and two shorter children's bunks. Actually, the reclining seats in the coach cars ($176 adults, $88 children 2-15) looked like they might have offered a better night's sleep than our economy sleeper.

For reservations or more information, call Amtrak: [phone].

CAPTION(S):

Photo, Box

Photo: Before his first real train adventure, Willie e njoys the Red Train in the waiting room at Chicago's Union Station.

Bill Hogan/Chicago Tribune

Box: On Location (See Text)