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One afternoon, I find myself at Union Station in Washington, D.C., nervously clutching my luggage. I am about to journey to a strange new land, one with its own odd customs, mores, and even, in a way, its own physics. I am going to Amtrakistan.
Amtrakistan is not for the timid or, frankly, the sane; traversing the North American continent by rail makes no sense. It makes no sense in terms of money or time or social acceptability. It is not—and, really, I cannot stress this enough—a rational thing to do.
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