What a Solo Train Ride Across Texas Taught Me

One late night in a quiet newsroom, a fellow reporter showed me a train route that stretched from Louisiana to California with a stop in Houston. Amtrak’s storied Sunset Limited somehow felt like a secret, one I’d just been let in on. Overcome with wanderlust, I mapped out my itinerary almost immediately. But when life (and the COVID-19 pandemic) happened, I tucked the trip into a folder on my computer until the time was “right.”

In September 2025, days after the world witnessed an assassination, I packed my bags and set out on my multistop train trip—alone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried: The country seemed so divided, and I’d be traveling through some of the most remote parts of Texas as a Black woman, solo. I felt vulnerable. Who knew what I could encounter in such politically charged times?

I reasoned that I’d keep my wits about me and avoid talking about politics. What I found along the way, though, was refreshing. Spotty cell service and Wi-Fi, paired with communal dining, forced me to put my phone down, lose myself in the breathtaking views, and connect with the world and the people right in front of me. All along the way, I’d talk with strangers about what mattered most: our families, children, and work, where we’d been and where we were going. We didn’t dwell on differences. Instead, our conversations leaned toward what we shared—our curiosities and the many things we didn’t know.

Off the train, adventuring west by myself opened me up to even more kind strangers and chance encounters. I picked up small-town gossip from residents and spoke to talented artists, chatty Uber drivers, and retirees on easy getaways. I hiked the Franklin Mountains with a mother who was just as nervous as I was to brave the trail with her two children. A man visiting from Korea gave me a friendly push down a dune in White Sands National Park. I spotted Saturn through a telescope with an attorney in the Davis Mountains, and even had a random celebrity sighting (DJ Steve Aoki hopped in a car in front of me in El Paso).

This trip turned out to be more than an escape. It offered a much-needed reminder: While the hate we see on our screens is very real, it is the exception rather than the rule. My trip reinforced that there is far more good in the world, more similarities than differences, and many people ready to lend a hand (or a friendly push).

The same kindness, curiosity, and shared humanity I found on the rails also exists in our neighborhoods—if we slow down long enough to see it. For this issue, Houstonia explores the city’s suburbs, outskirts, and different spaces that are building community. We embrace our quirks, highlight our generosity, and celebrate the art, restaurants, and individuals that continue to define and connect our city.