Trains possess an air of romance specific to the spirits of roaming, loneliness and slow, but determined progress that I find so alluring, that I can sympathize so easily with. In Function Junction, twenty minutes outside of Whistler Village, we snowshoed down a well-used track to an old train wreck. Imagine the conductor's suprise when he saw us waving to him from a low snow bank on the left side of the track, just out of his way. Unexpected company for a brief moment of a long journey through Canada's white and green landscape.
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