Dashing Through the Snow: Sampling Amtrak’s Floridian

It seemed equal parts hopeful and ironic to try Amtrak’s Floridian during a historic Eastern snowstorm.

Running in both directions between Chicago and Miami, this new route temporarily joins two trains: the Chicago-DC Capitol and the NYC-Miami Silver Star. Beginning in November 2024, Amtrak eliminated the Star’s route north of Washington, spliced it to the Capitol at DC, and renamed the whole thing—thereby creating the line’s only two-night run in the East. (This was done partly to curb congestion for Manhattan-area revitalization—though it also frees up more cars for Western trains; see full story here.)

A railfan friend and I instantly booked the entire 47-hour trip in April; but we also opted to sample the Floridian for a midwinter business trip to Jacksonville.

Oddly enough, our Feb. 19-20 reservation turned out to be the exact dates when Winter Storm Kingston blitzed the mid-Atlantic—with parts of Virginia notching twice their annual snowfall in just 36 hours (at least two towns got more than a foot). Amtrak had to cancel several trains, but somehow the Floridian powered through.

Not Too Late

With John’s home in Virginia Beach and mine in Central PA, we had planned to meet on the train. I boarded after making my way to Washington’s Union Station, where the spacious Metropolitan Lounge—reserved for sleeper and first-class riders, plus some Amtrak Rewards members—really laid on the free snacks and drinks.

Grabbing extras for John, who would board three hours later in Petersburg, VA, I sallied out through incipient flakes for our 2:10 p.m. departure; this was 27 minutes behind schedule, since the train had started late out of Chicago the previous night—due to Amtrak’s current major headache: equipment issues.

But it was not too late for lunch in the dining car (something the one-night Capitol didn’t have). My cheerful server Gene brought a tasty Caesar salad and even took two lunchers who came in well past the 2:30 closing.

Meal, beverage and dessert were accompanied by sightings of the Washington Monument and Jefferson Memorial; then the broad and tranquil Potomac ran beside our train for many miles; and finally, we rolled along ranks of barbed-wire fence in Quantico, MD—home to NCIS, the FBI Academy and the country’s largest Marine Corps base.

Climate Control

As we barreled south past Alexandria, Kingston snow was everywhere—swirling from both from sky and ground as our train raced along at speeds of up to 79 m.p.h. (That’s the limit over most of Amtrak’s network.)

Having arisen at 6:50 to reach DC, I let down the upper bunk in my sleeper-room and took a nap; then I strolled the length of the train, finding masses of frost and snow coating the vestibules between cars. Despite decades of Amtrak travel, I had never seen bags of ice-melt in these areas—here barely controlling slush on the floor. In one space, icy crystals danced overhead as they dropped down through a gap in the ceiling—a different sort of “climate control,” I guess.

The Floridian generally carries three coaches, a café-lounge, the diner, two sleepers and a baggage car. Coach seats are cheap and spacious, but not great for overnight; sleepers offer either a roomette or the costlier bedroom.

Both types are designed for two, with the bedroom having much more space, plus a private bathroom and shower. John and I had each reserved a roomette, since we find one too snug for middle-aged guys—especially at bedtime.

Sinatra, Steak and Stella

In Richmond I noted that the northbound Palmetto had been canceled, and shortly thereafter we stopped for exactly one minute in an uncharacteristically blustery Petersburg. Though that town of roughly 33,000 (home to Virginia State U) sees more than a dozen daily Amtraks, just one person debarked there; and John got on. We were still just half an hour behind schedule.

Racing along through snow-clouded dusk, the train felt like an oasis of warmth and welcome in a wintry world. We seemed to have dodged a bullet by getting out of Virginia before the ongoing snowfall really started to pile up.

Meals are included with all sleeper tickets, and we kept a 6:30 reservation in the diner, where Gene had Sinatra singing smoothly off a boombox near the kitchen.

Dinner menu offers steak, salmon, chicken and vegetarian pasta—plus one free alcoholic drink, along with salad, roll and dessert. John got a decent flatiron steak, while I tried the pasta primavera, which was surprisingly tasty—washed down with an ice-cold glass of Stella Artois.

Early Morning Train

Scheduled to arrive at 6:25 a.m. in Jacksonville, we bedded down early for a somewhat fitful night. One of my two bad knees flared up, and I had to arise and limp along the corridor to flex it out. I resumed repose through a seemingly interminable 4 a.m. stop in Savannah, highlighted by the PA crackling on and off right beside my unsleeping head. (Admittedly, Savannah is a scheduled 45-minute stop for crew change and service; but they often cut these short when the train is late.)

There was, however, one distinct advantage to remaining half an hour behind: It gave us time for breakfast, whose 6:30 start we would otherwise have missed.

The dining car, incidentally, is staffed by just one server and a chef. The day before, I’d complimented the latter on my salad’s tasty seasoned chicken; but that morning she outdid herself on the grits—maybe the best I’ve ever had.

I asked Gene if she had a secret ingredient—to which he responded wistfully, “She won’t tell me.”

Good to Go

We slipped into Jacksonville at 7:03, with warmer temps and nary a snowflake in sight. And here, the Floridian finally did make up time:

Scheduled for a 35-minute stop, she was restocked with water, received a horde of new riders and had her septic tanks emptied—all before our Uber had even arrived. So Amtrak Train 41 headed south at 7:19 sharp—now less mthan 20 minutes behind.

For those unfamiliar with Florida’s size, this train spends another 11 hours finishing its journey—though this includes a sidestep through Orlando to Tampa on the opposite coast; the Floridian doesn’t reach its Miami terminus till after 6 p.m.

As we likewise sped away, John and I were already psyched to ride there all the way from Chicago.

But that’s another story.

About the Author

Joseph W. Smith III is a writer, teacher and speaker in Central PA. Published in several websites and periodicals, Joe has also penned books on Hitchcock, the Bible, church life and under-the-radar movies—along with a volume of Great Jokes and Riddles. He plays trumpet in a community band; reads 100 books a year; serves as officer in his local church; struggles to keep cheering for the Buffalo Bills; listens to music whenever not sleeping; and maintains a small collection of unused postcards. He can be reached at robbwhitefan@gmail.com.

All images provided by the author unless otherwise noted. Featured image by John Murdock.