I'm no math whiz, so fortunately for me the calculation was an easy one.

My wife had driven our family gas-saver out-of-town, leaving me with 925 miles to cover to my destination in Montana, and only my glutinous V-8 SUV to get me there.

My 1996, black, two-door Tahoe manages an unimpressive 450 miles on a 27-gallon tank, given highway travel speeds and a moderate load. Factoring in several major mountain passes and hot weather, eking out 450 clicks on the odometer before the tank ran dry seemed like an ambitious undertaking.

Without using a calculator I estimated it would cost me more than $200 each way to get there, not counting roadtrip snacks and wear-and-tear on the my aging vehicle.

With more than 210,000 miles on the Chevy's original engine and transmission, I didn't want to push my luck.

I needed another alternative to get me back to Montana, so I turned to Amtrak.

The rail company doesn't pay me for my endorsement, although I'd gladly accept if they offered.

On their user-friendly website, I punched in my departure city, Tacoma; then typed the three letter code for my destination, GGW. As often as I've hopped the Amtrak, it's an abbreviation I've learned by heart.

I added a discount code I found through a brief web search, punched in my AAA number, and with one click saved myself more than $300 over driving.

There's just something magical about train travel, and it certainly takes a particular mindset to tolerate the sudden change in pace that occurs when the conductor shouts his all aboard.

For me, train travel, as opposed to the airlines (which I loathe with all of my being), has somehow maintained an emphasis on customer service. Amtrak employees, while undoubtedly an eccentric bunch, make me feel thrown back in time to an era when travelers dressed in their Sunday best and transportation companies valued their customers.

In an age when the transportation industry continually whines of high fuel prices, and CEOs choose to stick it to consumers instead of giving up one of the many zeroes in their over-stuffed paychecks, buying a reasonably priced rail ticket for one of America's oldest and most efficient forms of travel seems almost patriotic.

I pulled my coach ticket from my jacket pocket after loading a massive backpack and duffle into the ample luggage rack. Upstairs on the Empire Builder-the East-West train that spans Seattle to Chicago, I took one of the vacant window seats and settled in with a cooler of drinks and munchies for the 22-hour ride that awaited me.

A trip on Amtrak will force you to reevaluate your definition of "coach."

With my chair reclined almost horizontally and my leg rest extended, my accommodations felt one free cocktail shy of a first-class airline seat. On top of spacious leg and shoulder room, no one cared that I brought on board my own meals and a stash of special beverages (if you know what I mean) for the evening.

I smiled as I compared this experience to my last coach flight, when I was sandwiched between to large men hammering away at spreadsheet programs on their bulky laptops.

Instead of shoving my ipod earphones into my head and tuning out-like I do after "the plane has reached an altitude of 10,000 feet and you may now use all approved electronic devices" (use your best bubbly-yet-monotone impression here), I looked around at my fellow companions, scoped out their destinations printed above their seats, and struck up a conversation.

The guy sitting across from me lives in my home state of North Carolina, and had decided to take the train across part of the country for the experience.

Through a large window, I watched as the train skirted the Edmonds waterfront, headed east along the Skykomish River and entered the nation's longest train tunnel through the heart of the Cascades.

After 8 miles of darkness, the Amtrak began its decent East of the Cascades through the dry and arid Wenatchee River valley.

The Empire Builder made it to Ephrata before the last light of a long summer evening dimmed and my eyes grew heavy.

I woke up to the smell of coffee and early light reflecting off of snow in Montana's stunning Glacier National Park. Breathtaking.

"How long have I been on board?" I asked myself.

It doesn't matter, I thought. When it comes to train travel, it's the journey, not the destination.