My daugther is unable to walk as a result of cerebral palsy. I thought I'd  
send you our story of getting caught in Hurricane Floyd on a train. 
 
 
“Elizabeth’s and Floyd’s Excellent  Adventure” 
(Appeared in the “Rockland  Review”) 
by 
Lisa Saunders 

“Hey!  Can  somebody please help me get on the train?!” Hurricane Floyd was 
roaring up the  Eastern seaboard while I was traveling south.  Alone with my 
severely handicapped  daughter, I wondered how I’d get her aboard with her 
stroller, car seat and our  luggage. 
I recently returned to Rockland County, NY, from Maryland, after an  absence 
of twenty years.  I  remembered well as a teenager that nothing exciting ever 
happened here. We  rarely even got snow days.  Maryland  at least had violent 
thunderstorms that were thrilling to watch and there was  always a possibility 
of at least a little tornado.  
When I realized that Hurricane Floyd was due to hit the day I was  scheduled 
to take Amtrak to Maryland, I was filled with anticipation.    I was taking my 
youngest and  we were going to help my husband Jim complete our move up 
North.  Now, traveling with my daughter  Elizabeth means no ordinary trip - 
hurricane or no.  At nine, her cerebral palsy is so  severe, she cannot speak, hold 
up her head, is still in diapers, and can only  eat soft foods.  Although 
small, she  is getting heavy!  What Elizabeth  does have, however, is a ready smile 
and the love of adventure.  She likes nothing better than going  places by 
car or stroller.  Sitting  on my lap in the train would be a special treat. 
The cab ride itself to the Newark train station was a thrill. We had to  
plunge through foot-deep waters, risking stalling the car, so that the driver  
could get me there on time. We’d lost some time getting lost and were behind  
schedule, so the cab driver dumped me off in the pouring rain. There I was,  
struggling with my suitcase, Elizabeth, her stroller, and her car seat. Not a  
single harried soul there felt inclined to help this poor, distraught, running  
late-to-catch-the-train mother of a handicapped child. I finally figured out 
how  to carry Elizabeth and everything, and found an elevator that went up to 
the  track level. Just in time. The platform appeared deserted except for an 
old,  confused woman clinging to her son.  
“Mom, I’m sorry, I have to go now – I’m illegally parked. When the train  
comes, just pick up your suitcase and get on it.” With that he kissed her and  
ran off. 
Oh sure, I’m thinking. My grandmother, even in the earliest stages of her  
Alzheimer’s, would never have been able to figure out how to get on the right  
train with her luggage and get a seat. “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’ll 
make  sure you get on.” When she surveyed my situation, she didn’t look  
confident. 
Now what was I going to do? I always thought it was adventurous to figure  
out how to get Elizabeth from point A to point B, but a confused grandmother  
with her luggage too? How on earth were we going to leap on the train in  time? 
As the train pulled in, I panicked. As people disembarked at the far end  of 
the platform, I yelled, “Can somebody please help me get on the train!” A  
baggage-type person helped the grandmother, and I managed Elizabeth, stroller,  
suitcase, and car seat. Once on board, I knew it would be impossible to find a 
 seat. People sprawled themselves apathetically across both seats and watched 
me  struggle. Finally a tough looking young  man with a colorful cap grabbed 
my car  seat and said he’d find me a seat. He ordered a woman to move her 
stuff, and I  was situated comfortably at the end of a car. By that time, 
Elizabeth and I  realized we were completely soaked, but we also felt exhilarated by 
the  excitement. Little did we know: the excitement was just beginning! 
When we pulled inside the Philadelphia station, we were told over the  
speaker system that as a result of Hurricane Floyd, we’d be stopping there  
indefinitely. The other passengers groaned at the delay. All I could think of  was how 
much more exciting this would be if we were parked outside, watching the  wa
ter swirling around us, than stuck down here in the dark, dingy bowels of a  
train station.  
Eventually our train moved out and continued heading south. Lo, the wind  did 
blow and the rain did descend. I watched the flooding with awe. 
I took Elizabeth to the dining car, so I could stock up on cookies and  other 
necessary supplies, just in case we got stuck again. The man behind the  food 
counter noticed Elizabeth and let me cut in front of everyone. Traveling  
with her does have its advantages! I asked him not to sell the last yogurt. That  
was the only soft food that Elizabeth could eat if we were forced to stop 
again  for long periods. He promised he would keep it for her. 
As we chugged along southward, the water on the tracks grew deep. We  plowed 
slowly through it. Then stopped. We stopped and started several times,  while 
they kept clearing the tracks of fallen trees. Stranded automobiles along  the 
way sat parked with water up to their windows. During one of our stops, it  
was announced that we would be stopped for an indefinite period of time. The  
signals were down, and we could not cross over a bridge which lay just ahead. 
We  were told to remain calm – that's always a confidence booster – and to go 
to the  dining car for free food. One woman ran to the dining car and started 
screaming  hysterically. “You have no biscottis! That’s what I wanted – I 
wanted  biscottis!” A true New Yorker! 
Elizabeth, of course, was having a ball. All this stalling meant more  time 
cuddling in my lap. She turned her head up to look at me and smiled  
contentedly, fully unaware that no one else around her felt such joy. When I was  forced 
to leave her in her car seat to forage for food, the bored woman across  the 
aisle seemed pleased to watch her, glad to have some purpose in  life. 
When my turn arrived in the dining car, I was alarmed to learn that all  the 
yogurt was gone. There was a different man behind the counter who knew  
nothing of the promised yogurt. He was still recovering from the biscotti lady.  I 
panicked for a moment. What if we are here overnight? What if Elizabeth  
starved? Could I keep her warm enough? What if, Heaven forbid, I ran out of  
diapers?  
I felt like a distraught mother in one of those disaster movies, enduring  
all kinds of perils to keep her child alive. Suddenly I noticed someone with an  
uneaten yogurt on her lap. I paused before asking – but this had to be done.  
“Excuse me,” I said, “I have a handicapped child, and yogurt is the only 
thing  she can eat. Can I trade my sandwich for that?” 
“Of course,” she said unhesitatingly. 
Another woman overheard us. “Here, take mine, too.” 
My disaster movie, getting better all the time, rolled along as more of  
these previously apathetic people came forward with their yogurts. One old man,  
who shared my sense of adventure, went around taking pictures of our plight. He 
 took a picture of me standing in the aisle, arms stacked with  yogurts. 
After standing still in one spot for several hours, we again were on the  
move. But we got stuck again on a low bridge over a wide body of rising water.  
The wind blew fiercely, and I couldn't help pondering the problem of getting  
Elizabeth off a flooded train. And the worst fear of all: How would I hold her  
head above the rushing water? Maybe this wasn't fun after all. 
Eventually we chugged on and pulled into Baltimore. We were told that it  was 
the end of the line. They just could not go any further and we would have to  
take a bus. Again I was faced with the chore of getting Elizabeth and our 
stuff  through a crowd, this time packed with tired, angry people. When the bus 
came  for us, I just was not able to plow through the pushing throng in time to 
catch  it. This was too much adventure, even for me. Elizabeth was getting 
wet in the  rain and colder all the time. Knowing how poor her circulation was, 
and how  purple her hands and feet can become, I started to cry. 
Seeing my distress, one bus driver, who wasn't even headed to where I was  
going, got out of his seat and carried Elizabeth aboard. “I’ll take you where  
you need to go,” he said. Fearing he'd just plop Elizabeth  down, assuming she 
could sit up by  herself, I frantically shoved my way through the packed 
aisle yelling, “Please  be careful! She can't sit up by herself!” 
I heard a woman yell forward, “Don’t worry, I’m holding  her up.”  Saved  
again! 
My husband, Jim, was pacing with anxiety when we finally  pulled in to New 
Carrolton, MD. What should have been a three-hour train trip,  ended up taking 
ten hours as a result of Hurricane Floyd. I guess things can be  exciting in 
New York after all.  Well…we were on our way to Maryland! 
You just read an excerpt from my book RIDING THE TRAIN  WITH ELIZABETH. If 
you would like to know more about Elizabeth, visit my website  at 
_www.authorlisasaunders.com_ (http://www.authorlisasaunders.com) .  If you would like to 
order a copy of RIDING THE TRAIN WITH ELIZABETH,  you  may do so by visiting the 
_www.nathhan.com_ (http://www.nathhan.com/)   (they are an organization 
dedicated to serving families  with disabilities.  


_www.authorlisasaunders.com_ (http://www.authorlisasaunders.com/) 
Riding  the Train with Elizabeth, EVER TRUE: A Union Private and His Wife, 
and RIDE A  HORSE, NOT AN ELEVATOR