In my roomette and ready to roll. I love my Amtrak sleeping compartment — snug, comfortable and private. I’ve never traveled in a single compartment before. Nancy and I usually book a larger double. This one reminds me of a shipboard cabin — no wasted space, everything in its place. Eight feet long, five wide, two facing benches, a shelf for my hand luggage, wall hooks for robe and pajamas and a giant window. All this on the upper level of my sleeper car, with great visibility. At night the attendant will work his magic and convert the benches into a surprisingly wide bed. The common bathroom is five paces along the corridor. My suitcase is safely stowed on the car’s lower level. I’m purring in my solo space, all set for the next two days and a night. Nine-fifteen a.m. — the first surge of movement. Right on time. Away we go!

There are no two ways about it: Nancy and I have always been suckers for trains. She recalls the thrill of feeling very grown up traveling alone at age 12, en route to Washington D.C. to visit her Aunt Anne and Uncle Bill. I’ve a fading childhood memory of a family rail excursion from L.A.’s historic Union Station, bound for San Diego’s enchanting Balboa Park Zoo.

Decades later, our shared infatuation for rail travel intensified during 15 years living in Italy. From the modest railhead 20 minutes down the hill from our Umbrian olive farm, we scooted by train all across the European continent. Throughout Italy to be sure, but also to Vienna, Prague and Budapest, Zurich and Geneva, Munich and Frankfurt, Paris and even London through the submarine Chunnel.

Whether at home or at the beach, summer somehow seems to invite settling in with a good book. For enlightenment or entertainment. Here are some suggested titles for your bedside table or satchel.

Officer, where can we see the best redwoods?” The State Parks Ranger and I had a half-mile to walk together from Point Cabrillo Light Station back to the parking lot, so I thought I wouldn’t waste his expertise.

“Around here? No Contest. Hendy Woods.”

“Sounds like a blues band.”

“In a way. But it’s the best kept secret on this section of the North Coast. One hundred acres of original-growth Coast Redwoods hiding right off the highway.”

“US 1?”

“No. California 128. Do you know it?”

I told him we did. Nancy and I had driven to the coast through this marvelous canyon, climbing up the Coast Range from Cloverdale, easing down past Anderson Valley’s vineyards and apple orchards, and emerging onto the Pacific shore at the mouth of the Navarro River.

“Reverse your tracks,” the Ranger instructed. “Head inland and look sharp eight miles above Booneville, or you’ll miss the turnoff. That’s why I like it. No one stops. I have the place almost all to myself. That’s where I’m based.”

The boy standing below him seemed to personify the layered failures of Monterey County’s juvenile-justice system. Barely 17, this street-scarred veteran was already a gang leader, a violent bully, a convicted felon and utterly without remorse. The boy’s family had brought his grandmother 200 miles from Visalia to Salinas to witness his sentencing. The old woman sat in the front row of Judge John Phillips’s courtroom, dressed all in black. In truth there was no suspense. California’s criminal law left the judge virtually no sentencing discretion, mandating that juveniles be treated as adults for serious felonies. He pronounced long-term incarceration, and the grandmother collapsed. The macho hood burst into tears. John vividly remembers telling himself, “There’s got to be a better way to protect society than warehousing no-hope kids for life.” That gut-wrenching protest germinated his driving passion.

On our Riverside/Tejon Pass excursion, Nancy and I learned and reaffirmed some prudent rules-of-the-road for seniors. Here’s our daily checklist. How does it compare with your own guidelines? Minimize contact with trucks and traffic by maximizing use of secondary roads, in the process enjoying superior air quality and scenery. Keep the gas tank at least …

Our first destination after Riverside was Big Bear Lake. We hadn’t been there it in 50 years. Our drive up into the San Bernardino Mountains was an abrupt reminder of the risks of ad hoc touring. Soon after starting off, we took a wrong turn and had to work together as a pilot/copilot team to navigate back on track. Next we detoured to a foothill valley heralded by a regional guidebook for its scenic apple orchards and hospitable roadside cafes. Both promised features proved a bust. The prolonged drought and high temperatures had parched the orchards. The cafes and their parking lots were crowded with weekend tourists, besides serving inferior, overpriced fare. This forgettable day ended in a colorless chain hotel in Big Bear Lake Village. But we accepted these setbacks as a cost of adlibbing. There are no guarantees when you make it up as you go along on the road.

NAVEL-GAZING Sometimes we wonder if an ordinary individual – leaving aside emperors and prophets – can truly have an historical impact. Eliza Tibbets is proof positive. In 1873, this Washington D.C. suffragette and spiritualist, recently relocated to the West Coast, implored a friend back in the national capitol to send young trees for her Southern …

I’m getting a kick out of rethinking senior travel. And definitely not as merely a slow-motion version of travel-as-usual. My target is a thorough redesign, customized to suit our elder interests and capacities. Why, where, when and how to travel are all on the drawing-board. With imagination and ingenuity, I’m confident we can create senior …

Helen Dennis is a nationally prominent specialist on retirement planning. Her experience and expertise can be glimpsed on her website: www.HelenMdennis.com. In response to my question about retirement-preparation readings, Helen has been kind enough to recommend a half-dozen titles: Don’t Retire, REWIRE! by Jeri Sedlar and Rick Miner. Project Renewment: The First Retirement Model for …