Blame it on the mountains' shadow, the gray sky, or daylight saving's time, but it's nearly dusk by the time I step off the platform. And it's not even 5:00 yet!

The train pulls out of the station. I watch it leave, realizing with it goes my last chance of changing my mind. Its whistle fades slowly until I can no longer hear it on the wind.

I exhale heavily, my breath spirals escaping into the freezing cold night. My hands, cheeks, and lips are already ice cold, but nothing compares to my feet. Ten mini-icicles. I look down at my leather boots, realizing how ill-prepared I am for all this snow on the ground.

I rest beside the Pine Valley est. 1890 sign at the train station exit. A thin layer of snow is almost covering the wood frame. I hold my phone up for service. There are few places in the continental US where cell towers have yet to reach and this secluded strip of civilization, evidently, is one of them.

There were very few people on the train and only four others took it to the end of the line. They're all gone now, so I'm left alone. Just me and all my baggage. There's approximately one road that leaves from the train station, a cobblestone lane of sorts, and it winds down and around and out of sight.

I steer myself in that general direction, thinking what I would give for a cup of coffee or tea right about now! I can smell the salty brine on the air. It takes me back to the summers I spent paddling out on the pier. I make a mental note to revisit it sometime this week, wondering if the lakeside will look the same as I remember.

The amber glow of lights up ahead guides me through the almost-darkness. It's a quick walk across the street and only one block to the edge of town. I barely pass a single car or person on my way. It's giving major ghost town right now.

I come up to the first row of buildings and exhale. Town Square is just as I remember it. Maybe somehow even better. All the shops are outlined in white lights and the lampposts already have holly wreaths hanging with large red bows, and even more cobblestone paths intersect. Suppose modern roads don't exist here yet. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I traveled back in time!

My eyes gloss over the brightly-colored window displays and the gold letters hand-painted on the doors. Each mom-and-pop shop is something out of a long-lost catalogue.

I see the old corner post office, still with the same yellow flowerpot out front. There's the same grocery market with the ice cream counter where my parents used to take me on summer nights dinner. The only bank in town is still right across from the fountain. They used to have the best cherry lollipops.

It's unreal how different this terrain feels from the normal cityscape my legs are accustomed to. It's unreal how being back in this town can feel like.

I swallow down the nostalgia. There's no time for it now.

It may only be mid-November, but the feeling of Christmas is in the air, alive and well in this town –the snow certainly is. I pull my rolly bag along behind me. The sun has officially set in this mountain valley and a dark blue inks along the horizon.

It is growing darker and colder by the minute, and then it hits me –I have no idea where I'm going. Well, I have some idea, but I'm not exactly sure I remember how to get to my grandfather's farm. Plus, I know I definitely don't have any means of transportation. Not that calling a ride-share would even be an option right now in this dead zone land.

Accepting defeat (and starting to lose a bit of feeling in my toes), I decide to duck into the first inviting building I see: an old tin-can airstream diner.