On my first trip to the desert , I’m struck by how the dry, inhospitable landscape of dust and red rock invokes the same vastness as looking out to sea. “It just makes you feel so small,” I hear more than one passenger whisper as we gaze at the shifting scenery of Southern Utah through the windows of our train car. It’s hour four of our three-day rail journey, and I’ve given up on taking photos of every view and vista. Instead, I give into the lull of the train—a blissful surrender that can only exist within the perpetual motion of a locomotive, with no ability to pull over or veer off track. I relish the opportunity to slip in and out of daydreams, watching the desert bake and glow in the afternoon sun from the comfort of my leather seat. As the train travels south, the harsh granite of Utah’s Wasatch Range is replaced by soft layers of sedimentary rock, pine-dotted mountains giving way to pale sandstone mesas.…