ABOARD THE CANADIAN -- There are only a few hours of black ink darkness here during July, which is just as well because sleep is not coming easily. The clickety-clack, rattle-and-hum, buckin' bronc ride on the cross-Canada train makes decent shut-eye as elusive as cellphone reception along the endless southern prairie.Neither situation is a deal breaker, though, because this is a trip that's more about the travel than the destinations. I am on a passenger train, a vintage one at that, in a sleeper compartment, on the bottom bunk, drifting in and out of consciousness. Tucked in my meager baggage is a collection of train stories by famed travel writer Paul Theroux."Travel is a vanishing act, a solitary trip down a pinched line of geography into oblivion," he writes.I reread that line at Toronto's historic Union Station before boarding the train and am struck by the weight of it and how it might foreshadow the next 83 hours, the time it will take to reach Vancouver, British Columbia. What adventure might be around the bend? What revelations might I uncover about myself as the train rumbles past forests and lakes, mountain peaks and prairies?And now, about 24 hours later, the journey reveals something my family already knows. I am crabby when I don't get enough sleep.