Even a triple espresso can't touch the jolt of a polka at 8:30 a.m.  The 10-piece Alaska Blaskapelle Band rumbles through the first train car of yawning skiers as gently as an avalanche.

"Are you guys sleepy?" bellows band manager Neal Haglund.

"Not anymore!" the crowd shouts. And any residual drowsiness does quickly flee as the lederhosen-clad members launch into a frenzied rendition of "Madlpolka."

"Forward!" Haglund roars at the end of the song. And it's on to the next carful of skiers. And the next and the next, until all seven coaches have received the foot-stomping wake-up call.

Thus begins the Grandview Ski Train tour, one of a yearly series of excursions to a secluded valley high in the mountains between Anchorage and Seward. The Nordic Skiing Association of Anchorage has sponsored between two and five trips annually since their modest one-excursion beginning in 1972, a year after several ski club members hatched the idea while playing cribbage in a Resurrection Pass cabin. Surely, these instigators never imagined the trips would evolve into the hugely popular skiing events they've become.

Held in February and March, each trip attracts between 400 and 600 skiers, mostly locals, as well as a goodly number of snowshoers and snowboarders who snap up the tickets as soon as they go on sale in late October. For about $50, you get a daylong adventure?21/4 hours of train ride each way plus at least six hours of prime playtime in pristine country 70 miles from Anchorage.

I had signed up for a mid-March trek, fully intending to ski despite my woeful skills. But now I'm nursing a bad cold, drowsy from medication and content just to go along and see what all the fuss is about. Even in my muddled state, I feel a sneaky sense of relief. Now I won't be forced to reveal my struggling talents among a crowd of accomplished winter athletes. It's still dark when I arrive at the Alaska Railroad's downtown station. Parka-wrapped folks line up along the platform to stash their gear in baggage cars before boarding the train. Grandparents and babies mingle with kids, teens, moms and dads.

The whistle sounds, and soon we're off.  As the train rolls through Anchorage, some settle into their seats. Others walk the aisles, greeting old friends and making new ones. This bustle slows by the time we reach Turnagain Arm and morning has broken cold and gray. Initially the tracks run parallel with the Seward Highway, mud flats on the west dotted with enormous chunks of dirty ice trying to escape to sea. On the east are steep cliffs, followed by a grassy channel  where someone spots a lone coyote.

We haven't traveled far before the morning quiet is broken by the polka band, a ski-train fixture from the start.  These men and women are seasoned pros, armed with an extensive list of rousing tunes. Some of the members bring their skis along. A few bring bad jokes: "What do you call four bullfighters in quicksand? Quatro cinco!" Everyone in my car is grinning by the time the band moves on.

"For a lot of people, the camaraderie is what makes the trip," says ski association president Paul Denkewalter.  "It's just a fun, big outing on every level. And taking the train is about the only way to see the backcountry beauty of Grandview. This is a great place to ski, because it's got everything, from easy terrain to challenging telemarking."

I see what he means as soon as we reach our destination. The landscape is varied     Buying Your Ski enough to accommodate beginners and advanced skiers, and everyone in-between.    It's also comforting to know that some 40 Nordic Ski Patrol members, assisted by a team of rescue dogs, are along to ensure that everyone comes back in one piece.

The half-mile-wide valley is bordered on the east by Bartlett and Trail glaciers, which are separated by an unnamed mountain that rises 3,000 feet. If they're good enough, telemarkers can ski 2,500 feet down a 35 percent slope to the bottom of the valley. A ridge on the other side offers angles to suit almost anyone. Or you can go a few miles in either direction to reach the foot of the Bartlett or Trail glaciers. Even with so many people around, this big piece of country offers enough room for solitary skiing, if that's what you want. And much of the terrain is gentle, cross-country territory, I'm happy to discover. Even toddlers and octogenarians are gliding along!

ok, next time I'm bringing my skis.

Still, for some, the train is the event. A few folks don't even get off. Many ski for a while then use their railcars as chalets, climbing aboard to eat their packed lunches or to rest, socialize or  just escape the slushy snow that's begun to fall. Toward the end of the day, in fact, most of the gang has returned early to await the ride home.

At 4:30 p.m., the train lurches forward and the party begins. People toast the day with beers from the bar car. Many head over to the empty dining coach where the Alaska Blaskapelle Band is setting up for its celebrated finale.

"How's everybody on beers?" Haglund asks after the polka band plays the "Chicken Dance" song. "Everybody got beers?"

"Polka! Polka! Polka!" the crowd chants.

The dining car is a mad whirl of song and dance. Think of it as a polka mosh pit. The dancing is as frenetic as the music, aptly called "slam polka" and "speed polka" by its fans. This is "Wooly Bully" and "Birkenheim" at full velocity, bodies packed tightly, actually swaying the train on its track.

"Holy Polka!" yells a wide-eyed woman as she enters the dining car. A few feet away, a young boy puts his fingers to his ears. But the party ends way too soon when the train reaches Anchorage before most of the revelers in the car are ready to end the fun.

Oh well. There's always the next train.