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Watching bullet trains scream past has been a hobby of mine.  Silvery-white, sleek, and soundless, the serpentine trains glide out of the station gracefully as if on glass; but just a couple kilometers down the line where I await, there is nothing gentle about a train ripping throught the country at 300 kilometers-an-hour.  The ground and the air itself quivers as the quarter-mile long dragon curves through the green landscape, roaring, hissing.  Yet, as ungentle bullet trains are to the peaceful rural countryside, there is still a sense of regalness, a sense of grace and awe-inspiring majesty.  Seconds before the twinkling headlights come into view, the rails sing.  Yes, they sing, a metallic screscendo that rises in pitch and intensity...