# The Gauntlet (repost from old site)



## finn (Aug 17, 2008)

This is the story of my first freighthopping trip, where the initiation was more like a hazing. I'd like to say that nothing was ever the same afterwards, but that wouldn't be honest. It started like a normal day, and ended like a normal day. The middle part was a little bit more memorable though...

We were scouting the rail yard on an early afternoon of a saturday in late September, setting our plans for the next day to jump on a freight train and get back to DC. Cricket was the experienced one, dressed in his brown overalls, & he’d recommended that we hitchhike back up if we really needed to get back by monday morning. We were in Greensboro, NC, and it had only took Jessica and I about 8 hours to hitchhike down from the further reaches of the DC subway system the previous day.

We wanted to trainhop but we wanted to get back in time for everything we needed to do. Jessica and I both felt a sense of inferiority whenever we read some story of trainhopping or heard about someone, especially if it were someone we knew, who had successfully gone trainhopping. It was as if we were missing out of a seminal experience, a rite of passage, an initiation of some sort. But all those notions are just stupid manifestations of elitism, and we all knew it, but it didn’t really lessen our desire to go trainhopping for the first time.

Another reason was that we didn’t like depending on drivers to pick us up. I really couldn’t get rides, as I had found out once, thumbing it in Canada. I ended up having to walk 2 days to the next town in order to buy a bus ticket. Cars would stop for Jessica, but she didn’t like having to act nice towards people whose worldview contradicted nearly everything she believed in. We had been picked up by quite a few right wingers on our way here, who had talked about hunting, eating meat, & the military. We wanted another way of travelling.

Cricket felt that he had found the right train. Jessica asked me if I’d be willing to get on it in a few minutes, because it seemed like our best chance to trainhop and to get back to DC on time. I said yes, and we biked away to get our backpacks, came back to the tracks and found Cricket and Aaron waving at us and pointing to a rideable train car they found for us. It was a pig- and we could hide under the axle, in between the tires.

Jessica and I got on, and Cricket reminded us, “if we stop at Roanoke, Virginia, get off, you’re on the wrong train.” He couldn’t come with us, he was going to be headed elsewhere soon, so we were going without any experienced trainhoppers for our first time. Before he stood back, he got Jessica to cover up her pink shirt with a plaid one to be more stealthy. Jessica and I were about 6 feet apart, under separate trailers which were back to back, in full view of each other, but relatively hidden from the world. We were excited, and even more so when the train started moving a few minutes later. It was about 3:30pm.

It was a beautiful day for trainhopping, warm, sunny, and dry. In our haste we hadn’t brought any cardboard to lie on, and we didn’t have much warm clothing, since we didn’t think we’d trainhop at all; but all that were forgiveable oversights in the favorable weather. Otherwise, we were pretty well prepared.

I had a shoplifted GPS navigator and a similarly purloined small road map with me, so I could tell where I was, though it’d take a few minutes for the device to get its bearings. I could also tell how fast I was headed and in what direction, and I’d check every half hour on our progress. We were going about 55 mph and all was good. I began checking each hour or so.

The crew change was at Lynchburg, as expected, and we moved on. The scenery soon turned breathtaking with grand vistas of trees and Virginia wilderness. The Shenandoah Valley in the blazing colors of autumn is a recommended view for anyone not color blind. It was like I was breathing in the sights, and the hues were flowing into my lungs and through my bloodstream.

When I had become pleasantly intoxicated by leaves and mountains, I decided to check my location using GPS, which required that I stick the device out so that it gets a clear view of the sky. Then I went blind, utterly and completely blind, I couldn't see the tip of my nose, and I thought to myself that I had become visually impaired at the worst possible moment. Was it possible that ones eyes could be that overstimulated as to shut down? Had I overwhelmed my sight with foliage? I waved my hand in front of my eyes, but I didn't even detect any movement- blindness confirmed. Then I had a second thought and turned on the backlight of my GPS. It lit up like a firefly.

Oops, I wasn't blind, it was just dark. We had entered a tunnel, so I turned off the GPS, turned on my flashlight to make sure the GPS was off and scrambled to my backpack. I had heard that the danger with tunnels is that the diesel exhaust can accumulate in long stretches, so I needed to filter the air with a wet cloth, else I'd suffocate. With modern engines, this isn't really true apparently, but I didn't know that. I got to my backpack and reflexively shined my flashlight to where Jessica would have been.

There was only her backpack, but no Jessica.

At a time like this, she should have also been going for her waterbottle to soak her bandanna. This was bad. She wouldn’t have fallen off by herself, no way, it would’ve been more likely that someone or something pushed her off. Damn. We’d just become horror movie cliches-I imagined the train coming out from the other side, with only our backpacks where we once were. I went for my trusty U-lock, my lungs had to be put on hold, as I shone my flashlight a bit further past Jessica’s unattended backpack.

Just then, we came out of the tunnel. Jessica and I were both looking at each other. She had scooted down the train, a few feet past the wheels, in order to catch the scenery. We laughed. I really shouldn’t scare myself like this.

A half hour later, we slowed down to a stop in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t know why, but after a few hours it became dark at 7:30 or so, we stopped being paranoid & figured they weren’t searching for us. I moved under Jessica’s trailer with her, as we watched a electrical storm flash overhead. A cold front was approaching, and with it, would come rain. As if that weren’t enough, we would be going at over 50mph, open to the associated wind chill. I put on all my clothing except for my rainjacket- we would use that as a blanketing cover as we sped on the rails.

There really was no way around cuddling, and Jessica and I aren’t cuddlebuddies. But wet and cold does change things up. I was surprised at how quickly she agreed to it, but she told me later that she knew I wouldn't have asked that of her unless it was necessary. We tried lying side by side first, and then spooning, and finally draped over each other, hugging each other for dear life. This wasn’t for comfort. Separating from each other for any time over a few seconds meant a prolonged session of shivering.

Since I was more resistant to cold, I was on the bottom, insulating her from the wet metal floor, which had less than a foot wide strip of dry rusty steel. I would rest most of the weight of one of my buttocks, since that is where I have the most muscle and fat, and therefore insulation, on my entire body. This meant that it would become sore after a while, but I would prolong the misery as long as I could, since shifting meant a coordinating response from Jessica, in order to minimize the time that we would have to separate and become exposed to the cold. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I would declare to her, "I need to move," and I'd shift to my other buttock and we'd both shiver for a little bit less than a minute to regain our heat. Worst cuddling session ever. Then she went limp- Jessica had passed out from the cold. This wasn't good.

Occasionally she’d wake up to ask me if we were still alive, just because she felt a little warm, but it’d be because we slowed down and the wind chill was not so bad, but then the train would speed up again and she'd pass out again. The train stopped around Culpepper, 50 miles southwest of DC, and we contemplated jumping off, but decided against it, since it was possible that we’d be dropped off at our intended destination. Plus, it was already dark and wet and still in the middle of nowhere. We began moving again, so I laid myself down and she crawled on top of me. I wanted to cry.

I began listening to the noises of the train in order to occupy my mind, since I didn’t want to say anything discouraging. There were click-clacks and the screaming of metal against metal, groaning noises. It was the first time that I had been in a situation where my survival and another’s so depended on each other, where one struggle became indistinguishable from the other. We couldn’t fail each other or ourselves, else everything was lost. I really don’t like being in that situation. Jessica was drifting in and out of sleep. Me, I can have my core temperature down to 94 degrees and not feel drowsy, so I watched the scenery go by. Maybe my consciousness valued misery, I don't know why that is. We passed a trainyard at 50 mph, our trainyard, the one where this train was supposed to stop, the one where we were supposed to get off. Then it was gone, and I leaned my head against Jessica’s in despair. The adventure wasn’t over yet, not even close. The click-clacks continued, but it stopped raining.

When we slowed down again, I told Jessica that we passed our yard, that we were on the wrong train, so we’d have to get off at the next stop. We waited for the train to come to a stop, but it started speeding back up again. Jessica had already quickly changed taking off her 2nd pair of pants, I put on my rainjacket and my backpack, she threw her backpack out, leaned off the train and jumped. I was leaning off a few feet behind of her, and waited until she was clear before I jumped off backwards. The train was going about 15-20 mph, and I wanted all the cushioning I could get. I hit the ground and rolled away from the train, hit my head, and slowly got on my feet. My left elbow was hurt. Jessica landed much better, but slightly sprained an ankle. We walked between the rails back to a road we had seen earlier and spied some red lights flashing in the distance. During that time I figured we were in Hagerstown, 50 miles NW of DC. It was around 3am, so we’d spent about 12 hours on the train.

I didn’t have much inclination to lead at this point, having been conscious through so much misery, so I followed Jessica in her quest for the source of the flashing red lights in the distance. I would have liked staying on paved ground, since it was more appropriate a place to sulk over my situation. Sulking properly requires plainly featured artificial structures, but Jessica probably sensed this and persisted. We trudged miles through wet fields, wire fences, a knee-deep stream, barbed wire, and an electrified fence to find a cluster of 6 huge satellite dishes surrounded by perimeter fencing and no trespassing signs. The source of the red lights. All this in the middle of nowhere. Jessica had a bad feeling that we might get abducted by aliens if we lingered here too long, it was much too surreal. I could not even sulk in the vincinity of such oddness. Figuring that this facility must have an access road, we went along the fencing through waist-high grasses, until we were in view of asphalt. Normally, I am not that happy to see asphalt.

There were faint crashing sounds at this point, as if someone was rattling a chain-link fence really hard. As we approached pavement, we saw that fence, and we realized with alarm that the noise was steadily getting closer. We stopped because it looked like we could see the fence moving with the rattles. It was getting closer, and all we could see was the fence being bashed on, closer and closer to us. Fast. We froze in place, maybe thinking that we’d rather fight than run from the invisible threat. If we were going to be abducted by an invisible alien, we were not going down (or up) without a fight. At the speed it was going, running was not going to do much good. I wielded my U-lock and braced for action. It was a highly agitated deer which ran past us without a second glance. We walked away cautiously, still a bit freaked.

We reached a highway and walked along it, thumbing for an hour or two. Along the way, Jessica realized that she’d lost her 2nd pair of pants- either it was still on the train, or along the rails. I don’t think we’ll go back for them. Ever.

We were picked up by a postal worker who spoke slowly and methodically, in the way that a recording in his speakers was broadcasting. The voice was talking about a workplace, a socially dysfunctional one, one where all love was unrequited crushes, or of bereavement, or of some sick variety. It talked of a ghost of a worker’s wife who haunted the place, left phone messages and written comments in the complaint log and appeared on the monitor screen savers. It talked of how her voice would sound on the phone lines, full of static and mechanical chatter, with the wailing of her unborn baby in the background. What the fuck was this radio station, were we in the twilight zone?

It talked of a serial killer, who was the fastest typist, of how he chose and mutilated his victims, cutting them into pieces. It talked of his motivations, his murderous desires, his needs, his issues. He switched off the tape. He was creepy. We lied to most of his questions, answering in ways that would make us undesireable victims, already we both knew we’d come into the wrong car. My panic knife was where I thought it would be, a sleek sliver of metal with a honed edge on my belt. I felt if it came to me cutting him, something other than blood would flow from his veins. Jessica gave me a look which told me that if we fell asleep in this car, we would never wake up again. I really don't know how eyes could be that expressive.

I had planned out a defense strategy much earlier, one vicious but crudely effective, where Jessica would signal to begin my attack by releasing the driver's seatbelt. But we were just let off at Fredricksburg, 30 miles NW of DC, and he stared at us for a few minutes after we got off before moving off to work. Maybe he was thinking sinister thoughts. Sometimes I hate almost being part of a horror movie cliché, and we were having just a little bit too much of that on this trip back home.

Our next ride came just a few minutes after and took us straight into DC. He was a friendly pothead who worked as a stage manager or something to that effect in the television industry. After he let us off, we took the metrobus over to Jessica’s place,
& got there at around 7am. We both crashed to sleep. There was a thought that we were still on that train, that either we had died or were asleep on it, and everything afterward was imagined or some path to the afterlife. Of course, even if it were true, what could one do about it? Our adventure was over, finally.


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