# Hitchhiking to Denver



## Vulture (Mar 11, 2017)

(a true story) 

I told myself three days when I got here. Then there was the beer and the dog and Meg and Savannah. Oh, then there was Earth Day. Then what's his name offered me 60 bucks to pull the weeds in his lawn. All of that and Savannah. The guy I came with is heading northwest, Portland maybe. He took a Greyhound that direction yesterday.

It's a nauseous feeling that comes from being aware of the inertia that’s taken me. I am a traveler and travelers travel. I'll say goodbye to Reno, to Savannah and Shea's tavern. It's 2500 miles to San Antonio and I have 14 days to get there. It will be 19 degrees in the Pass to Truckee and 32 degrees once I get to Wyoming. No rails connect Reno to Vegas.

"Here's fine... right here" 
"I wish I could go with you"
 "Let me know if you start traveling one day.” 
"Do you want my Monster?"
 "I'll need it, thanks." 
"Bye" and "Bye, Savannah." 
The old Land Rover U-turns and the sound of the gravel under the tires makes me uneasy.

Wrong direction, wrong direction, wrong direction, wrong direction, duck! A crew truck passes. I hide between oil drums and shipping slabs. I take off my pack; it's getting heavy again. Tanker cars. Tanker cars and IM trains fill the rail-yard. None rideable from what I can see. I'll look further down.

Ah, there's the slack-action. Then we start rolling. My wrist compass points east. I smile. The lights of Sparks Nevada fade into the twilight of the desert hills. The sky is navy blue. My eyes are getting tired and it's time to undo my sleeping bag.

The sun is out. I feel a little lost as all the sensations flood in. Cuckunk cuckunk! cuckunk cuckunk... The walls of the car are a dirty white and the sky is a solid light blue. I unzip myself and stand up, only my head clears the well's wall. The shipping container in front of me is green and the one above it is orange. The landscape is tan and the horizon is lumpy. Google tells me I'm in north western Utah.

Water has snuck up on the sides of the tracks. Now both ditches are flooded. I see a cloud of dust far off to the left side. The only plants are those that become tumbleweeds.

I am sitting on the side now, holding on the the shipping container's left hinge. The wind is blowing hard. We must be going 60MPH. I get down and lay on my sleeping bag.

That water which flooded the ditches now stretches miles and miles to each direction! Grey mountains have crept into the horizon. They reflect on the water and remind me of the floating mountains in “Avatar”. I stand like a child bewildered.

The coast line has started to return. I assume the lake we just crossed is the Great Salt Lake. I think of how Union Pacific could have achieved a land bridge here and also how no more than 1000 people alive have seen what I just did. The train is slowing down. Far off, to the left, a large dust cloud moves closer. The train stops. I get off to the right and look for a railroad tie. It's nice to feel the earth, even if it is just railroad gravel. Not a noise except the gravel.

It was a re-fueling truck carrying diesel. I just have to wait for the three engines to be re- filled. Insects. Small like gnats, but longer. There are so many! The floor of my car's well is now covered with them. They buzz around my face. I think they're may-flies. Now we're moving.

At first I tried not to harm the may-flies, but I can't sit in the same spot for long. As I walk around, sit and lie down, more and more die. It's a fucking genocide. I feel kind of guilty.

Those may-flies are now all dead. The breeze that descends from the top of the well's walls spins their corpses into piles. There's a pile in each corner as well as one in the large dent just off-center on the floor.

The land scape is becoming more green. Ogden shouldn't be much further. Perhaps an hour and a half. Ogden is where the crew changes. The train will stop for five to fifteen minutes.

The landscape is now green with cow-pastures and alfalfa fields. There are mountains on the horizon. It reminds me of Provo. We have to be getting close to Ogden now. I think about my residential treatment center there. I think about Ray, my old therapist. I think about the hot springs in Diamond Fork. I think about Lambo, my calf. I guess he should be a hamburger by now. My gut turns over a bit as I see the bone piles where they throw dead cattle.

It's slowing down now. My guess is that we're going 35MPH. I should probably hide. There are a lot of industrial buildings and grain towers. I see them as I look over the walls. We have to be almost there. Google tells me we're just north of Ogden.

The train just stopped. To the right is an un-fenced road and I can see some type of restaurant, most likely a chain, at the far end of the shopping center. Before that is a Home Depot. I'll need a thick Sharpie for my "South" sign when I hitch from Cheyenne to Denver. I climb out with my heavy bag. I buy a Sharpie. I walk into the restaurant. It's a chain Mexican joint. I am filthy, but no one seems to notice I exist. I order a burrito and a key lime pie. I eat quickly, fill my water bottles, and walk back to the tracks. I feel stuffed.

There are three low tracks and one slightly more elevated. An IM train passed a moment ago on the high line. It was too fast to catch. I move to a more strategic spot where there’s no ditch next to the tracks. A few trains pass, going the wrong direction.

Here's mine. It's slowing down. I think it's stopping. Yes, it's stopping. Okay, another IM train. What's rideable? No high-walled wells. But I take what I can get. Ten long minutes later and we're moving again. I can feel the wind directly; I'm unsheltered at the front of the car.

It's getting colder. I think we may have gained altitude. We're passing through the mountains now. The forest is a lush green.

It's considerably colder now. Earlier, I think it was 45 degrees. Now it feels like 34. Then there's the wind. The wind that comes from motion, like sticking your hand out of a car window in winter. I get in my sleeping bag. Yes, it is cold. The wind is driving through the fabric. I get out of the bag and undo my tarp. It always helps with wind. I lay it down and lay the sleeping bag on top. I now have my jacket, sweater, jeans, sleeping bag, and a tarp. I wrap up and can no longer see the outside world.

My tarp is leaking some water. I look up and see a flat forrest covered in snow. The air is cold. It's tricky smoking inside the tarp. I have to hold it open to let the smoke out.

My blue tarp must be conspicuous.

The tarp is leaking more now. Google says we're in south west Wyoming. My sleeping bag is now wet at the bottom and the top (where the tarp folds down and touches it). It is cold. The train has stopped. There is a bitter breeze and it is still snowing.

My pants are soaked. I feel the, cold, damp fabric on my skin. I am shivering. I've been smoking a lot these last few hours. It's the only heat I can get.

The train is slowing down. It stops. Is this Cheyenne? I scramble with my semi-numb fingers for my phone. It is. Unzip the bag. Unfold the tarp. Stand. Oh, my legs are frozen. It's hard to move. Roll up the bag. Clip it on the pack. The train is moving! Still slow, though. Strap on the tarp. No need to fold now. Hurry! Move to the ladder. I can hardly feel my legs. The gravel is moving too quickly. The train's picking up speed. Too fast. Too fucking fast. Fuck! I sit on the ladder, with no fear of getting caught. We roll out of the yard. It is still snowing and the wind is picking up. I undo everything I just did and settle down, defeated, wet, and cold.

I dig for my binder in my back-pack. My guide says the next crew change is North Platte, Nebraska. Two hundred more miles from Cheyenne. I put away the binder. I don't feel the cold anymore.

It is now raining. My jacket is soaked. My sleeping bag no longer insulates me. I'm afraid I will run out of cigarettes.

I might not survive this.
 The train keeps stopping. It is still raining.

I might not survive this. I feel my will to live slipping. I could simply give up and die. I used to want this. I wanted to die before. Is this a good thing? Oh, it's cold.

A hundred miles left.

I close my eyes but it's too cold to sleep. I lay awake and smoke. I see the inside of the blue tarp and feel the water on my face.

The train is slowing down. I look out and see other trains. It's a rail yard. I don't care if this is my stop. I am so stiff. My clothes are wet and cold. Hurry! I'm packed and at the ladder much quicker this time. I can see the individual rocks on the ground. Jump! The train is still moving. Possibly 15MPH. The train might not stop. If you miss this yard, you die. I don't feel my feet as they hit the ground. My momentum slams me on my side. Find a person. Find shelter. Look for a crew truck. I don't bother hiding. I want to be found. Find me, catch me, arrest me! I just want to be inside. It is still raining. There's a crew van 300 yards away. The gravel makes for a frustrating walk. My legs are stiff. My bag is heavy. Part of me wants to lay down and die. I am making slow progress. Progress all the same! If I keep limping and sliding towards that building, I will eventually get to that building. Keep moving. As the hope rushes in, I am reminded of the cold. Oh, it is cold. So, so cold. Look down, think about the present. But my salvation lay behind that office door. I am almost there. I walk up the 5 stairs and go for the door. I hesitate and step back. I light a cigarette and chuckle. I smoke the whole thing. Shaking, shivering, shaking. Wet and cold. I toss it out into the wet gravel and open the door.


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## Billy Cougar White (Mar 12, 2017)

Well writen, great story. Keep them coming!


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## JohnMA (Mar 16, 2017)

I was wondering what happened when we split ways in reno man that shit sounds brutal, glad you made it out ok, wtf happened next?!


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## Vulture (Mar 16, 2017)

JohnMA said:


> I was wondering what happened when we split ways in reno man that shit sounds brutal, glad you made it out ok, wtf happened next?!


The bull wrote me a ticket and dropped me off at a homeless shelter. I stayed there two days and continued south to San Antonio.


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## JohnMA (Mar 17, 2017)

Vulture said:


> The bull wrote me a ticket and dropped me off at a homeless shelter. I stayed there two days and continued south to San Antonio.


Damn dude, we should have bought thermals in roseville or reno i was low on cash though, i laid low in ca before heading north, it was unusually cold for mid april i remember, glad you made it out of there. You should continue the story by the way.


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## Timothy Englert (Mar 18, 2017)

Vulture said:


> (a true story)
> 
> I told myself three days when I got here. Then there was the beer and the dog and Meg and Savannah. Oh, then there was Earth Day. Then what's his name offered me 60 bucks to pull the weeds in his lawn. All of that and Savannah. The guy I came with is heading northwest, Portland maybe. He took a Greyhound that direction yesterday.
> 
> ...


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## Timothy Englert (Mar 18, 2017)

Great writing...you kept me in the present tense and your descriptions painted the scene.....


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## ibbyhippy (May 26, 2017)

You should be a writer, this was an awesome read.


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