Canada or bust? We busted...

Once again we found ourselves in the Baltimore train yard where we settled into our usual camp spot to wait for the first northbound train that came along. A northbound showed up about an hour later and Dave went to talk to the conductor to see how far it was going. About ten minutes later Dave returned with good news. The conductor on the train was our friend Paul (name changed to protect the guilty) that helped us out on our previous trip to Savannah. He helped us find the only ridable car on his train, a gondola with a cargo of steel beams in it that had just barely enough room to fit the nine of us in it. About a half an hour later the train left the yard and we were on our way. Next stop, Philadelphia.

Harvey took out his guitar and commemorated the beginning of our trip with a few traveling hobo tunes that rang through the belly of our car. The sun began to rise over the horizon directly ahead of us and we stood on top of the steel beams in the gondola to enjoy the view. We were excited be finally be on our way to Canada and Zoe broke out the cigars our friend Mugsy had given us and said, "Mugsy said to smoke a cigar for him when we got outta Baltimore since he couldn't come with us." I lit up a cigar wishing that he could have come with us and thinking about all the adventures he'd be missing out on.

It was briskly cold on the train that morning and sitting on those steel beams didn't help. Some of us just tried to enjoy the ride while others huddled up in their sleeping bags and tried to sleep off the cold morning. Our conductor friend Paul called Harvey on this cell phone as we started to ride through Harford County. He warned us of a train that would be passing by soon and told us that the conductor was not train hopper friendly so we should try and hide. We didn't have enough room for all nine of us to hide very effectively though. Everyone hugged the sides of the car and squeezed between the steel beams in the car, but to no avail. When all was said and done, Dave and I still didn't have a place to hide and it was painfully obvious that the counductor could see the two of us as he drove by. A few minutes later we stopped at a train stoplight and got another call from Paul. The conductor on the train we were trying to hide from had seen us and was calling the police. Shit. We didn't want to get caught on the train and we didn't want to get Paul in trouble so we thanked him for his help and hopped off the train.

We wandered into the woods looking for a place to make camp winding through the trees until we came across a tiny clearing where a small campfire had once been. Scattered around the campfire were dozens of porno mags, some of which seemed to have drops of blood on them... among the assortment of pornography were two or three vibrators, and at least ten to fifteen half-used bottles of vaseline, KY jelly, astroglide, etc. It looked like a place where people were taken to be raped, and it really creeped out almost everyone in our group. I moved on through the woods trying to find another clearing. Whether it was a predator's lair or just some pervert's camping paradise didn't matter to me, I sure as hell wasn't gonna sleep there...

We moved on through the forest to a large open clearing close enough to the tracks to be able to tell when a train was coming. Before we could start a fire in the clearing, another northbound train pulled to a stop at the train stoplight. Taking one of the two-way radios with him, Dave set off to scout around for a rideable car. A few minutes later Dave radioed in that there were police cars patrolling the train. They were there for us, I was sure of that. We moved from our clearing further back into the woods where we could be sure that we wouldn't be seen.

We sat there waiting for Dave to get back, but he wasn't answering his radio. After a tense 15-20 minutes, Dave finally answered my call. "Where are you man?" I asked.

"Well... (huff, huff...) I'm kinda... (huff, huff...) I'm kinda being chased by the cops." he replied.

"Oh." was all I could really say. "Um, good luck I guess... Lemme know how that goes," well, I mean, what the hell else am I going to say? A half an hour later he finally emerged from the woods walking towards us. His pants were soaked from the knee down from the swamp he ran through, and there was sweat dripping from his brow. He replayed his escape from the police to us, recounting from the point he had been seen in the woods to the final escape through the swamp with a defeated cop shaking his fist in the air with a final "Come back here you fucker!" If he had thrown in some bloodhounds for embellishment, it would have been a perfect prison escape scene.

We returned to our clearing after the train and cops had left, and built a fire to cook with and keep us warm for the night. There was no telling when the next train would stop here, and we were taunted by the rattling of trains that blazed by us all night. Our friend Steve decided he really wasn't equipped to go traveling anywhere so he walked to the nearest town and got a ride back home. A train finally carreened to a halt next to our camp in the wee hours of the morning. Leaving the protective warmth of our campfire we ran to the tracks looking for a rideable car. We climbed in an empty gondola and huddled in our sleeping bags as the cold air of the night settled in. We sat in that freezing car for an hour before the train finally shoved off to the Wilmington, DE yard.

The sunrise once again greeted us as we arrived in Wilmington about an hour and a half later. I cringed as we pulled into the yard, thinking my usual trainhoppers prayer:

"Please don't break up the train... please don't break up the train... just keep moving..."

The train screeched to a halt and the air brakes hissed as the unit detatched from the train and left. "Goddammit!" I said to myself.

We waited in the gondola for a while trying to decide what to do until a rail worker spotted us. He was a nice guy though, he just told us that the gondola we were sitting in wasn't going anywhere for a long time. So we moved to a boxcar a few tracks over where it would be less likely we'd be seen. We waited there all day and into the night waiting for any train going north, but nothing moved. Every few hours a row of cars would be moved to another track, but nothing ever left the yard. Finally, after almost 24 hours of nothing, our boxcar started to move. Our row of cars were shuffled around back and forth, back and forth, for almost forty five minutes before we realized that to our train was not heading north like we thought, but south, back to the Baltimore yard.

We hopped off the train back in Baltimore and some of us were kinda ticked off at this annoying setback. We all sat around the campfire once again waiting for a train that would take us straight through that black hole of a yard Wilmington and right to Philly or further. Zoe had second thoughts about going because of his upcoming court date, so he left back to town with Candice who had sprained her ankle hopping off the train. We were down to six people now, which I thought was somewhat more reasonable for trainhopping, and I wasn't too down about this latest setback. I figured there had to be some setbacks along the way and we still had five weeks to get there, so I wasn't worried.

The next morning a piggyback train stopped in the yard going north. Dave suggested we ride the piggyback train north. I didn't like the idea, it would be too easy for people to see us hiding under the wheels of those semi-truck trailers. It would get us at least to New Jersey though, so everyone agreed to give it a try. We got on in pairs on three seperate cars and the train slowly moved forward about fifteen minutes later. A little too slowly in fact. We were only going maybe 4-5 mph the entire ride, and we soon found out why. About twenty minutes into the ride, we started passing the largest train construction crew I'd ever seen. It was practically an army of over a hundred workers on the sides of the tracks spanning a couple of miles, and we were going so slow that it was almost impossible for them not to see us sitting on the train. All we could really do was wave at them with a "Um... hey, what's up?" look on our faces. The train slowed to a halt and one of the workers said "come on, get outta there!" Ungh. We climbed off the train. They were nice and pointed to a diner we could go to, but they couldn't have us on the train cause their manager was around and it was just too damn obvious we were on the train. So we went to the diner defeated again. We didn't even make it five miles out of the yard. A friend of ours came to pick us up and dropped us off in the yard once again. We sat around the fire again and I couldn't help thinking, "Hopping out of Baltimore: Take 3..."

I was only slightly irritated that we hadn't actually gone anywhere yet. I was just happy knowing that eventually we'd be kicking it in Canada and riding that beautiful Canadian low line... We called our friend Paul again, hoping he could change the rotten luck we'd been having so far.

Paul told us that there would be another junk train on track eight leaving in about two hours. We walked through the yard to track eight and found an open boxcar and climbed in. While we waited for the train to get put together, again, Harvey was having second thoughts about going on this trip, and after trying to convince him to continue with us, he finally decided to stay in Baltimore. We were disappointed, but wished him well as he climbed off the boxcar, and the train picked up our car and took off towards Philly. Four down, five to go.

To our excitement, we blew right through the Wilmington yard like Paul had said we would, and went on to Philadelphia. I awoke to the city lights of my old neighborhood of West Philly, and I woke up everyone else to let them know that the train would be stopping soon. We hopped off as the train stopped for a few seconds in front of the bridge before the yard. We wondered down to the firepits. The firepits was a campsite where the local squatters (including myself) from 1505/1503 went to drink. It was also an excellent place to wait for north and southbound trains because it was surrounded by trees in a way that you could see the incoming trains, have a big bonfire, and not be seen by the train or anyone else. We lit a fire from the embers of whoever had been there earlier that night (most likely the 1503 kids), ate some food, and went to sleep.

The next morning we gathered up our stuff and wondered into West Philly to go say hi to my friend Jakie. We arrived to see her and a few of her friends sitting on the porch. I hadn't seen Jakie in almost five months, not since I had lived at 1503 squat here in Philly, so it was good to see her again. Jakie introduced us to her friends Sid, Morgan, and Father Church who were traveling through town on their way to Ottawa. They looked like your average college activist kids and were really friendly, so I asked if they'd wanted to go to Canada with us, seeing how they were going there anyways. They liked the idea so we met up at the firepits later that day after spending the day wondering through the city. We camped at the firepits waiting for our train, but the only trains passing through that night were all going south.

We woke the next morning and I took everyone to the oil cans, an abandoned oil refinery on the other side of the tracks from the firepits. It's always a fun place to explore and pick through the garbage that people dump there. There are three oil cans to explore, one of them has no top and you can walk around inside it and the last oil can has one of the best views in Philly in my opinion.

We continued into the city that day to the Walnut street bridge, where a friend of ours said we'd have better luck getting a northbound hotshot. An hour or two later we watched a northbound cruise by that unfortunately didn't have any rideable cars on it. On the advice of a passing hobo we followed the tracks north looking for a split where the trains were supposed to stop. The sun was setting into the horizon as we came to the gaping opening of a large tunnel a few miles later. Fodi decided to walk around the tunnel on the park path while the rest of us walked through the tunnel. There was at least ten to fifteen feet of room on each side of the tracks inside the tunnel, so I wasn't worried about getting hit by a train. What I was worried about was how long this tunnel was. It had been almost ten minutes of straight walking and I still couldn't see the end of the tunnel. I couldn't see where we had come in either. It was pitch black and none of us knew how long this tunnel would last. I put my bandana over my face and kept stumbling through the tunnel by my dim flashlight. The end of the tunnel faded into view a few minutes later, and we emerged back into the open air of a starry night. But there was no Fodi. I figured if he wasn't waiting for us at the end of the tunnel, he'd probably be waiting somewhere up ahead of us, probably where the tracks split and we were supposed to catch the train. We wandered down the tracks for a few miles and still couldn't find a place where the tracks split. So everyone rolled out their sleeping bags and crashed out while Father Church and I wondered around trying to find Fodi. We came back around four in the morning, completely exhausted and no Fodi. We found a place with a lot of railroad stoplights that we were pretty sure trains would stop at, but after waiting around there all of the next day, we met some railroad magazine photographers that told us almost no trains ever stopped there.

So I decided it would be best to head back to the firepits and hop from there. Sid and Morgan decided to give up on trying to trainhop and left on their own to hitchhike to Canada. It was just down to the three of us now, Dave, Church, and myself. We spent the next two days trying to hop a train north from there with no luck. Honestly this must have been the worst luck I had ever had catching a train. I was pissed off cause we had been all over Philly for the past week and a half trying to get a train north, and I was getting really irritated with Dave and his know-it-all attitude that had sent us on all these wild goose chases around the entire city of Philadelphia. I was tired, sweaty, hungry, and most of all, I kept rubbing the necklace my girlfriend had given me and couldn't stop thinking that I had made a mistake by leaving her behind. There was a lot I hoped to acomplish on this trip, but my patience for the trains had run out and I was a few minutes away from tieing Dave to the railroad tracks...

I grumbled to myself and forced myself to say it. "I'm taking the next train going south." To my dissappointment, they caved in with me. Grrr. All I could think about was getting back to Beverly, and after a few hours a friend of Dave's paid for greyhound tickets back to Baltimore. I was pissed at myself for letting things get this bad and wimping out like this. Sure I was one of the last to give up, but I gave up none the less...

It had been a shitty week. Now I just wanted to go home. We walked out of the greyhound station that night and waited at the bus stop that would take us back to Towson. While we were waiting for the bus, this gangbanger wannabe came up and pushed me. He was visibly drunk or high on something, and I could tell he just wanted to pick a fight with a white guy.

"What the fuck, man?!" I said.

"Yo, fuck you!" was his oh-so-intelligent response.

I asked, "Man, I don't even know you. Why did you push me?"

He said, "Don't be starting shit with me mothafucka! You want some a' this bitch?" he just wanted a fight. Okay then. I unclipped my backpack and eased it onto the ground. I wasn't going to be caught off guard. His friends were trying to pull him back, seeing that I wasn't going to back down. After talking to his friends for a minute, he came back and shook my hand. "We're cool now. Just don't be startin' shit with me."

My response was, "I didn't start shit with you, you started shit with me." A split second later he swung at me, hitting my cheek, and honestly, it was the weakest punch I had ever recieved. He immediately moved into a barrage of swings at Dave and Father Church, and it was on. I jumped on top of him, pressing his body against the wall as he struggled to hit Dave and Church, and I began pounding his fucking head in against the wall.

And then it hit me. I took me a second to realize what it was as shards of glass fell around my head to the ground, and I felt the sticky wet foam of malt liquor on my body as I saw a piece of glass hit the ground with a label on it. Old English. I had just had a 40oz bottle of Old E cracked over my head. I stumbled, in shock and dazed. Whether I fell or was pushed over, I don't know. A barrage of feet swung at me as I curled into a ball on the ground. One kick made my glasses fly off and the combined pain and loss of vision made me panic. I was sure I was going to the ER. I began to scream as five or six people kicked the shit out of me from all sides and someone else threw a garbage can on top of me. Three times. Where was Dave and Church? Why weren't they helping me? Finally they ran off, and I was left there crawling on the ground in pain trying to find my glasses, praying they weren't broken. Luckily they were just a little bent.

My vision was blurred and the bones in my back burned in pain. Dave and Church pulled me to my feet. To top it all off, I realized we were at the wrong bus stop. We walked to the right stop as Church apoligized for not doing more for me than trying to pull people off me. I could tell Church felt guilty and had never been in that situation so I didn't hold it against him. I turned my broken body towards Dave with an evil stare. He didn't do shit. He just stood there, too chickenshit to help me when I was taking a beating for him. I bitched him out on the bus with venom dripping from my lips. He didn't deny it. He didn't apologize either. If he felt ashamed or guilty about it, he didn't show it. I felt pretty betrayed and I lost a lot of respect for him that day. I couldn't call him a friend anymore.

The top-right corner of my vision was missing, and I felt dizzy. I couldn't think. Church thought I might have a concussion. Dave went home and Church and I went to the new house everyone was squatting. After hearing what happened, I was surpised how many people wanted to kick Dave's ass for not helping me. Nobody would let me sleep that night, afraid that I might go into a coma, and bought me cigarettes and asprin to make me feel better. It felt good to be back and somewhat safe again. When I finally did fall asleep that night, I sighed with relief that this terrible trip was finally over...