A story from a few weeks ago. I know there are some typos and shit, but it's late and I don't care. I hope you enjoy! Any feedback is appreciated, even constructive criticism. I'm trying to get better at telling stories...
I left my friends Q+M’s house a bit after dark in the unexpectedly balmy November eve. After having to leave my West Oakland squat under threat of police action, spending few days relaxing and adventuring and snuggling with them was wonderful. But the rails called, and every night, scant blocks away, I could hear trains whistling their tune. It was time to act on my waylaid plans to get north, and onward from there.
I walked the long-familiar territory of abandoned and active brick buildings that have long been my stomping grounds under various guises, musing at rooftops I’d been on while urban exploring, or wondering if *that* was the building I had danced till the sun was fully up 10, shit, 15 years ago. Soon enough and under what someone once called a “fence” I came to the tracks and made a beeline for a well known and useful structure in the yard. Before I even stopped I saw engines idling with their headlights off, and wondered if my train to Roseville was already built. I jogged between rows of parked baretables, scouting my train and keeping my head low. No sign of the bull, and I’d like to keep it that way. I knew right away something was strange, but put it aside in my mind as I saw 2 open boxes about 5 cars from the engines. Score! I check inside the rearmost one, it’s clean, with one door open. Ah well, It’ll have to do, I think. I hop on the other side of the tracks to wait in the comfortable jungle there and look for a spike. I watch with confusion as they take the 8 (yes, 8) units that had been attached to the train, move some around, and attach 2 road power back to the front. I still have no idea what that was about, but that was my cue. Hefting my pack, I jog back to the boxes, crawl in, and get comfy.
Pretty soon we are rolling through Emeryville, Berkeley, El Cerrito, South Richm-stop. We pull forward. We side. We back up. I peer out the door. Someone walks back and starts doing *something* a few cars behind me. Shit, I think, I’m getting set out in fucking Richmond. We back up some more. I gather my shit and prepare to try and bail and maybe hop on anything that’s left of the train when it assuredly pulls away.we pull forward again, and at a switch I see that our train has magically grown a bunch of oil cans. Double Shit, I’ve hopped onto the local switcher. Well, at least I’m not set out. Sighing relief, we start hauling ass through Richmond, passing switches and spurs like they aren’t there. I’m ok with this! We pass under the towering C&H sugar plant, and start to slow again. Stop. Rinse. Repeat. Another hour later we are crossing the beautiful bridge over the arm of the Bay, and I roll out my bag and fall into a light sleep. I wake up with the sunrise streaming through the door, coasting along at maybe 25 past an all too familiar landscape. Yup, there goes that Wally World. I pack my bag, put my boots on, and cross my fingers that the train slows soon. The hump yard looms larger in my ears, even through my earplugs. The thought of playing cat and mouse, half awake after maybe 2 hours of sleep does not appeal to me. We keep at a steady 25 till we pull onto the Easternmost (sweet!) arrival track, slow to 10, and I see my way out. Drop goes my pack, followed my me a few seconds later. I bolt down into the little ravine, pick my path through the creek until i’m even with the end of the single train that stands between me and the safety of a public sidewalk, make a dash for it, and am free!
I get some water and a banana, walk back past the Wally World, and to the West side of Roseville. The first reasonable spot I find, I roll back out my tarp and bag and pass out for hours. I wake up, well rested and thirsty, and still too much daylight to get much done. I lazily start to pack, make tea, and read for a bit before twilight comes, and I make my way toward the jungle, finding it deserted save for some familiar tags. I add mine to that disgusting couch and decide to go hide at my favorite spot, way closer to the action. After a bunch of dicking around, cardboard retrieval missions, and general wandering, it’s finally late enough for me to feel comfortable looking for a ride. I don’t have to look far. Seeing the right pattern of empty railcars, I walk down the line and find another open box. West door wide open, East door open maybe 2 feet. Gravy. I make note of where it is, and ninja back to my spot to make final preparations and watch intently for the bull. He drives back and forth a couple times, but all is pretty quiet. I decide the time is right, hoist my pack, grab my cardboard, and easily make it back to my box. Toss, toss, jump. I sit around for awhile, watching 3 other trains depart. I feel exposed and antsy. One string and 2 empty tracks over is sitting a gondola. I figure that that will be a better spot to hide until the bull spots me in the box. I hop over to the gon, look at its bounty of rusty tie plates, and hop in, feeling much better. Until it starts to drizzle…
I throw on my rain jacket and huddle up, keeping me and my pack dry as the drizzle intensifies. No sooner had I said “fuck this!” and hoisted my pack does a train creep in from the north, cutting off access to the box. I wait for that train to stop as the drizzle waxes and wanes, and as I’m second-guessing my earlier decision of going back to my box, I hear that screeching metal sound and look up to see my box disappearing behind the train that just pulled in. No whistle?! I missed hearing the air release?!! Not even the bull spotting the train!! Shitshitshit! I clumsily bail out of the gon, racing the accelerating wyrm. I’m barely keeping pace, and am still stuck on the other side of the new string. Shit on a shit shingle. I give up my hopeless chase before anyone sees me, and walk back out of the yard, rain still falling to match my mood. I’m tired, wet, pissed off, sober, and just want to sleep. I trudge back to the jungle and turn the couch into a lean-to with my tarp, put more cardboard down, and crawl into my (thankfully dry) sleeping bag, and fall asleep to the sounds of drizzle, the hump, and trains teasing me with their own peculiar language.
I wake up to the same noises. Everything is damp to some degree or another, but the rain has stopped falling and none is in the forecast. Still mad about the night, I slowly put on dry clothes, pack up my stuff, and head to the friendliest little market to get some food and more water. The day is spent hanging my clothes to dry, reading, snacking, and thinking on my lesson. Tonight will be different. I chat with friends up north who relay information about how fucking cold it’s gonna be. I dress accordingly, wearing more clothes than I leave in my pack, and bide my time.
Again I scout for a train, but the signs are less clear. I think I found my train, but the only rideable I can find is one of those hated V-neck grainers. I crawl in and contortionist myself and my pack into the tiny, awkward space, and listen. Wheels crunch on gravel, back and forth. I hear metallic sounds outside, and look up to see empty lumber racks backing up next to me. And more lumber racks. And more. A sure a sign as any. I wait till it stops, give it a few minutes for safety, and look for a new ride. Up the train I prowl, seeing what might be an open box. Indeed it is! but what’s this? Coupled right behind it is a caddy grainer I’ve never gotten the chance to ride one; my luck has changed. I run to grab my pack, toss it on the caddy, and realize I’ve left my cardboard back at my hiding spot. A quick trip retrieves that, and I roll out my bag to sleep, comfy and protected by the high walls. I awake to predawn light, and the realization that I’m still in the yard. Fucking Roseville. I have a gallon of water and lots of snacks, and the only way I’m leaving is on this train! Luckily I don’t have to wait long, we pull out and are soon flying past farms and orchards, through small towns and trees. We get to Dunsmuir just past dark, and I lament that for the 3rd time in a row I don’t get to see the beauty of nature between there and K falls. I move my pack to the boxcar, wanting to be more sheltered if need be. The CC is a quick one, and maybe 15 minutes later we are on the way.
Stars and signals pop in and out of the view of the door, and soon enough I’m asleep, rocked gently by a million pounds of steel. We stop on the mains outside of K-falls, still in the dead of night. I debate moving back to the grainer for stealth, and though it was fuckall cold, it was dry, and i figured it couldn’t hurt. I spent the next 30 minutes, or maybe 2 hours, shivering in my bag, listening to utter silence in the yard. Eventually we pull out, and for an inexplicable reason stop on the mains just outside of town. I take the opportunity to get back in the sheltered box, and fall asleep almost before we start moving again.
I awake, again, to sunlight and the beautiful foothills around Eugene. We stop right by downtown, and again I pack my stuff up. As soon as we start to back up I know we are interchanging with CORP. I quickly bail and find a comfy place to sit, soak up the sun, and wait to see if I can get back on what’s left of the train. Minutes later I’m on another empty box, one door open. We creep along the mains headed toward the eugene yard, and for various reasons decide to bail before we get there. I watch my train continue to crawl along, get to the yard, and stop. Good call, I think, maybe. As I get to the yard I see that the power has been cut, and I learned that there was indeed a M-RVEU. It’s 10AM. I spy another likely looking NBD, but am hungry and decide to go to the market to get snacks and more water. A guy kicks me down 2 packs of mini bell peppers outside, I thank him and eat a whole pack on my way back to the jungle. I fuckin love bell peppers. But that NBD was out of sight. I curse, but I hate being in yards in the day anyway. I wander around a bit more having hid my pack, finding a muffin place that, alas, does not have any vegan muffins, read a bit more and chat with friends some. Darkness falls, and the yard as seen one SBD leave, and two amtraks come through. and I see the bull roll by a few times. Finally another likely train pulls in from the south, with a canadian grainer maybe 3 cars ahead of the jungle. Hobo gods, ye taketh and ye giveth. A few minutes later the bull zooms by toward the front of the train. I watch his lights fade, and wasting no time this time, I grab my pack, and get to that grainer as fast as I could. One cubby is full of nasty, fermenting grain. I don’t care. I throw some cardboard in there and my bag on top. Same for the other cubby, but I squeeze on top of the wonderful, ubiquitous material instead. I sit in the darkness and what seems like a few minutes later we break air, and start flying toward portland. Soon I’m gleefully setting foot on Portland ballast, pushing my pack out of the cubby as the last few crossing gates go by. I wish I could see the look on the faces of those in the waiting cars. I hop on the next bus and am at my friend’s warm, dry, cat filled house in a blink. Days late, cold to the bone, scruffy and dirty as hell, but they were still elated to see me, and the feeling was mutual.
I left my friends Q+M’s house a bit after dark in the unexpectedly balmy November eve. After having to leave my West Oakland squat under threat of police action, spending few days relaxing and adventuring and snuggling with them was wonderful. But the rails called, and every night, scant blocks away, I could hear trains whistling their tune. It was time to act on my waylaid plans to get north, and onward from there.
I walked the long-familiar territory of abandoned and active brick buildings that have long been my stomping grounds under various guises, musing at rooftops I’d been on while urban exploring, or wondering if *that* was the building I had danced till the sun was fully up 10, shit, 15 years ago. Soon enough and under what someone once called a “fence” I came to the tracks and made a beeline for a well known and useful structure in the yard. Before I even stopped I saw engines idling with their headlights off, and wondered if my train to Roseville was already built. I jogged between rows of parked baretables, scouting my train and keeping my head low. No sign of the bull, and I’d like to keep it that way. I knew right away something was strange, but put it aside in my mind as I saw 2 open boxes about 5 cars from the engines. Score! I check inside the rearmost one, it’s clean, with one door open. Ah well, It’ll have to do, I think. I hop on the other side of the tracks to wait in the comfortable jungle there and look for a spike. I watch with confusion as they take the 8 (yes, 8) units that had been attached to the train, move some around, and attach 2 road power back to the front. I still have no idea what that was about, but that was my cue. Hefting my pack, I jog back to the boxes, crawl in, and get comfy.
Pretty soon we are rolling through Emeryville, Berkeley, El Cerrito, South Richm-stop. We pull forward. We side. We back up. I peer out the door. Someone walks back and starts doing *something* a few cars behind me. Shit, I think, I’m getting set out in fucking Richmond. We back up some more. I gather my shit and prepare to try and bail and maybe hop on anything that’s left of the train when it assuredly pulls away.we pull forward again, and at a switch I see that our train has magically grown a bunch of oil cans. Double Shit, I’ve hopped onto the local switcher. Well, at least I’m not set out. Sighing relief, we start hauling ass through Richmond, passing switches and spurs like they aren’t there. I’m ok with this! We pass under the towering C&H sugar plant, and start to slow again. Stop. Rinse. Repeat. Another hour later we are crossing the beautiful bridge over the arm of the Bay, and I roll out my bag and fall into a light sleep. I wake up with the sunrise streaming through the door, coasting along at maybe 25 past an all too familiar landscape. Yup, there goes that Wally World. I pack my bag, put my boots on, and cross my fingers that the train slows soon. The hump yard looms larger in my ears, even through my earplugs. The thought of playing cat and mouse, half awake after maybe 2 hours of sleep does not appeal to me. We keep at a steady 25 till we pull onto the Easternmost (sweet!) arrival track, slow to 10, and I see my way out. Drop goes my pack, followed my me a few seconds later. I bolt down into the little ravine, pick my path through the creek until i’m even with the end of the single train that stands between me and the safety of a public sidewalk, make a dash for it, and am free!
I get some water and a banana, walk back past the Wally World, and to the West side of Roseville. The first reasonable spot I find, I roll back out my tarp and bag and pass out for hours. I wake up, well rested and thirsty, and still too much daylight to get much done. I lazily start to pack, make tea, and read for a bit before twilight comes, and I make my way toward the jungle, finding it deserted save for some familiar tags. I add mine to that disgusting couch and decide to go hide at my favorite spot, way closer to the action. After a bunch of dicking around, cardboard retrieval missions, and general wandering, it’s finally late enough for me to feel comfortable looking for a ride. I don’t have to look far. Seeing the right pattern of empty railcars, I walk down the line and find another open box. West door wide open, East door open maybe 2 feet. Gravy. I make note of where it is, and ninja back to my spot to make final preparations and watch intently for the bull. He drives back and forth a couple times, but all is pretty quiet. I decide the time is right, hoist my pack, grab my cardboard, and easily make it back to my box. Toss, toss, jump. I sit around for awhile, watching 3 other trains depart. I feel exposed and antsy. One string and 2 empty tracks over is sitting a gondola. I figure that that will be a better spot to hide until the bull spots me in the box. I hop over to the gon, look at its bounty of rusty tie plates, and hop in, feeling much better. Until it starts to drizzle…
I throw on my rain jacket and huddle up, keeping me and my pack dry as the drizzle intensifies. No sooner had I said “fuck this!” and hoisted my pack does a train creep in from the north, cutting off access to the box. I wait for that train to stop as the drizzle waxes and wanes, and as I’m second-guessing my earlier decision of going back to my box, I hear that screeching metal sound and look up to see my box disappearing behind the train that just pulled in. No whistle?! I missed hearing the air release?!! Not even the bull spotting the train!! Shitshitshit! I clumsily bail out of the gon, racing the accelerating wyrm. I’m barely keeping pace, and am still stuck on the other side of the new string. Shit on a shit shingle. I give up my hopeless chase before anyone sees me, and walk back out of the yard, rain still falling to match my mood. I’m tired, wet, pissed off, sober, and just want to sleep. I trudge back to the jungle and turn the couch into a lean-to with my tarp, put more cardboard down, and crawl into my (thankfully dry) sleeping bag, and fall asleep to the sounds of drizzle, the hump, and trains teasing me with their own peculiar language.
I wake up to the same noises. Everything is damp to some degree or another, but the rain has stopped falling and none is in the forecast. Still mad about the night, I slowly put on dry clothes, pack up my stuff, and head to the friendliest little market to get some food and more water. The day is spent hanging my clothes to dry, reading, snacking, and thinking on my lesson. Tonight will be different. I chat with friends up north who relay information about how fucking cold it’s gonna be. I dress accordingly, wearing more clothes than I leave in my pack, and bide my time.
Again I scout for a train, but the signs are less clear. I think I found my train, but the only rideable I can find is one of those hated V-neck grainers. I crawl in and contortionist myself and my pack into the tiny, awkward space, and listen. Wheels crunch on gravel, back and forth. I hear metallic sounds outside, and look up to see empty lumber racks backing up next to me. And more lumber racks. And more. A sure a sign as any. I wait till it stops, give it a few minutes for safety, and look for a new ride. Up the train I prowl, seeing what might be an open box. Indeed it is! but what’s this? Coupled right behind it is a caddy grainer I’ve never gotten the chance to ride one; my luck has changed. I run to grab my pack, toss it on the caddy, and realize I’ve left my cardboard back at my hiding spot. A quick trip retrieves that, and I roll out my bag to sleep, comfy and protected by the high walls. I awake to predawn light, and the realization that I’m still in the yard. Fucking Roseville. I have a gallon of water and lots of snacks, and the only way I’m leaving is on this train! Luckily I don’t have to wait long, we pull out and are soon flying past farms and orchards, through small towns and trees. We get to Dunsmuir just past dark, and I lament that for the 3rd time in a row I don’t get to see the beauty of nature between there and K falls. I move my pack to the boxcar, wanting to be more sheltered if need be. The CC is a quick one, and maybe 15 minutes later we are on the way.
Stars and signals pop in and out of the view of the door, and soon enough I’m asleep, rocked gently by a million pounds of steel. We stop on the mains outside of K-falls, still in the dead of night. I debate moving back to the grainer for stealth, and though it was fuckall cold, it was dry, and i figured it couldn’t hurt. I spent the next 30 minutes, or maybe 2 hours, shivering in my bag, listening to utter silence in the yard. Eventually we pull out, and for an inexplicable reason stop on the mains just outside of town. I take the opportunity to get back in the sheltered box, and fall asleep almost before we start moving again.
I awake, again, to sunlight and the beautiful foothills around Eugene. We stop right by downtown, and again I pack my stuff up. As soon as we start to back up I know we are interchanging with CORP. I quickly bail and find a comfy place to sit, soak up the sun, and wait to see if I can get back on what’s left of the train. Minutes later I’m on another empty box, one door open. We creep along the mains headed toward the eugene yard, and for various reasons decide to bail before we get there. I watch my train continue to crawl along, get to the yard, and stop. Good call, I think, maybe. As I get to the yard I see that the power has been cut, and I learned that there was indeed a M-RVEU. It’s 10AM. I spy another likely looking NBD, but am hungry and decide to go to the market to get snacks and more water. A guy kicks me down 2 packs of mini bell peppers outside, I thank him and eat a whole pack on my way back to the jungle. I fuckin love bell peppers. But that NBD was out of sight. I curse, but I hate being in yards in the day anyway. I wander around a bit more having hid my pack, finding a muffin place that, alas, does not have any vegan muffins, read a bit more and chat with friends some. Darkness falls, and the yard as seen one SBD leave, and two amtraks come through. and I see the bull roll by a few times. Finally another likely train pulls in from the south, with a canadian grainer maybe 3 cars ahead of the jungle. Hobo gods, ye taketh and ye giveth. A few minutes later the bull zooms by toward the front of the train. I watch his lights fade, and wasting no time this time, I grab my pack, and get to that grainer as fast as I could. One cubby is full of nasty, fermenting grain. I don’t care. I throw some cardboard in there and my bag on top. Same for the other cubby, but I squeeze on top of the wonderful, ubiquitous material instead. I sit in the darkness and what seems like a few minutes later we break air, and start flying toward portland. Soon I’m gleefully setting foot on Portland ballast, pushing my pack out of the cubby as the last few crossing gates go by. I wish I could see the look on the faces of those in the waiting cars. I hop on the next bus and am at my friend’s warm, dry, cat filled house in a blink. Days late, cold to the bone, scruffy and dirty as hell, but they were still elated to see me, and the feeling was mutual.
