Wrote some words about a trip earlier this week. Feedback appreciated! Pix are obviously not in time with the story, but all from this trip. Had to break up the wall of text somehow.
The golden hour, middle of January, 2016.
I step off the bus in Roseville to what seems an abnormally quiet town. Fine by me, I think, the fewer humans the better. I immediately set out for my favorite hiding spot by UP’s gigantic JR Davis yard; with the sun fading fast I don’t want to lose any time. Going against my usual traveler ethos, I’m attempting to stay on a tight schedule and get between cities as quickly as possible. Well, quickly and comfortably. My goal for the night: the daily Q junker from Roseville to Portland. I walk through the backwaters of Roseville, intending to stay inconspicuous and stealthy.
Finally arriving at that friendly little corner market, I walk up to the door just as the lone employee is locking the gate shut. Well fuck. We exchange waves and shaken heads, and then I turn right the fuck back around, walking back north to the corporate corner store to get a jug of water and more snacks. Retracing my route, I finally arrive at my favorite spot, only to find that it’s been “cleaned up” and offers far less protection from the elements and prying eyes than it once did. Ah well, there’s still a good spot to lurk, and even if UP’s *finally* gotten around to patching most of the holes in the fence, one can always find another hole.
Eating my dinner and changing into warmer clothes, i watch the action in the yard. No different than I remember it. Trains quickly CC on the mains, yard dogs continue their Sisyphean seesawing of building trains, and work trucks and the bullmobile skitter all over. Someone loudly yelling catches my ear, so I sneak along the fence to see if I can make out the conversation.
“blahblah something something SOUTHBOUND”
“yeah southbound”
“blahblah murmur…”
Well that proved pretty useless. With the participants of the conversation impossible to see in the glare of the stadium lights, I had no idea who made up that conversation. Employees? Other ‘bos? I shrug, finish eating, and pull on my gloves. Darkness has fallen; tIme to go find my train. Under the fence, across the 2 main tracks, and over the first string, easy as pie! I start looking for the cars that help ID a train is going to the PNW, walking between towering walls of steel, jumping strings and hiding behind wheels when lights get too close for comfort. So many autoracks. Lots of tanks. Finally, i spot some empty lumber racks on the furthest track in. Walking along, it seems like the right one. Hoppers, tanks, and some canadian grainers! Rad. Making a mental note of the location of the grainers, I scurry back to get my pack and cardboard. On the last string I have to cross, i start to climb across a cadillac grainer before the smell of weed even registers. I look down to see another rider chilling comfortably in the porch of the caddy.
“Oh.. Hi.. sorry about that”
“No problem. You wanna hit this?”, he offers a joint.
I smile and graciously decline.
“Got any H?” This time I laugh out loud and confess that I don’t.
“Ya want some?”
“No, not my thing, man. Where ya headed?”
“South. This train is going to Colton, should be leaving soon”
“Ah, I’m headed the other way. Stay warm!”
What IS it about train riders and fucking junk? Anyway, that explains the conversation I overheard. Good to know some yard workers are still nice.
I make it back to my pack and drink a bunch of water, make sure everything is good to go, and easily make it back to that grainer. Strings next to me get shoved backward, still being built, and soon enough it was my turn. So I thought. KA-CHUNK. I roll backwards, and keep going. I peer out the hole, to see strings start to end and the number of tracks to my west quickly dwindle. OK, this must be one of the weird NBDs that go south to Sacramento and then turn right at Elvas Jct. As soon as that thought solidifies in my head, we stop, and instantly reverse direction. Hmm. Odd. I grab my pack and prepare to bail, if need be. But I like my spot and *really* don’t want to. My car slowly inches forward, and the departure yard comes into view on the other side of the access road. In the back of my head, I know exactly where I am. Ah crap ah crap crap on a crap cracker. The train keeps getting shoved forward, I grab my pack and prepare to bail, not wanting to be seen by anyone. An equipment shed with “MAIN HUMP #1” stenciled on the side seals my fate. I assume that if I bail now, some worker will spot me. I brace myself, make sure my earplugs are in all the way, and hope. Suddenly the train stops, drifts backward a few yards, and sits. Fuck it, I think, this is my chance. I grab my pack, my water jug, and literally jump off the grainer. I hit the slope running and beeline back to the departure yard. Over a string and into shadows. My heart racing, I take a look back to see what alarms I’d raised, only to see quiet and stillness. My grainer is still sitting there, 3 cars from the top of the hump. I dunno how or why I got that lucky, but I felt so grateful to not get humped by the UP.
I find myself at the south end of the departure yard, now over half empty, but a fred blinking in my face. Hm. Stalking along the cars I spot some CP grainers, and another canadian grainer. Fuck it. It’s pointed the right way, and if I end up in Reno at least I’ll be out of fucking Rosevile. I toss my water on the car, and hustle back to the good cardboard dumpster to get more insulation. Dripping sweat in my jacket, but I don’t want to stop and waste time pulling it off and packing it. running back to the train, arms full of cardboard, half not caring if anyone sees me.
Back on the car, into the clean(!!!) cubby, and I lay down, out of sight, and let my body and mind rest. Pretty soon we pull forward, and I celebrate with a shot of whiskey from my flask, as I keep one eye out the cubby to make sure we take the turn to go north. Sure enough! I get as comfortable as I can, my 6’2” of height contorted and twisted in the cubby.
In no time at all we are flying through the central valley, sparse lights and not much else lulling me to a fitful sleep in no time. I awake at some point having to pee, and gleefully urinate off the porch. I dunno why, but peeing off a frieght train is the best kind of peeing. As I’m going, we pass a crossing with a large pickup truck waiting, I think nothing of it. Soon after, we stop on the single mainline, for seemingly no reason. As minutes pass and nothing moves, I start to panic. Did the driver of that truck call me in? I grab my pack and hide as best as I can; which is not very at all, and keep alert. Soon enough, the train airs up. Nothing but wind and weeds around, I climb back on the already-moving train, cuddle under my sleeping bag, and fall back asleep.
The lack of noise and movement, or maybe the light, awakes me in Dunsmuir; waiting for a crew change. I get out and stretch my legs, which have trouble moving. I chalk my seekrit traveler tag on the side of a few cars. Snack, drink water, wait around. An hour or two passes, with nary a sign of life to be seen. Eventually a Southbound doublestack pulls into the yard, and my train pulls soon after that.
The rest of the journey went smoothly, and uneventfully. 28 or so hours later my feet are on the ballast in Portland, excited to see friends, and continue Northward to see family.
The golden hour, middle of January, 2016.
I step off the bus in Roseville to what seems an abnormally quiet town. Fine by me, I think, the fewer humans the better. I immediately set out for my favorite hiding spot by UP’s gigantic JR Davis yard; with the sun fading fast I don’t want to lose any time. Going against my usual traveler ethos, I’m attempting to stay on a tight schedule and get between cities as quickly as possible. Well, quickly and comfortably. My goal for the night: the daily Q junker from Roseville to Portland. I walk through the backwaters of Roseville, intending to stay inconspicuous and stealthy.
Finally arriving at that friendly little corner market, I walk up to the door just as the lone employee is locking the gate shut. Well fuck. We exchange waves and shaken heads, and then I turn right the fuck back around, walking back north to the corporate corner store to get a jug of water and more snacks. Retracing my route, I finally arrive at my favorite spot, only to find that it’s been “cleaned up” and offers far less protection from the elements and prying eyes than it once did. Ah well, there’s still a good spot to lurk, and even if UP’s *finally* gotten around to patching most of the holes in the fence, one can always find another hole.
Eating my dinner and changing into warmer clothes, i watch the action in the yard. No different than I remember it. Trains quickly CC on the mains, yard dogs continue their Sisyphean seesawing of building trains, and work trucks and the bullmobile skitter all over. Someone loudly yelling catches my ear, so I sneak along the fence to see if I can make out the conversation.
“blahblah something something SOUTHBOUND”
“yeah southbound”
“blahblah murmur…”
Well that proved pretty useless. With the participants of the conversation impossible to see in the glare of the stadium lights, I had no idea who made up that conversation. Employees? Other ‘bos? I shrug, finish eating, and pull on my gloves. Darkness has fallen; tIme to go find my train. Under the fence, across the 2 main tracks, and over the first string, easy as pie! I start looking for the cars that help ID a train is going to the PNW, walking between towering walls of steel, jumping strings and hiding behind wheels when lights get too close for comfort. So many autoracks. Lots of tanks. Finally, i spot some empty lumber racks on the furthest track in. Walking along, it seems like the right one. Hoppers, tanks, and some canadian grainers! Rad. Making a mental note of the location of the grainers, I scurry back to get my pack and cardboard. On the last string I have to cross, i start to climb across a cadillac grainer before the smell of weed even registers. I look down to see another rider chilling comfortably in the porch of the caddy.
“Oh.. Hi.. sorry about that”
“No problem. You wanna hit this?”, he offers a joint.
I smile and graciously decline.
“Got any H?” This time I laugh out loud and confess that I don’t.
“Ya want some?”
“No, not my thing, man. Where ya headed?”
“South. This train is going to Colton, should be leaving soon”
“Ah, I’m headed the other way. Stay warm!”
What IS it about train riders and fucking junk? Anyway, that explains the conversation I overheard. Good to know some yard workers are still nice.
I make it back to my pack and drink a bunch of water, make sure everything is good to go, and easily make it back to that grainer. Strings next to me get shoved backward, still being built, and soon enough it was my turn. So I thought. KA-CHUNK. I roll backwards, and keep going. I peer out the hole, to see strings start to end and the number of tracks to my west quickly dwindle. OK, this must be one of the weird NBDs that go south to Sacramento and then turn right at Elvas Jct. As soon as that thought solidifies in my head, we stop, and instantly reverse direction. Hmm. Odd. I grab my pack and prepare to bail, if need be. But I like my spot and *really* don’t want to. My car slowly inches forward, and the departure yard comes into view on the other side of the access road. In the back of my head, I know exactly where I am. Ah crap ah crap crap on a crap cracker. The train keeps getting shoved forward, I grab my pack and prepare to bail, not wanting to be seen by anyone. An equipment shed with “MAIN HUMP #1” stenciled on the side seals my fate. I assume that if I bail now, some worker will spot me. I brace myself, make sure my earplugs are in all the way, and hope. Suddenly the train stops, drifts backward a few yards, and sits. Fuck it, I think, this is my chance. I grab my pack, my water jug, and literally jump off the grainer. I hit the slope running and beeline back to the departure yard. Over a string and into shadows. My heart racing, I take a look back to see what alarms I’d raised, only to see quiet and stillness. My grainer is still sitting there, 3 cars from the top of the hump. I dunno how or why I got that lucky, but I felt so grateful to not get humped by the UP.
I find myself at the south end of the departure yard, now over half empty, but a fred blinking in my face. Hm. Stalking along the cars I spot some CP grainers, and another canadian grainer. Fuck it. It’s pointed the right way, and if I end up in Reno at least I’ll be out of fucking Rosevile. I toss my water on the car, and hustle back to the good cardboard dumpster to get more insulation. Dripping sweat in my jacket, but I don’t want to stop and waste time pulling it off and packing it. running back to the train, arms full of cardboard, half not caring if anyone sees me.
Back on the car, into the clean(!!!) cubby, and I lay down, out of sight, and let my body and mind rest. Pretty soon we pull forward, and I celebrate with a shot of whiskey from my flask, as I keep one eye out the cubby to make sure we take the turn to go north. Sure enough! I get as comfortable as I can, my 6’2” of height contorted and twisted in the cubby.
In no time at all we are flying through the central valley, sparse lights and not much else lulling me to a fitful sleep in no time. I awake at some point having to pee, and gleefully urinate off the porch. I dunno why, but peeing off a frieght train is the best kind of peeing. As I’m going, we pass a crossing with a large pickup truck waiting, I think nothing of it. Soon after, we stop on the single mainline, for seemingly no reason. As minutes pass and nothing moves, I start to panic. Did the driver of that truck call me in? I grab my pack and hide as best as I can; which is not very at all, and keep alert. Soon enough, the train airs up. Nothing but wind and weeds around, I climb back on the already-moving train, cuddle under my sleeping bag, and fall back asleep.
The lack of noise and movement, or maybe the light, awakes me in Dunsmuir; waiting for a crew change. I get out and stretch my legs, which have trouble moving. I chalk my seekrit traveler tag on the side of a few cars. Snack, drink water, wait around. An hour or two passes, with nary a sign of life to be seen. Eventually a Southbound doublestack pulls into the yard, and my train pulls soon after that.
The rest of the journey went smoothly, and uneventfully. 28 or so hours later my feet are on the ballast in Portland, excited to see friends, and continue Northward to see family.
