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I said "hey listen here, I know you don't see this a lot but" He then interrupted me and said "I see it plenty, don't worry about it get back in there" I then said "well I'm an engineer for this very same railroad, this very same yard." He got a real wide eyed look and seemed speechless. I said "I've met some nice folks up there and I'm tired of working my ass off for this outfit 24/7 on call 364 days a year. I wanna taste a little freedom so I'm headed out of here with those tramps up there and I'd really appreciate it if you could kick this under the rug" He said he wouldn't say a thing and to be safe and enjoy the trip. I felt alright with that, hopped back up in the boxcar and waited with my friends. The carmen eventually left and within about 20 minutes I heard a sound I knew had to be the brakes releasing.
I felt some slack action then I heard an unfamiliar sound but I always knew it had to happen and I'd heard the opposite sound so many times before. It was the slack locking up and stretching the cars from the locomotive on back through the train BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG and we were jerked pretty hard and instantly a smooth 3 miles an hour, 4, 5 slowly creeping up in speed we might have been about 8 miles an hour and we crossed a familiar crossing in the yard and I knew it well. I knew that Linda Pitchford was in there barking orders, I knew the yardmaster was in there as well. I could see the image of all the yard surveillance camera monitors in that same room from my memory and I didn't like how it felt one bit.
They were all in that building in that corner, the command center with all those windows and I felt them figuring where they'd have the train stopped, I could feel them talking to the bulls telling them how there's some rogue engineer is on that train and how he needs to be made an example of. I could feel my fat checks turning into unemployment checks if I was lucky enough to get even that. I felt scared for my job, more than I have ever feared losing any job in my life and I've pulled off some pretty gnarly heists in my time from this job to that, I'd never felt like this.
When we got past the Y and we were sailing at about 30 mph I started to wonder if everything I was worrying about was nothing but made up fears and nobody but that carman knew the score and he was maybe just a little bit like me. At 40 mph nice and smooth, these people came to life around me. They sprung up, stretched, grabbed a banjo, fiddle, trumpet and started to blow. The song was Buba Mara which can be downloaded for free at (http://www.spaz.org/streetorchestra/wherescorey), it put me at ease instantly. I grabbed a Samuel Smith oatmeal stout, peeled the foil back, popped the cap with my lighter and began to catch a case of what I guess is something that everybody catches when they ride their first train, it felt right.
I made mad duckets everyday up in that head end running that damn train and it didn't feel like anything other than cooler than average slavery, but this felt right. I knew all train rides weren't this easy and nice but if that old couch is close enough, drag that son of a bitch up in that box car with you and make it nice. We were making it nice. We still had freezing cold beer in a box inclosed with plastic bags and fresh ice holding strong. We had leftovers to last a couple days, and live music delivered at 40 mph by these folks I just met the day before, standing there under that oak tree. I was in love with this experience and I didn't want it to ever end.
We got rolling into the country and the highway was behind us, the sun had almost set. Barnabus and I sat with our feet hanging out the side of that boxcar with cold beer and smoking cigarettes talking about life in general. We rode into the night northbound through Marysville, up onto the sides of mountains that exposed the fingers of Lake Shasta, it was gorgeous at night and without the stress of the head end, the stress that job constantly delivered. I think the only stress I had since leaving the yard was when we entered the first of a dozen or so small tunnels.
I knew we carried SCBA(self contained breathing apparatus) packs with us over Donner and I knew these tunnels were much shorter and built by the military with far better funding and engineering focused on ventilation but I was still a bit concerned. I asked if we needed to cover our face with cloth, they said it wouldn't hurt but they didn't seem to be worried much about it at all. I covered my face through each one but none of them seemed too bad at all, I think they're just too short. I believe the longest tunnel up there is near O'brian and it's about 3/4 miles long which isn't much. We rode till we got tired and we all separately went to sleep. I woke up around castle crags, I knew the mile posts and I knew we had about 20 or so minutes till Dunsmuir.
I woke everyone up like some fool, they mostly all went back to sleep. We rolled into Dunsmuir and the train information I had printed showed the train would sit in Dunsmuir yard for about 20 hours before heading north again to Portland. Sure enough, we stopped short of the yard and were lined into the yard. The train came to a stop again inside the yard and we all waited silently. I heard the conductor tying down brakes on the top dozen or so cars and the engineer apply a big 20 pound set of air through the cars. It wasn't going anywhere for a long time. We peeked out towards the head end. I saw a Renzenberger van pull up and a crew got inside but no crew got out. I didn't know it at the time but it was engineer Lynn Gale and the conductor unknown.
We slept in that boxcar till the sun came up right there in that yard. When we were all awake and ready for breakfast, we began hopping out of the boxcar. This was my first attempt at it and I don't think anybody including myself was all that impressed. I was sitting on my ass at the edge of the boxcar with my feet dangling out and I figured in one swift motion I could scoot my ass forward and just shoot on out and land on my feet. Instead my overalls snagged the track the door rides in and I was thrust forward with one might rip my overalls had a rectangle missing about 5 inches wide and a foot long right on my ass exposing mah humps for the world to see.
We went into town looking for coffee. We found the river cafe on Dunsmuir Ave. Had coffee, then strolled up that street to Thriftway where we bought some food before heading down to the river. We sat on the riverbank and had breakfast, I felt like a rush so I took all my clothes off and ran into the river. They all played music for a while and eventually they followed, I guess when they determined the water couldn't be that cold considering I was in there a good ten minutes, but it was and I just hung in there cause I felt like I had to get my money's worth so to speak. It was the coldest damn water I had ever been in, up to my neck in it and freezing.
Their train was scheduled to roll out fairly soon so we got a move on back towards the yard office where I planned on walking in as if I was supposed to be there and print off the same information or at least a basic schedule of trains called with the crew on duty times so we'd know when their train was out and mine as well. I walked into that crew room dirty as fuck with my ass hanging out. All the old timers turned and looked. Lynn Thomas was sitting at one of the tables and he was one of the sharpest railroaders I've ever known. He was the kind of guy who knew who was on duty ahead of him and behind him from his terminal and any terminals crews who's trains departing might pass him. He knew the names and he'd call it out before you even got a glimpse through their window “Here comes old Jerry Mintkenbaugh and Judd Strelo on the MEURV” Lynn has since passed away and I'm honored I got a chance to work with him and include him in my story.
Lynn turned to me with this big shit eating grin and said "what are you doing up here Jason?" I said "well I came in last night with Lynn Gale" the thing was, I didn't know who Lynn Gale was and I just remembered the name from engineers board to be called out of Roseville around the time we left on our train. Lynn Thomas turned to who I then learned was Lynn Gale and said "did he come in with you Lynn?" Lynn Gale turned, looked at me and said "No, he didn't" Lynn Thomas looked back at me and I had no cards to play, I had to level with them. I said "Listen guys, I know this sounds nuts but I came in on your train Mr. Gale, last night you brought me here. I was in a boxcar some few dozen cars back with a band of gypsies who played music through the night and it's good luck to have a hobo on your train you know that so cut me some slack would ya!”
They got a big kick out of the story and told me to take my friends some water. I got the train list, their train was the same one which we came in on, it was called on duty to come out of the yard and head to Portland. I guess it just sat those hours because there were no crews rested to take it further north till evening. So I walked them down into the yard and they loaded up on our very same boxcar we rode in on. I walked twenty feet from the train, set my pack down and put my camera on timer and set it on my pack and aimed it at the train and ran up to it and we all took a picture together. I had a cheesy smile and looking the wrong way laughing at something one of them said I guess.
******************To Be Continued Part 3 also found in the stories section******************
I felt some slack action then I heard an unfamiliar sound but I always knew it had to happen and I'd heard the opposite sound so many times before. It was the slack locking up and stretching the cars from the locomotive on back through the train BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG and we were jerked pretty hard and instantly a smooth 3 miles an hour, 4, 5 slowly creeping up in speed we might have been about 8 miles an hour and we crossed a familiar crossing in the yard and I knew it well. I knew that Linda Pitchford was in there barking orders, I knew the yardmaster was in there as well. I could see the image of all the yard surveillance camera monitors in that same room from my memory and I didn't like how it felt one bit.
They were all in that building in that corner, the command center with all those windows and I felt them figuring where they'd have the train stopped, I could feel them talking to the bulls telling them how there's some rogue engineer is on that train and how he needs to be made an example of. I could feel my fat checks turning into unemployment checks if I was lucky enough to get even that. I felt scared for my job, more than I have ever feared losing any job in my life and I've pulled off some pretty gnarly heists in my time from this job to that, I'd never felt like this.
When we got past the Y and we were sailing at about 30 mph I started to wonder if everything I was worrying about was nothing but made up fears and nobody but that carman knew the score and he was maybe just a little bit like me. At 40 mph nice and smooth, these people came to life around me. They sprung up, stretched, grabbed a banjo, fiddle, trumpet and started to blow. The song was Buba Mara which can be downloaded for free at (http://www.spaz.org/streetorchestra/wherescorey), it put me at ease instantly. I grabbed a Samuel Smith oatmeal stout, peeled the foil back, popped the cap with my lighter and began to catch a case of what I guess is something that everybody catches when they ride their first train, it felt right.
I made mad duckets everyday up in that head end running that damn train and it didn't feel like anything other than cooler than average slavery, but this felt right. I knew all train rides weren't this easy and nice but if that old couch is close enough, drag that son of a bitch up in that box car with you and make it nice. We were making it nice. We still had freezing cold beer in a box inclosed with plastic bags and fresh ice holding strong. We had leftovers to last a couple days, and live music delivered at 40 mph by these folks I just met the day before, standing there under that oak tree. I was in love with this experience and I didn't want it to ever end.
We got rolling into the country and the highway was behind us, the sun had almost set. Barnabus and I sat with our feet hanging out the side of that boxcar with cold beer and smoking cigarettes talking about life in general. We rode into the night northbound through Marysville, up onto the sides of mountains that exposed the fingers of Lake Shasta, it was gorgeous at night and without the stress of the head end, the stress that job constantly delivered. I think the only stress I had since leaving the yard was when we entered the first of a dozen or so small tunnels.
I knew we carried SCBA(self contained breathing apparatus) packs with us over Donner and I knew these tunnels were much shorter and built by the military with far better funding and engineering focused on ventilation but I was still a bit concerned. I asked if we needed to cover our face with cloth, they said it wouldn't hurt but they didn't seem to be worried much about it at all. I covered my face through each one but none of them seemed too bad at all, I think they're just too short. I believe the longest tunnel up there is near O'brian and it's about 3/4 miles long which isn't much. We rode till we got tired and we all separately went to sleep. I woke up around castle crags, I knew the mile posts and I knew we had about 20 or so minutes till Dunsmuir.
I woke everyone up like some fool, they mostly all went back to sleep. We rolled into Dunsmuir and the train information I had printed showed the train would sit in Dunsmuir yard for about 20 hours before heading north again to Portland. Sure enough, we stopped short of the yard and were lined into the yard. The train came to a stop again inside the yard and we all waited silently. I heard the conductor tying down brakes on the top dozen or so cars and the engineer apply a big 20 pound set of air through the cars. It wasn't going anywhere for a long time. We peeked out towards the head end. I saw a Renzenberger van pull up and a crew got inside but no crew got out. I didn't know it at the time but it was engineer Lynn Gale and the conductor unknown.
We slept in that boxcar till the sun came up right there in that yard. When we were all awake and ready for breakfast, we began hopping out of the boxcar. This was my first attempt at it and I don't think anybody including myself was all that impressed. I was sitting on my ass at the edge of the boxcar with my feet dangling out and I figured in one swift motion I could scoot my ass forward and just shoot on out and land on my feet. Instead my overalls snagged the track the door rides in and I was thrust forward with one might rip my overalls had a rectangle missing about 5 inches wide and a foot long right on my ass exposing mah humps for the world to see.
We went into town looking for coffee. We found the river cafe on Dunsmuir Ave. Had coffee, then strolled up that street to Thriftway where we bought some food before heading down to the river. We sat on the riverbank and had breakfast, I felt like a rush so I took all my clothes off and ran into the river. They all played music for a while and eventually they followed, I guess when they determined the water couldn't be that cold considering I was in there a good ten minutes, but it was and I just hung in there cause I felt like I had to get my money's worth so to speak. It was the coldest damn water I had ever been in, up to my neck in it and freezing.
Their train was scheduled to roll out fairly soon so we got a move on back towards the yard office where I planned on walking in as if I was supposed to be there and print off the same information or at least a basic schedule of trains called with the crew on duty times so we'd know when their train was out and mine as well. I walked into that crew room dirty as fuck with my ass hanging out. All the old timers turned and looked. Lynn Thomas was sitting at one of the tables and he was one of the sharpest railroaders I've ever known. He was the kind of guy who knew who was on duty ahead of him and behind him from his terminal and any terminals crews who's trains departing might pass him. He knew the names and he'd call it out before you even got a glimpse through their window “Here comes old Jerry Mintkenbaugh and Judd Strelo on the MEURV” Lynn has since passed away and I'm honored I got a chance to work with him and include him in my story.
Lynn turned to me with this big shit eating grin and said "what are you doing up here Jason?" I said "well I came in last night with Lynn Gale" the thing was, I didn't know who Lynn Gale was and I just remembered the name from engineers board to be called out of Roseville around the time we left on our train. Lynn Thomas turned to who I then learned was Lynn Gale and said "did he come in with you Lynn?" Lynn Gale turned, looked at me and said "No, he didn't" Lynn Thomas looked back at me and I had no cards to play, I had to level with them. I said "Listen guys, I know this sounds nuts but I came in on your train Mr. Gale, last night you brought me here. I was in a boxcar some few dozen cars back with a band of gypsies who played music through the night and it's good luck to have a hobo on your train you know that so cut me some slack would ya!”
They got a big kick out of the story and told me to take my friends some water. I got the train list, their train was the same one which we came in on, it was called on duty to come out of the yard and head to Portland. I guess it just sat those hours because there were no crews rested to take it further north till evening. So I walked them down into the yard and they loaded up on our very same boxcar we rode in on. I walked twenty feet from the train, set my pack down and put my camera on timer and set it on my pack and aimed it at the train and ran up to it and we all took a picture together. I had a cheesy smile and looking the wrong way laughing at something one of them said I guess.
******************To Be Continued Part 3 also found in the stories section******************
