Dameon
Well-known member
So this one is from a few years back, but it's one of the more interesting experiences I've had in a yard...
Me and a friend were on the highline to Chicago; we'd gotten off in Minneapolis to hang out for a bit, and were at the CN yard in St. Paul waiting for our ride. Unfortunately, there were a few 40s and a large nugget of weed we'd been randomly given on the way to the yard involved. A train stopped just after we'd finished all the beer and smoked a good bit of the weed, we climbed into the holes of a Canadian grainer, and passed right out.
A bit of further explanation: I was carrying a fiddle that I'd been given.
I wake up to a train that isn't moving, and quickly decide we've just pulled into the yard, and the train's probably just waiting to break up. Then I hear radios, and see the lights of some workers outside. That's fine, no biggie, I'll just wait 'till they go away, we can get out, and go on our merry way and find a train that's actually going somewhere. I wake up my friend quietly, and we wait.
The light plays over the porch of our grainer, and I hear one of the workers say, in a heavy Wisconsin accent:
"Oh hey, is that a bomb do ya think?"
Oh shit, I realize, I've left my fiddle sitting on the porch of the grainer, and that's what this guy is seeing. No more hiding at this point, I realize, so I poke my head out the hole, still partly drunk.
"Hey, sorry, that's not a bomb, it's my fiddle," I say. They take it in stride, and tell us they don't give a fuck, this train's breaking up, blah blah blah. They give us directions out of the yard, we collect our things, and start walking on out. Then, I realize that we've left the weed and our tobacco on the grainer. No way I'm leaving it, so I creep back, figuring the workers will have kept working their way down the train and won't even know I was there.
But they're still right by the car we were on, and I listen to them talking to the bull over their radio, telling him exactly where they told us to go. Bastards. Once they're done selling us out, they move on, and I sneak onto the grainer and recover the weed. Went back, and me and my friend hid between some bushes and a canal for a while. Sure enough, the bull drove up and down the road, searching for us. We even listened to him talking to the workers, angry that they'd said we were going one way and we weren't there. He spotlighted the very bush we were behind several times. We went to sleep.
After a few hours, while it was still dark, we got up and snuck on out of the yard, caught a train from a spot on the other side of the yard, and were quickly in Chicago.
And that is how the weed saved the day; if I hadn't gone back for it, we would've blindly went the way the workers sent us until the bull pulled up and arrested us.
Me and a friend were on the highline to Chicago; we'd gotten off in Minneapolis to hang out for a bit, and were at the CN yard in St. Paul waiting for our ride. Unfortunately, there were a few 40s and a large nugget of weed we'd been randomly given on the way to the yard involved. A train stopped just after we'd finished all the beer and smoked a good bit of the weed, we climbed into the holes of a Canadian grainer, and passed right out.
A bit of further explanation: I was carrying a fiddle that I'd been given.
I wake up to a train that isn't moving, and quickly decide we've just pulled into the yard, and the train's probably just waiting to break up. Then I hear radios, and see the lights of some workers outside. That's fine, no biggie, I'll just wait 'till they go away, we can get out, and go on our merry way and find a train that's actually going somewhere. I wake up my friend quietly, and we wait.
The light plays over the porch of our grainer, and I hear one of the workers say, in a heavy Wisconsin accent:
"Oh hey, is that a bomb do ya think?"
Oh shit, I realize, I've left my fiddle sitting on the porch of the grainer, and that's what this guy is seeing. No more hiding at this point, I realize, so I poke my head out the hole, still partly drunk.
"Hey, sorry, that's not a bomb, it's my fiddle," I say. They take it in stride, and tell us they don't give a fuck, this train's breaking up, blah blah blah. They give us directions out of the yard, we collect our things, and start walking on out. Then, I realize that we've left the weed and our tobacco on the grainer. No way I'm leaving it, so I creep back, figuring the workers will have kept working their way down the train and won't even know I was there.
But they're still right by the car we were on, and I listen to them talking to the bull over their radio, telling him exactly where they told us to go. Bastards. Once they're done selling us out, they move on, and I sneak onto the grainer and recover the weed. Went back, and me and my friend hid between some bushes and a canal for a while. Sure enough, the bull drove up and down the road, searching for us. We even listened to him talking to the workers, angry that they'd said we were going one way and we weren't there. He spotlighted the very bush we were behind several times. We went to sleep.
After a few hours, while it was still dark, we got up and snuck on out of the yard, caught a train from a spot on the other side of the yard, and were quickly in Chicago.
And that is how the weed saved the day; if I hadn't gone back for it, we would've blindly went the way the workers sent us until the bull pulled up and arrested us.
