I haven't ridden a train since last June (2009), when I went with NickCofphee, Tad, and JoeGerminate up to Portland. When I returned to Southern California, I got a job and settled into some kind of normal life, and promptly found myself yearning to ride trains again. So, this weekend, I got four days off (they like to keep me from full-time; less benefits!) and, with the acquisition of some new gear, I decided to go on a quick trip up to Roseville. My plan was to get to Roseville, head out to Sacramento, check out the railroad museum, then come back on Amtrak in time for work.
Well, none of that worked out at all.
It was Monday night and my friend John had told me he'd drive me to Colton. After landing on unemployment, he had nothing better to do. He picked me up around 7:30, with his friend Holly in the passenger seat. After a quick detour (pot; I don't smoke, but they are connoisseurs, if you will), it was off to Colton.
A certain nervousness or anxiousness was bouncing around inside of me. It had been with me all day, and confused me, more than anything else. Perhaps it was the aspect of riding alone for the first time, even though I had done the same journey last year. Or perhaps it was the feeling of having multiple people inside of me at the same, the "leave it all behind and travel all over" person, the "get a good job, a nice place to live" person, the "I'm too lazy to do anything today" person...but then the hypothetical world collapsed and I was crossing the railroad bridge by Pepper St in Colton.
The air was cool and haze filled the air as if I were inside of a memory. The spot I remember from last June was now well-lit, and the light seemed to transform it into a completely different place. I crept through shadows around the light and spent the next hour walking around, trying to find the best place to wait for my midnight train. The spot I settled on wasn't well covered, though, so I went back to a tree to wait.
As I sat down and took a sip from my water bottle, coldness began to sink in. Then, while watching a double stack glide by, I noticed something move on the railroad bridge. A few moments passed, then it moved again. It was a person, likely another rider, I thought to myself. I stood up to get another view when I saw a flashlight flicker on and scan the area. Shit, I thought to myself, crouching back down in the mass of tree branches. Maybe I had been seen? For probably half an hour, I watched the silhouette appear, then reappear. As no advances had been made, I began to feel less apprehensive. Maybe it was just a tagger?
I got my gear and walked up the embankment to the top of the tracks, concealed by another tree. As another doublestack passed by, I suddenly saw the dark figure walking out from the bridge. He walked right down the tracks, through the lights, and down to the base of the hill that NBD's climb. After a few moments of observation, I decided to meet up with him.
He was drunk, belligerently drunk. In his drunkenness, he called out to me: "you alright, bro. I like you train rider kids." Fuck, I thought. A drunk.
"Are you catching out right here?" I asked, taking a few steps closer. He was big, probably six feet tall. He introduced himself as Rick, I think. Boxcar Rick. (anyone ever seen this guy?)
"Yeah, man. Where ya headed?" This was the start of a series of mind-numbing questions and statements that made me feel drunk, even though I hadn't had anything to drink in more that twelve hours.
"Where ya headed?"
"North. To Roseville."
"I'm goin' north, too, man. I'm goin' to Oregon. You should ride with me, man, I'm a cool guy."
"Yeah, definitely."
"I don't like those kids that just get drunk all the time. Fuckiiiiin, I just like to chill with cool people, you know what I mean? You seem like a cool guy. Where you tryin' to get to?"
"North. To Roseville."
"Wherever you're tryin' to go man, just let me know. I've been riding for 14 years, I know everything you need to know about this place. You wanna go north? Take this track right here. You wanna go east? Take that track over there. You wanna go..."
"Awesome."
"You met a good motherfucker, man. I've been doing this shit since I was 14 years old, and I'm 32 now. I used to travel with a dog. This is what it's all about, man."
"Cool."
"Where you from, man?"
"This area."
"I got family in this area. I could call my sister right now and sleep in a fuckin' bed! But fuck that, this is what it's all about, just bein' out here with the trains, fuckin' train riding, man. Let me show you my tattoo."
"That's okay."
*shows tattoo of dog in boxcar doorway*
"Where you tryin' to go, man? You wanna ride with me? I'm a good road dog, bro."
This went on for about an hour. He took pictures, played his harmonica, smoked and walked around in plain view of everyone and everything. This is going to be bad, I thought, we're going to get caught.
Around 12:30, I saw the headlights of UP 5375 pull out from the departure yard.
"This is our train, man," I said to my drunken friend. He was smoking a cigarette and talking about panhandling in Oregon. When the units came by, he stood up, which was a miracle in itself, and walked to the ballast.
A few moments passed and he pointed to a grainer. He went for it, but failed, as he was unable to run in any kind of straight line. I thought he was going to kill himself.
"It's going too fast," he said. Thank God, I thought. I didn't want to see him throw it all away.
As he stepped back, a trio of gondolas rolled by and, determined not to have to wait any longer in Colton, I went for the middle one. In a matter of seconds, I was up the ladder and sitting in a pile of scrap metal. I looked back for Rick, but he was gone. I can only hope that some sense managed its way through the inebriation and he waited for the next train.
Once on the train, I realized I had to get out of the gondola. The one in front of me carried long tubes and had large flat spaces on the front and back of them, so I switched over to that one and unrolled my sleeping bag. My feet were frozen after stepping in a puddle in Colton, so I threw some handwarmers in my bag and tried to get warm as I rolled through the Cajon Pass.
It had been three hours since I got on and we were going fast. Dust and icy air was dancing all over my body and I decided that at the first siding, I'd run back to something more accommodating.
It's the logic that's damned me from birth, that voice inside of my head that says, "you can do better than this, ConnerR, trust me." It's happened with jobs, girlfriends, and lovers, never working out for the best in the end. And it was about to happen to me again.
We weren't at a siding, but at a crossing. The horn that I heard wasn't an oncoming train, but a crossing one, and it wasn't freight, but Metrolink. I had found an open boxcar and climbed in, but both doors were open. Wanting to have as little draft as possible, I got out and looked for a different ride, assuming I'd still have plenty of time because the supposed oncoming train hadn't come yet. That's when that malign hiss of air shot out and the train lurched forward. I was in the middle of nothing rideable: empty lumber racks, closed boxcars, flat cars. I spotted what looked like another gondola, but my heart sank when a flat car with axles on it rolled by.
The train sped off, and a Dash-9 DPU waved goodbye as it disappeared into the darkness. I walked down the tracks until I hit a street that led to a cluster of lights. A CVS was open, so I went in and asked an old woman where I was and she told me: Palmdale. Palmdale? I had only gotten to Palmdale? The anxiousness and nervousness from earlier had been synthesized into the cheap analog known as disappointment.
After much deliberation over what to do, I decided that I would go back home. I wouldn't have had the time to get up to Roseville and back in time for work, unless I wanted to just get off the northbound and jump on the southbound. With rain in the forecast, I told myself that I'd put it off for a better day.
As I walked to a row of cheap motels, I noticed something interest. Three different shadows stemmed from my feet, and the one in front was wearing a pack, trudging on in lock step with myself. But there wasn't disappointment in my shadow, something that made me feel hopeful.
"There's always next time," I said with a smile.
----------------------------------
It's probably a lame story for most of you, but a great learning experience for me on a number of different levels. In a few weeks it should be a lot nicer and I plan on ACTUALLY getting to Roseville. >:3
Well, none of that worked out at all.
It was Monday night and my friend John had told me he'd drive me to Colton. After landing on unemployment, he had nothing better to do. He picked me up around 7:30, with his friend Holly in the passenger seat. After a quick detour (pot; I don't smoke, but they are connoisseurs, if you will), it was off to Colton.
A certain nervousness or anxiousness was bouncing around inside of me. It had been with me all day, and confused me, more than anything else. Perhaps it was the aspect of riding alone for the first time, even though I had done the same journey last year. Or perhaps it was the feeling of having multiple people inside of me at the same, the "leave it all behind and travel all over" person, the "get a good job, a nice place to live" person, the "I'm too lazy to do anything today" person...but then the hypothetical world collapsed and I was crossing the railroad bridge by Pepper St in Colton.
The air was cool and haze filled the air as if I were inside of a memory. The spot I remember from last June was now well-lit, and the light seemed to transform it into a completely different place. I crept through shadows around the light and spent the next hour walking around, trying to find the best place to wait for my midnight train. The spot I settled on wasn't well covered, though, so I went back to a tree to wait.
As I sat down and took a sip from my water bottle, coldness began to sink in. Then, while watching a double stack glide by, I noticed something move on the railroad bridge. A few moments passed, then it moved again. It was a person, likely another rider, I thought to myself. I stood up to get another view when I saw a flashlight flicker on and scan the area. Shit, I thought to myself, crouching back down in the mass of tree branches. Maybe I had been seen? For probably half an hour, I watched the silhouette appear, then reappear. As no advances had been made, I began to feel less apprehensive. Maybe it was just a tagger?
I got my gear and walked up the embankment to the top of the tracks, concealed by another tree. As another doublestack passed by, I suddenly saw the dark figure walking out from the bridge. He walked right down the tracks, through the lights, and down to the base of the hill that NBD's climb. After a few moments of observation, I decided to meet up with him.
He was drunk, belligerently drunk. In his drunkenness, he called out to me: "you alright, bro. I like you train rider kids." Fuck, I thought. A drunk.
"Are you catching out right here?" I asked, taking a few steps closer. He was big, probably six feet tall. He introduced himself as Rick, I think. Boxcar Rick. (anyone ever seen this guy?)
"Yeah, man. Where ya headed?" This was the start of a series of mind-numbing questions and statements that made me feel drunk, even though I hadn't had anything to drink in more that twelve hours.
"Where ya headed?"
"North. To Roseville."
"I'm goin' north, too, man. I'm goin' to Oregon. You should ride with me, man, I'm a cool guy."
"Yeah, definitely."
"I don't like those kids that just get drunk all the time. Fuckiiiiin, I just like to chill with cool people, you know what I mean? You seem like a cool guy. Where you tryin' to get to?"
"North. To Roseville."
"Wherever you're tryin' to go man, just let me know. I've been riding for 14 years, I know everything you need to know about this place. You wanna go north? Take this track right here. You wanna go east? Take that track over there. You wanna go..."
"Awesome."
"You met a good motherfucker, man. I've been doing this shit since I was 14 years old, and I'm 32 now. I used to travel with a dog. This is what it's all about, man."
"Cool."
"Where you from, man?"
"This area."
"I got family in this area. I could call my sister right now and sleep in a fuckin' bed! But fuck that, this is what it's all about, just bein' out here with the trains, fuckin' train riding, man. Let me show you my tattoo."
"That's okay."
*shows tattoo of dog in boxcar doorway*
"Where you tryin' to go, man? You wanna ride with me? I'm a good road dog, bro."
This went on for about an hour. He took pictures, played his harmonica, smoked and walked around in plain view of everyone and everything. This is going to be bad, I thought, we're going to get caught.
Around 12:30, I saw the headlights of UP 5375 pull out from the departure yard.
"This is our train, man," I said to my drunken friend. He was smoking a cigarette and talking about panhandling in Oregon. When the units came by, he stood up, which was a miracle in itself, and walked to the ballast.
A few moments passed and he pointed to a grainer. He went for it, but failed, as he was unable to run in any kind of straight line. I thought he was going to kill himself.
"It's going too fast," he said. Thank God, I thought. I didn't want to see him throw it all away.
As he stepped back, a trio of gondolas rolled by and, determined not to have to wait any longer in Colton, I went for the middle one. In a matter of seconds, I was up the ladder and sitting in a pile of scrap metal. I looked back for Rick, but he was gone. I can only hope that some sense managed its way through the inebriation and he waited for the next train.
Once on the train, I realized I had to get out of the gondola. The one in front of me carried long tubes and had large flat spaces on the front and back of them, so I switched over to that one and unrolled my sleeping bag. My feet were frozen after stepping in a puddle in Colton, so I threw some handwarmers in my bag and tried to get warm as I rolled through the Cajon Pass.
It had been three hours since I got on and we were going fast. Dust and icy air was dancing all over my body and I decided that at the first siding, I'd run back to something more accommodating.
It's the logic that's damned me from birth, that voice inside of my head that says, "you can do better than this, ConnerR, trust me." It's happened with jobs, girlfriends, and lovers, never working out for the best in the end. And it was about to happen to me again.
We weren't at a siding, but at a crossing. The horn that I heard wasn't an oncoming train, but a crossing one, and it wasn't freight, but Metrolink. I had found an open boxcar and climbed in, but both doors were open. Wanting to have as little draft as possible, I got out and looked for a different ride, assuming I'd still have plenty of time because the supposed oncoming train hadn't come yet. That's when that malign hiss of air shot out and the train lurched forward. I was in the middle of nothing rideable: empty lumber racks, closed boxcars, flat cars. I spotted what looked like another gondola, but my heart sank when a flat car with axles on it rolled by.
The train sped off, and a Dash-9 DPU waved goodbye as it disappeared into the darkness. I walked down the tracks until I hit a street that led to a cluster of lights. A CVS was open, so I went in and asked an old woman where I was and she told me: Palmdale. Palmdale? I had only gotten to Palmdale? The anxiousness and nervousness from earlier had been synthesized into the cheap analog known as disappointment.
After much deliberation over what to do, I decided that I would go back home. I wouldn't have had the time to get up to Roseville and back in time for work, unless I wanted to just get off the northbound and jump on the southbound. With rain in the forecast, I told myself that I'd put it off for a better day.
As I walked to a row of cheap motels, I noticed something interest. Three different shadows stemmed from my feet, and the one in front was wearing a pack, trudging on in lock step with myself. But there wasn't disappointment in my shadow, something that made me feel hopeful.
"There's always next time," I said with a smile.
----------------------------------
It's probably a lame story for most of you, but a great learning experience for me on a number of different levels. In a few weeks it should be a lot nicer and I plan on ACTUALLY getting to Roseville. >:3
