============================================================================================ So this is how it went… I had worked this zip-line gig out in Royal Gorge, Colorado during the summer of 2011 and needed to head back out there after enjoying a sweet California winter. I had been planning to return to CO hobo-style via freight trains because I usually take a summer freight trip, but this new summer job situation had deterred me in 2011. So I looked forward to riding in the spring. I got my good buddy Quinn hooked up with the company and we decided to leave Santa Cruz around March 1st, headed toward Colorado. Day 0 Thursday March 30th, 2012 I cleaned up the tree house and put anything of value in the shed. I laid out a tarp and frantically threw things on it that needed to go with me on the trip, or needed to be shipped to Colorado. The pile amassed. Time ticked away. My ride was coming soon. I packed and tapped the boxes to go to Colorado, quite a stack, though all necessities. Of leisure! I packed my backpack, put it on, dumped it out and repacked it. Things flew around and finally the time arose for the bag to be slung and the packages dragged out of the bowels of the property where I was staying. Qz and I got to San Francisco via a ride from a family friend, and my ex-girlfriend accompanied us for the evening. We hung out at a San Diego transplant house up in the Excelsior district that was having their moving out party! Twas a textbook hyphy city house party, but with fewer fights, yet eventually I found sleep after late night tacos and beer, solo. Day 1 Friday the 31st Woke up to some torrential downpour, monsoon style rain beating on the magical Franciscan city. Walked a few blocks under a handy dandy umbrella, procured from where I slept, to the party house to grab the boxes to ship with my buddy Justin, who was driving out to Colorado for the zip job as well. I couldn't fandangle a ride down to where he lived in the South Bay so we got a ride to the Bayshore Caltrain from my buddy Boom. Quinn and I sat under the stairs of the bridge over the tracks trying to keep the boxes dry and playing guitar whilst waiting for the train. He had his steel guitar so even though the weather was shitty the music was sweet. We got our crap to his house via car/train/taxi/and skateboards; well actually we were headed in the wrong direction on the skateboards, but with that done it was time to head to Oakland and start looking for trains out of the bay. We rode Caltrain to Milbrae and transferred to BART. Then we took that all the way to West Oakland and got off because we needed to grab groceries and figure out if we wanted to get to the south or north side of the yard. We chose to head north to hopefully catch the Roseville local that I have caught on the fly a few times in the past and if that didn’t work then we would stake out some late night double stack IM trains leaving out of the south side of the yard in the early morning. We got to an overpass going over the tracks and chilled under it and called our buddy Danny who lived down the street. As we were on the phone with Danny the local slithered through a bit too fast and far over on the tracks for us to have a chance at it. To lift the spirits shortly after, Qz mooned the Amtrak. Danny happened to be riding his bike home from work so he detoured and met up with us on this stormy yard-side frontage road. We walked to the artist co-op where he lived and ate some food and stacked up on some trip food thanks to the co-op free baskets. He was able to borrow his housemate’s truck to take us to the grocery store to get a proper stash of food, water, and alcohol. Among other things we picked up bread, cheese, salami, and a bag of wine, the Qz classic. With our rations set we headed back to the co-op to pack our bags and head out to the south side of the yard to work on catching an eastbound IM (intermodule) out of the yard headed east to Stockton and beyond through Nevada. It was a long brisk walk from the co-op to the Adeline Bridge that leads into the desert yard in Oakland. We settled in at the obvious jungle on the west side of the tracks and ate some dinner sandwiches and drank some beers. The night dragged on with nothing looking like our ride, and then the wind picked up. At one point, the wind picked up this piece of plywood that we were using as a windshield and almost decapitated me. After that brush with death, we got in our sleeping bags sometime around 2am. At some point I got up and grabbed this ratty comforter that I had been eyeing as the wind cut right through my 30-year old goose down bag and had a pretty good warm sleep once I wrapped it around my bag. Day 2 Sunday April 1st We awoke to a cold but less windy morning around 6:45am. We trudged our asses back outta that damn yard and decided to take the bus up to the north end of the yard to look for trains and eventually at least catch the Roseville local in the evening. So, after going back and fourth between bus stops and confiding in the knowledge of some local crack heads we found our bus stop and hopped a bus to the north end, for a small fee of course. We got dropped at Target and Qz went in for some glasses, bungees, water and breakfast. We then cruised over along the tracks where there used to be an incredible cement skate park under the highway. Now it was just a barren trashzone with a one-man bum camp. We set up to watch trains a ways down from the camp. Our neighbor woke up shortly after, peed on a pile of his stuff and hopped on his mountain bike and headed out to do his daily errands. Qz decided after an hour or so to head back the 1/4 mile to the store to grab some beers. I held down the fort and passed the time by making a Jenga stack out of some wood blocks. Qz came back and we sat around drinking some Ruthless Rye by Sierra Nevada and watched a train do some work, and some skamtracks go by. This train that was doing work was looking hopeful and at one point later on some older tramps popped out of the yard and slowly hobbled in front of the units across the tracks to the road. I hoped that they would know something about anything, or at least something about that train they so boldly walked in front of. Unfortunately, the one I attempted to talk to was pretty close to non-verbal and thus there was no real communication, just the acknowledgment of each other’s presence. So, within an hour Qz and I decided that the train that was doing work was heading north sometime in the near future and that we might as well get our butts on it and hang out in case it wanted to go soon. It had 2 engines on front, a handful of loaded containers behind it and a long string of empty ones trailing those, I’d never really seen a train built quite like that. We proceeded to walk back south a bit and found a tight hole though the first fence, then as stealthily as possible in the daylight hours we darted through yet another fence hole and into the yard a ways back from the engines and found a nice double stack porch to bunker down in. We continued to play the waiting game, morning turned into afternoon and beer turned into bag-o-wine. Qz acquired the nickname spilliox by spilling a beer every 15 minutes and I took a nap only to wake up with a sore throat, I was pretty bummed about that as having a cold on a train trip let alone a late winter trip can be shitty and dangerous. Nevertheless, when you’re on the road all you can do is say what--ever and try to stay healthy and drink lotsa fluids. So, as evening came we chanced upon a gaggle of tramps tromping towards the train. A few kids and a dog took a few buckets behind us, and a trollish looking fellow and his pooch took the bucket directly in front of us. All this action gave me great hopes that all the waiting was going to pay off very soon! I tried to suppress my sheer excitement to shake this guy down for as much info on this train and our route as I could, but right off the bat, he says, "I know this train very well, my friend builds this train," at which point he proceeded to puke out an entire Steel Reserve and a Taco Bell meal. Once he emptied his stomach he continued to tell us that we are sitting on the Sunday special and that it is a fast train that will go all the way to Seattle in around 36 hours and should leave the yard around 7pm. Well, hot damn, options were swirling around in our minds. Our original plan was to ride to Roseville and catch an eastbound out of there through Nevada. But with this fun new option we decided pretty quick that we might as well ride this steel horse long and hard and head east out of Portland since Qz had done that section in the opposite direction once before. The kid’s name was Tommy and his dog was Chessica. And after that first ralph sesh I dubbed him Taco Bell Tommy. As 7pm passed into 8 even Tommy was starting to get a bit antsy and started trying to call his rail-worker buddy to see what time the train was to be called to roll, and by 9pm the wheels started rolling. Qz and I sat on that damn train for about 9 hours and damn it felt good to get going to hear those brakes air up and feel that first "lurch!' We stayed pretty low out of the bay and enjoyed some views as we whipped through Martinez and beyond. We got in our bags and slept right through Roseville! Day 3 Monday the 2nd Qz and I both start waking up around 6:45 to the always-incredible scenery of Dunsmuir, California! Taco Bell Tommy was getting his stuff together as he and Chessica Rabbit were going to hop off in the Dunsmuir yard and take a bus to the famed Black Butte train center where he was planning on chilling in a boxcar turned theatre, watch train movies and try to get himself into a healthier state. As he jumped off I helped hand down Chessica and off they went. He said his bus would beat us there and we would see him waving, but we never saw him. The train didn't stay in Dunsmuir for more than 3 minutes or so until it charged up and chugged out, what a way to start a day. Qz and I hopped in the now vacant adjacent well and over some clam chowder with crackers for breakfast we enjoyed watching the icy Sacramento River run along the tracks, while families of deer nibbled along our route, here and there. At a siding I saw the kids a few cars back get off and stretch and pee. Qz and I shared a pair of headphones for a while and ate some French bread and special green butter gifted to us by Danny back in Oakland. We whipped up some salami and gouda sandwiches for lunch, happily headed NBD. I had done this stretch 3 times and really enjoy the wildness of the route the tracks take from Dunsmuir to Klamath Falls, Oregon. It is really moving every time I pass the towering giant Mt. Shasta to the right as I make tracks through the heart of California. The lava fields also really make for some incredible scenery, but alas April Fools Day decided to surprise my travel companion and I a day late when the train sided in the small town of Chemalt, OR I began deciphering the words of a worker kicking the kids out of the bucket on the backside of our container. I got Qz alert and we held our breath and hoped that finding the others would satisfy them. But alas there was a worker peering over within moments shouting that we better get off and get out of there fast because the cops were on the way! So we scrambled around that damn box grabbing all sorts of things and stuffing them in our bags and later found that Qz's instinct was to grab the bag of wine and leave the full water jug behind. Funny guy. So we got our stuff to a spot about 500 yards from the siding next to a post office. For some reason we just really weren't too concerned about the cops showing up and they indeed never did show. The other kids ran across the street and were never seen again, damn junky punks; hope they made it somewhere nice. I had wanted to find a post office ASAP, as my bag was about 10lbs too heavy when I had it fully loaded, and running after trains with a 50-pound bag is retarded. Sooo, i grabbed a flat-rate box and filled it with everything I could, from the propane stove to the Leatherman. I even ripped open my REI ground chair and pulled out the steel support bars in there. If I wanted to be capable of catching freights on the fly I needed to have a manageable bag I could really move with. I was just using an army tube bag and was cursing not using a bag with good hip and chest straps, but I would later modify the bag and add hip straps in Washington. So we walked around and bought some more water and threw some hot water in this Souper Meal we got at that co-op in Oakland and chilled out and tried to figure out what the fuck to do now. There was a skamtrack rolling through in the morning, but neither of us was really trying to be on that train unless there were no other options. So we decided to thumb for rides until sunset and then bunker down by the tracks for the night to catch a freight going north. The market worker said he had seen people try hitch hiking to no avail for days on end on that highway, still we decided we better give it a try anyways. I was beginning to really feel sick with the body aches and throat ache and we took turns thumbing as the cars rolled by. I got a small delirious nap as Qz held down the thumb work. Then, the sun set and the temp dropped, layers were once again donned and as we slung the packs and began walking towards the tracks we heard something coming from the south. It was a damn BNSF grainer train chugging north on the opposite side of the UP tracks we had gotten kicked off of earlier. We didn’t even need to confer on what to do; we both started the ¼ mile at a dash. As we got to the last little uphill to get to the ballast train lane we hit this damn 3 to 4-foot deep snow bank and it completely took us both out. We sloppily trudged through it and Qz accidently dropped a water jug. We got to the ballast and the train was speeding up so I asked Qz what he thought and he simply continued running alongside the, lets say 9mph train, grabbed the front ladder of a grainer and pulled up. I got my stride right and snagged the rear ladder of the same grainer and we pulled into our porches, both stoked to be riding the steel once again and not staying in Chemalt an instant longer. Next, I looked at the maps and realized that the BNSF line that we had just hopped on splits northeast at Chemalt and that we were headed for Bend, OR, not Eugene, not Portland. Then Qz popped down from crossing over the top of the car and settled in on my porch deciding that if we were to get spotted it would be better to be together. Then after looking over the maps and so forth we saw that we were heading to Oregon Junction and needed to get off the train before it crossed the Columbia River into Washington if we still wanted to ride our Union Pacific overland tracks. Day 4 Tuesday the 3rd Qz woke me up as we began crossing a bridge at some dark morning hour. Turned out it was crossing the Columbia River. It rolled into Windham, Washington a mile or so east of the bridge and stopped in the yard, the brakes let out all their pressure and soon after we saw our units chug by us back west, shiiiiit. So we decided to stay in the sleeping bags for a few hours and hopefully wait out this layover in this random little Washington yard. The sun rose and we munched some bread and sat in the train for 6 hours. We watched the UP line stay busy with trains chuggin' along across the river and devised schemes to get across and on the UP line. Around noon our train acquired some front units again and we aired up and the magic dragon headed east on the north side of the Columbia through some incredible river valley scenery. The rock formations of that gorge were incredible, and I even spotted a ritual ground that looked akin to a smaller Stonehenge. We had one chance to jump off the train and cross a bridge to the south side of the river as our train slowed for a crossing, but we let it pass. About 45 minutes later we pulled into Pasco, Washington, where April Fools would continue to plague us, and the Pasco Fiasco would ensue. We jumped off our train and scrambled up to what appeared to be the departure yard.We hung out on some cold cars for a while hoping for positive movement to no avail. Next we hopped into a gondola on a train that we thought was beginning to roll forward, but it then stopped and sat there and so did we. Then a truck drove up and an eye peaked through the one random hole on the side of this stupid trash dumpster on wheels and the train master of the yard popped over the top and politely kicked us out of the yard. So, we hung out in this weird gutted out shipping container by the side of the yard for a bit considering our options and watching the trains. The wind was pretty vicious and the temp was dropping as the day was ending. We decided to walk to civilization for food and beer. We walked as the sun went down and the temp dropped into the 40s. We had geared up heavy, and halfway there stopped and stripped some layers because hiking with packs had generated some serious body heat. About 3/4s of the way to civilization we saw an owl stalk and kill a field mouse. It hovered over the thing flapping its wings for quite a bit before it made the kill. We finally got to a Subway and a gas station. We had to duck under some barbed wire fences and throw the packs in order to safely cross the highway between those 12-inch sandwiches and us. We hit Subway as they were closing but the girl was gracious enough to whip us up some stocked up subs and I got some broccoli chowder to boot. With grindage in hand we headed to the beer store in the form of a gas station next. I believe I convinced Qz to buy some Roadhouse Tea (malt bev) and some tall-can beers. We bought water and some candy bars as well for the unknown train ventures of the following day and with our packs extra heavy and loaded we slugged them back on our backs and headed back out into the inky deliciousness of the April night. We read in our book of secrets that there was a "catch out bridge" at the southwest end of the yard we could sleep under and watch trains. So we decided to head there. At this point it was still up in the air which direction we would actually go. We could either try to keep going north east on the BNSF highline or we could backtrack to somewhere where we could switch to UP and catch Qz's previously traveled route we had been longing for along the south side of the Columbia. We set up under the bridge on some cement bridge anchor ledges and ate some sandwiches and drank some Roadhouse Teas. Qz was very tired and mentally and physically fatigued and went to sleep before midnight and I enjoyed my surrounding and climbed about the bridge and trains below until around 2am while a steady drizzle fell on the earth all around our dry lodging. Finally, I found my sleeping bag, some slumber and peace. A few trains left that night but we were much more interested in rest. Day 5 Wednesday April 4th: Pasco fiasco continued (Big Nasty Stupid Freight Yard) We woke up to a grain train leaving the yard going west with some enticing porches around 7am. We lagged a bit packing up our sleep spots and watched the train pick up speed and leave town. Moments after the train left we had our bags about packed when a white Ford Explorer pulled up below and as we stood still and silent up in the shadows a ways up the hill we hear a, "Hey, you two! Come down here now!” We looked at each other and telepathically communicated that it probably wasn't worth the risk of running especially since we had such large packs and knew that neither of us should come up with any warrants and that maybe he would just be a nice piggy and let us go with a warning. So we packed up the last bit of our knickknacks and sauntered on down the sketchy, steep embankment to greet this BNSF yard pig. He was a calm enough fellow so he had that going for him. He asked our story and looked impressed when we told him we had started in CA and were headed to CO for work. He took our IDs and checked for warrants and then came back and whipped out 2 trespassing tickets. Damn so much for the nice cop. We said our goodbyes to our new shitty friend and inquired about a Greyhound station or passenger train depot. We got decent directions and started hoofing it towards the old Pasco Dog House. A few miles later we set our bags down in the station and took turns cleaning up a bit in the bathroom. It was around 9am or so by now but the damn Greyhound side of the station wasn't even opening till noon! So we sat and wrote and planned and went over maps and repacked our bags a bit better to pass some time. Then I do believe Qz went out and snagged us some sweet breakfast burritos. Meanwhile, I sewed some waist straps on my military tube sack bag. Finally the Greyhound window opened. We walked up to the cutest girl in Pasco to start looking at options. After some deliberating over atlases and jockeying around bus prices we decided we would work on rerouting ourselves to the UP overland route and bought two 17$ tickets to Stanfield, Oregon because if our calculations were correct that was the closest town to the Hinkle Yard, a yard that would have a lot of eastbound trains stopping, slowing, or being built at. From Hinkle we hoped to travel across Idaho to the city of Pocatello. So we sat around and chatted with people while buses came and went. One man needed help charging a phone and another lady told us about her battle with drugs and how cool she thought our trip was. I would occasionally see a freight train out the back windows and I would curse BNSF. Finally it came time to board our bus and it was one shitty hour hound ride to a gas station travel plaza off the highway a little hoof outside of Stanfield. We had our eyes glued to all things train on the bus ride and had a pretty good idea where the yard was when we stepped out of the stomach of the beast. We entered the travel plaza and got some sort of subway samiches and filled up our water and got some good stares from the automobile travelers. I found some packets of emergen-C since I was still fighting off the cold that kicked my ass so hard in Chemult, OR. With a few more snacks bought we slugged up our water-heavy packs and started walking towards Stanfield. We walked along the main road for a ways, but after a rail yard vehicle did the gas brake dip on us we decided to try walking the rest of the way in on side streets. We finally made it across town and popped off a neighborhood dead end out into some rolling hills with a canal running through them. We followed the canal west and eventually saw where the yard bottlenecks into the eastbound tracks, right where we want to be! We sat in the trees and watched a double-stack priority train or two pick up speed in the yard and book it out and through town. We decided that we would have to head a bit further into the yard when it got a bit darker and that we should find a good ride that would keep us out of the elements since the route through Idaho would go through high snowy country. We stashed our packs under some dried grass at the tree lookout and sauntered into town to grab some beer and the last snacks before we caught out. We walked under the Stanfield Water Tower and decided we rather liked this quaint little town. We were directed to the local market where we grabbed some beer and headed back to the east end of Hinkle Yard as the sun set. I realize that I was exactly where I wanted to be, in a random town with a good travel companion, on the move. We sat at the tree till the sun set and then ventured closer to the yard to get in a good position for a slow or stopped train going east. We sat around in the dirt along the tracks and drank beer for a while. Around 10pm a grain train rolled through and we grabbed our packs and ran along it looking for nice porches. As the train sped up Q asks, "What do you think?" as he grabbed a ladder and hoisted up. I pounded it out on the loose gravel as the train sped up past 10 miles an hour and all I could get out is, "you little bastard!" as I slowed down my run and watched the grain train roll into the darkness. I had a mix of emotions but was glad that Q hadn’t jumped back off as he probably would have hurt himself at that speed. I was very bewildered to see that the train didn’t have any rear units on it. So that was the last I saw of old Qz on the trip. I settled back into a spot along the tracks and did a little drinkin’ and a little snoozin’ only to wake up to a stack train rolling by too fast. Frustrated, I started walking deeper into the yard until I posted up near some ranch driveway road across from the departure tracks. I settled in there and tried to relax and let the time pass. I watched a train being built go back and fourth as they added cars and began to anticipate getting on that junk train when it was ready to head out. Around 11pm that junker train started rolling east and I made a dash across the mainline and a bunch of departure tracks to the rolling giant and the game was on. As I ran along it I saw at least two different trucks that most likely saw me and began heading towards me. I frantically ran along side some oil cars and decided I needed to get out of sight and on this train if I wanted to avoid confrontation with these white vehicles speeding in my direction. Once on the oil porch I played a dangerous game of hide and seek as trucks sped along either side looking at cars, trying to find me. Oil porches are not a safe place to run around or hang out on particularly with a heavy pack and I do not recommend it. Yet, I somehow got really lucky and the trucks stayed in the yard and the train rolled out!!!!!!!!!!! But, I was stuck on this sketchy oil porch and had to hold on at all times always anticipating car slack shock where the cars all slam against each other when the conductor brakes or speeds up. I kept my pack on my back and tried to imitate an amorphous blob when going through crossings and town streets. An hour passed and I recall passing a prison in Pendleton and looking at the guards patrolling the outside and feeling a deep sadness for the boys inside and a great gratitude for the freedoms in life I am able to enjoy. As the next hour started I looked up to see the full moon gazing down upon me and decided to sing songs to it to stay awake and alert. In addition, I worked out a good system of switching hand placements to not fatigue my muscles too much, a tactic I learned in long distance cycling. As we gained elevation and entered open country I belted out my song "a la la luna, la luz de mundial!" at the top of my lungs and felt more alive and real than I had in quite some time. As we entered a snowy mountain pass we finally switched to a side track and slowed to a stop. I had made it through the most uncomfortable and dangerous train ride of my life. I hopped off to start looking for a better ride and low and behold there was a fantastic boxcar with both doors working not but a car behind me!!! I got my stuff up in it and did a little jig and switched into some warmer clothes. Then I walked around admiring some of the train car art on the cars 5 up and down from where I was. Then, as a train finally passed us in the other direction on the mainline I made my way to my new boxcar home and celebrated ecstatically with a beer and some snickers or something. Afterwards, I watched snowy scenery go by into the wee hours and at something like 2 am and at 20 degrees I closed the doors to just a crack and got in my old down bag and somehow found slumber. Day 6 Thursday April 5th: Dawn of a New Day I wake up at 7am as my train cruises into a yard, but decided to sleep in and LET 'ER RIDE. Later, woke up at 11am and ate some gawd-damn good cookies for breakfast as the train rolled and rolled through the lands of Idaho. At some point mid-day I rolled through the Nampa yard. The train stopped and after meditating and watching for yard action I hopped off and took a nice pee down in the yard ballast. Some 20 minutes later the train started rolling again and I made up a tuna sandwich for lunch. Throughout the day I danced, napped, wrote in my journal and just watched the landscape and societies of Idaho roll by. I drank a well-rationed semi cold beer and time ticked by. I rolled with the train into the afternoon and evening and rolled into Pocatello Yard at 11pm that night. I rolled through industry peeking cautiously out the sliding door to look for any sign of food or society to jump off for. I jumped off as the train entered Pocatello Yard proper. Thus ended my first 24hr train ride! Thank you oh valiant steed! Wherever your train cars may end! I got my land legs back and walked straight out of the yard to the taco shop a few blocks away. Once there I felt like an alien landing on Earth. I ordered two carne asada tacos with rice and beans and an horchata and went to the bathroom to clean up. I sat back down and called my train-rider homey Wingman to ask what he knew about showing up in Pocatello on a train. He told me that if I wanted to get south to Salt Lake City that the departure yard along Ross Park was my ticket, then I grubbed down on that carne asada like a mountain lion eating a fawn. From the taco shop I decided I had better make it to the liquor store to buy some booze and snacks for the night and the train rides ahead. I had no idea exactly how far Ross Park was but I knew the general direction to start walking. So I grabbed a 6-pack of tall cans and some chili and chips and after calling in a few trains on the mainline I started walking in the direction of Ross Park. Suddenly, the temp dropped and the snow started falling! Next thing you know around 12:30 I get picked up without hitchhiking by the sweetest older woman who had been dealing with her own luck and bad breaks of injuries, high medical bills and unemployment. That woman was very sweet to drive me all the way to the park as the snow intensified, god bless her soul. She dropped me off at the park around 1 am. I stashed my bag by some trashcans and found my way into the departure yard to do some recon on where trains were going that night. I didn't come up with any solid leads and it was getting cold and wet fast. I scoped the zone as a snowstorm moved in and sought refuge in the local aquatic center entryway that had posted on the door that it wasn't going to be open until summer. I set up camp in front of the front door under the front area overhang and found the electrical outlets to be working. I plugged my phone in, and I got to sleep somewhere around the 3 am hour thinking how wonderful and crazy life can be. Day 7 Friday April 6th: PocataHELLO Nice Worker Man Woke up cozy in my down bag under the aquatic center roof around 8ish. I packed up camp as I watched inmates show up on a bus with guards to clean the zoo across the street. I can only imagine what they thought of me as they gawked. I re-hid my gear in the bushes behind a little pavilion and went to the fence to observe the departure yard. As I remembered my wingman's advice to talk to workers for train info I got one brakeman's attention and he came right up to the fence and with the question posed, happily told me that the "south train" (to Roper yard) would be heading out around 2 to 3pm on the 5th or 6th track. Well, holy hot damn, I was excited! That was one hell of a lead! So I attempted to contain my excitement and decided to walk the yard from the cliffs across the street and drink a beer and eat some snacks. That was better than just sitting around in the cold looking like that kid that wants to ride trains. Cops did occasionally cruise the park access road. Then, I found the Pocatello pump walls. There were climbing walls galore right across the street from the yard! What a tease! So I hiked all around them looking at all the different routes and even found markers that showed the grade of each climbing route. It appeared that they were developed by and for the local high school or college. I kept warm by continuing to roam the hills and observe the yard from atop the cliffs. The snow hung on the cacti and in the shadows of the rocks. I photographed some well painted train cars and around noon or so I spotted the worker again and he was more than happy to tell me that my train was about to pull up on track 5 with 2-3 units on front. I was ecstatic. I believe I climbed a tree and waited and watched for the train to pull in. At that point I called my buddy Brian in SLC and told him that I would be coming into the Roper Yard in Ogden late that evening. Then I decided to go grab this ratty looking tarp I had seen by the climbing walls because I thought it could provide some good cover and possibly some insulation on the train ride. Man it was filthy! I went to stash it with my bag and as I did I saw the worker walk up to the fence where we had talked before and was calling me over. I started to walk over and he said, "hurry she's ready to roll!" So I got in go mode and ran back to my pack, slung it up and b-lined it back to the fence and realized that I didn't know exactly where to get in yet. I started running down the fence as he drove along it and finally found a skinny clipped spot in the fence and wiggled through somehow. I ran towards the cars and he pulled up and opened the passenger door! I hopped in and this awesome individual actually drove me over to my train! I couldn't thank him enough and he even gave me 2 of those mini railroad water bottles. He dropped me off at some grainers that had some semi-decent hiding holes that were in all reality a bit tight and a bit dangerous with inner holes opening up to the undercarriage and ground below. I got up in one and worked on getting incognito and comfortable, because the last thing I wanted was to get seen because I didn't want my buddy to get in trouble and I had heard you could go to jail if caught in Pocatello. After 15 minutes of not being very comfortable or particularly incognito with my big green tube sack I decided it was worth it to walk along the inside line of the train and scope further up front for a possible better ride. Then i found the 2-hole grainer condominium. The porch was a dangerous skeleton but once in the holes the 2.5 rooms were spacious! I could see remnants of many riders in there! From cardboard to pop cans and water bottles, so I quickly grabbed my bag and relocated. About 20 minutes later my train jolted into motion and started rumbling south! I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I exited the departure yard headed for Utah! I reveled in my good fortune and drank some and dug into my rations and enjoyed peering out of the holes as Idaho flew by. I had phone service and some battery so I told my buddy that I would be in the Roper Yard somewhere around midnight. Then I talked to a girl I liked and found out she was starting to seriously date someone. I had so many emotions run through me on this trip and this phone conversation opened up the floodgates for some pent up anger/sadness of some sort. I hung up on her and cried and yelled and screamed for a bit. Then I sat there and calmed down and tried to fully embrace the idea of not being with that girl any time soon and cracked a beer and smoked a bowl of ganja. After sitting and meditating with a 24 oz. for a while I decided it was high time to give my bladder some relief. Stepping out of these holes onto the open porch of this grainer was a dangerous move. As I wiggled my body into position and grabbed the railing outside the hole and pulled myself out i watched my pipe roll out of my lap, bounce off the tracks and shatter, my weed and lighter followed. I then watched my gloves fall and land on the thin lip of the car. I quickly reached down and snatched up my precious gloves, cursed my stupidity and took one of the longer pisses of my life. I got back in the hole and sulked for a bit and then decided to loosen myself in some mp3 tracks and watch the Idaho scenery slowly turn into Utah scenery. After another beer or 2 I cozied up in my bag and laid out my pad and some cardboard and made a nice pillow out of my jacket, slowly falling into some sort of slumber. When I awoke it was dark and the train was rolling through a yard. I looked at my timepiece and it was somewhere around the midnight hour. "This must be the Roper yard, I must be in Ogden," I thought to myself. I saw yard vehicles running along trains on the right side so I decided to bail off the train to the left. I jumped through a train or two and hit a barbed wire fence with some sort of oil industry on the other side. I looked around and decided that jumping the fence at a locked gate was my best option to get out of the yard quickly. That was sketchy. I landed hard on my feet in the grounds of the Tesoro oil refinery. I quickly worked my way through it and saw virtually no one. Then I saw the guard station at the entrance where my exit lay. As I was walking in that direction I saw the guard truck pull in and I quickly hid behind a tree. So started the game. I watched the guard get out with some food and walk into he building. As the door closed I decided that was my chance to exit while he put his stuff down. I quickly power walked, or trotted out the front with my big green bag bouncing and ran down the street. He must have turned and seen me because as I ran into a parking lot to cool off I saw his truck whizz by. I hid behind some sort of trailer and moments later his truck pulled in and circled the lot. I hid close to the trailer and pretended I was dirt on the floor. It worked and he drove back out of the lot. Some 5 minutes later I decided I had better keep making progress out of the area and ran out the gate and down the street. I cut into the parking area of some apartments and there he went again driving by still searching the area for that strange figure that had ran out the front of the plant on his watch. I hid between cars and thought invisible thoughts. After that I zigged up to another side street and ran till I felt I had some good distance. I had successfully ditched the guard! I now had to figure out where I was and where my buddy Brian was, the guy who was going to pick me up near the yard. I had given him some info I had on where to wait near the Roper Yard. I called him up and asked where he was and he asked where I was and after he scoured his maps he still couldn’t pinpoint my streets. Something was wrong. Then he asked if I could see any sort of capitol building and in fact I did see something like that and we figured out that I was actually in SLC and he was looking for me in Ogden where I thought I was coming in!! I had messed up and thought the Roper Yard was in Ogden this whole time because of how the worker had phrased the location of the yard being a bit outside of SLC. As a result, I hung out on a bus bench for 45 minutes while my good buddy Brian drove back from Ogden and picked my stinky, exhausted ass up. When we got to his house I took the best shower of my life and proceeded to PTFO (pass the fuck out). Day 8 Saturday the 7th: Climb Day! So I woke up feeling fresh as hell on a Saturday and ready to go climb my ass off with my buddy Brian. After cutting the lips off some talking climbing shoes he had we were ready to go! We cruised to Little Cottonwood Canyon and jumped on as much rock as we could handle. Brian went to pick up his girlfriend Whitney in the afternoon and we whipped up some extra dank beer battered fish tacos for dinner. I was wrapped up in a wonderful luxurious domestic situation of good cooking and running water and Internet!! Purdy sure i went to bed happy as a clam. Day 9 Sunday the 8th So we hyped up Sunday to be a pretty big day of climbing, kayaking and hot spring venturing. We ventured back to Little Cottonwood Canyon with Whit and we followed Brian's lead up a 5.10 finger crack called the green adjective, and then they pushed me to lead the perfect 5.8 hand crack called "bushwhack crack". A good start to the day for sure. We strolled back to the house for sandwiches and geared up to head up to Ogden to meet up with our buddy Jimmy. Our plans were to kayak till we were tired and then hit the local hot springs. The Ogden Kayak Park had 3 fun rapids and happened to be right next to the train yard as well. After a few hours of dropping the class 3-4 rapids there we decided to head to the local roadside hot springs. That’s where we met the infamous caretaker "Slim". He was holding a tub down as we walked in. He told us he had been one of the primary builders of the tubs and we helped him bucket some cold water into one of the way too hot tubs, resulting in a bucket getting thrown at my head, shoulda been lookin’! Aside from that, it was quite the relaxing time. Bri, Whit and I retreated back to their pad that night to finish off the rest of the fish tacos, and PTFO. Day 10 Monday April 9th: Whit’s B-day I woke up and did a bunch of dishes as any good houseguest should and then the three of us went out to do some morning errands. We sent some freshly bought and used camping units and rock nuts to my place in Colorado and grabbed coffees and I found and purchased a weed pipe for a whopping 5$ at the local smoke shop when me and the pipe smith noticed the one he was trying to sell me had a crack in it. After the morning errands we hit the disc golf course for a quick 9 holes and then Brian had to go to work and Whit and I decided to drive out to the waterfalls she was trying to hike, to scope out and do a birthday hike! We should have brought the rope because there was a sweet belay tree at the top. As we got back to he car I realized it was time to transition back into train mode. I had been flip floppin' between taking the overland route through Wyoming and the scenic route through Grand Junction, Colorado. I was a little nervous about going through the 5 mile long Moffatt Tunnel. So I decided I should face my fears and take the scenic route! Whit was nice enough to do a drive by scope sesh of the yard with me and then she dropped me off at the local 7-11 for a ration pick up. We said our goodbyes and I was back on train time. I headed to the south side of the yard and posted up right past the throat outside the yard on the embankment. Then I played a few rounds of the waiting game. Around 1 am I saw my chance as a slow moving gondola train sauntered out of the yard. I caught it on the fly and climbed up the ladder and peeked over the top to see that my bed would be a big pile of dirt and rocks, yippee! I hopped in and made a dirt nest. We only went about 10 miles or so when we sided and sat around for a few hours or so while they did some sort of crazy shit. Then a train passed and we started rolling again! What a good feeling it is every time to hear the brakes air up and feel that jolt forward! We sailed into the night and into the twilight of morning as I went to sleep. Day 11 Tuesday April 10th: Helper Isn’t Much Help I remember rolling through Provo as the sun rose while I lie snug as a bug in my dirty green sleeping bag. As we traveled through Soldier Summit the scenery got more dramatic and we eventually were rolling through some sort of epic sandstone/limestone gorge. Then at about noon we rolled into the little town of Helper. Moments after entering the yard I heard the dreaded sound of the front units detaching and then watched with a very displeased look on my face as they rolled past me on the side track. My train had just terminated in Helper, Utah. Sheeeeiiiit. Consequently, I slowly got all my shit together and hopped off the train and took a long pee on the ballast. Then I saw a worker driving around doing something or other. After watching him for a bit I decided I had better go talk to him in hopes of hearing something good. It’s all about not surprising workers when you roll up on them in their yard. He was a nice old Mexican man, with nothing good to tell me except that there might be a through train during the night...maybe. So I decided to head to the local market and find myself some lunch. The lady inside was very excited to make me the best Italian special ever. It really was special. Then I walked off towards the main road in hopes of hitchhiking but was pleasantly distracted by a bridge spot with a nice cold creek running under it. I threw my gear down and had myself a good soaking. Then I sat around and drank a beer whilst I dried off and contemplated my options. I decided I ought to try some hitchhiking if I wanted to get somewhere that day. I headed out to the main road and walked over to the eastbound side and started thumbing it. An hour later I remembered why I hate hitchhiking, well, dislike at least. So I slung the pack and decided to head back to the bridge spot and stash my gear and have a little romp around town to see the sights of Helper. I strategically stashed my bag in the weeds and headed into town. Helper is a town that was founded on mining but in this day and age is hangin’ on by a thread. There were many closed store fronts. I did a loop of the zone and found a nice little river trail to walk back to the bridge on. There was a public bathroom on the way that had homosexual conversations scribbled on the inside of the stall, a bit creepy for sure. I got back to the bridge and passed the time building a rock stack, dunking in the river, drawing and meditating. Then I laid down the pad and took a proper afternoon siesta. As night came I decided to head back into town to find food and find myself a little nook next to the tracks to post up and wait for trains/sleep. I realized that the only liquor store in town was out of business so I went to the local minimart and picked myself up a horrible dinner of chili nachos and 3.2 beer. I sat on a bench on the side of the street and decided I should check the Amtrak options for the morning in case the freights were in short supply, which is what it was lookin like. Shoulda took the damn overland. Woulda been in Cheyenne at least by now, grumble grumble. The Amtrak was going to be stopping through at 6am. I set my alarm and found a little grassy patch behind the post office along the tracks to set up in that was nicely backed by some hedges from the road. I made a drawing on a cool piece of wood I had found and hid it in the bushes to uncover again one day. I saw one train go by that night. A BNSF going about 30mph. it went east and then a few hours later back west again. I managed to get a little sleep. Day 12 Wednesday the 11th I awoke at 5:45 and called up Amtrak to reserve a seat to Denver for $102. I was giving in to the skamtrack. I needed to get to the Royal Gorge in time to do my re-certification training. That’s what I get for having time constraints. I sat upstairs and gave some guy that looked like Kevin Spacey my money. I listened to music and watched Moab fly by outside my damn window. I got off and smoked a bowl in Grand Junction. Later a nice lady named Edith sat next to me and we talked about families and relationships. We went through many tunnels and the scenery changed from desert to alpine. Finally after Winter Park we went through the Moffatt Tunnel, with air conditioning. Actually we were delayed almost 1/2 an hour because a freight train had just gone through and I guess we had to wait for these big fans to blow out all the diesel fumes before we could go through. Glenwood Springs looked cool and had hot spring pools right next to the river. We finally rolled into Denver and after jockeying around the yards a bit they finally let us off around 7pm. I really wanted to catch a freight to the Springs to end the trip so I decided to hoof it the 4 miles or whatever to the catch out for southbound coal trains. I would have caught a taxi if I had seen one. It started rainin’ on me as I walked under a bridge. I pooped in a Burger King and grabbed some rations at a 7-11. After a long walk I finally found the tracks I was looking for. The rain let up long enough for me to walk out to the overpass bridge where from the writing on the walls it was apparent riders waited for trains, and then it poured. At that point I was beginning to want to give up and call a friend down in the Springs to come pick me up. In spite of all that, I stuck it out through the night and tried to ID the few trains that came through to look for some sign of them being southbounds. I found one train down the way that was sitting on the tracks with a DPU on the end. I hopped up in there and scoped out the backwards captain’s cabin. I hopped back off to wait and see what would happen with the train. Not but 10 minutes after I hopped off it started pouring again and some worker drove up to check the unit. I walked up to him and asked him about the train and he said it sure wasn’t going south and I shouldn't ride trains and the yard was hot because some kid cut his legs off the day before. So I jogged it back to the overpass bridge and rolled the sleeping bag out up on the embankment and went the hell to sleep. Day 13 Thursday the 12th I woke up around 7am and watched trains roll through till around 8am. I just couldn’t get a good read on anything going south. None of the trains were doing what a southbound was supposed to be doing! I was getting pretty fed up and decided to pack up and walk back to the street to catch a bus downtown to find the damn greydog. I did just that and waited patiently at the bus stop and did some people watching on the bus and made a connection at some bus hub and then the next bus dropped me a few blogs from the dog. I walked in and found out that the bus wasn’t leaving to the springs until 7pm. So I walked back out and as I passed the post office I met Frank Running Shield. We started talking because he was interested in my bag and said he had used one back when he fought in Vietnam. He said that he was a social worker and was dropping off some papers. Then as he inquired on my travels and heard I was trying to get to the Springs he ever so graciously offered to give me a ride as he was supposedly headed that way to visit a Native American cultural center to help work on a sweat lodge and possibly sell some ganja. So I decided to roll with him if he really was going to go home and hop in the car and drive to the Springs! He was a very sharply dressed Native American fellow. He had his briefcase and his digital camera in tow, and now me. I figured why the hell not? I had hours to kill before the dog was gonna leave the pound anyways. So he said he had to make a few stops before we could leave town. We headed through downtown Denver and our first stop was at some type of social work building where a few disgruntled people milled about out front and where he dropped off some client case files. Next we walked for a bit and walked into a high-rise building. There he said I should just wait in the lobby while he talked to some higher up guy about how much weed he could get from some other guy to take down to Trinidad to possibly sell to a buddy at the native cultural center there. So after sitting around lookin' like a fish out of water for a bit Mister Running Shield walked back out and we headed down the street. At one point we stopped and he started showing me pictures of his family and telling me about his life and his family members. We continued walking and he pointed out the building he lived in, which looked like a pretty spendy place to me. Next, he said he would get his wife to cook us breakfast before we headed out and called her up to ask if she could get a few things started. As we continued walking he started talking about how he could get a better deal with his weed guy if he bought a little more and asked me if I could loan him $240 until we got to his house where he would pay me back the 240 and give me a nice big bag of green for helping him out. It just so happened that my bank account was a bit fat from some work I had done in the winter so I pulled $240 out of an ATM and gave it to him as we walked to where he was gonna get the buds. I remember he asked if he could use my mini black backpack to hold the weed and I happily gave it to him. Then he asked me to wait out front real quick while he ran in and grabbed the ganja. I waited and then I waited some more, and I thought and then I thought some more. I got angry and then I got sad. I finally came to terms with the fact that Frank Running Shield had wrapped me up in his character and I had such faith in him as a human and in humanity that I totally let my guard down and forgot all the things I had been taught, the hard and the easy ways about being burned as I grew up and I got burned. And it felt like shit. I did so much people watching while waiting for Frank to somehow come out with a great explanation about why he took so long. I had gotten his phone number earlier so I called him about 30 times, leaving a few interesting messages. I sat there for about 2 fucking hours. That second hour I was in deep contemplation of humanity and my stupidity. I even gave him my favorite little backpack! After asking the bellmen if they had seen him I decided to venture to the small quarter block park across the street from the building to puff a bowl and let off some steam while still keeping an eye on the area for old Frank. I found a nice section of rocks and decided to try to relieve some stress by working on some rock stacks. It worked. I felt a little better. Eventually I walked back through town thinking of all the different scenarios that could play out if I saw Frank again. I walked back by the social building with all the disgruntled people hanging around out front and walked right up to the secretary and asked if she knew Frank Running Shield and if she could help me get a hold of him. She said no and no. I asked if she knew someone of his description because he had walked in and handed her papers earlier that day and she said no. To this day I don't know if she was covering for him or just didn't know. As I finally sat down in the greyhound station I thought about the lengths this guy had gone to in order to scam me. What a detailed plot to his life! To this day I wonder how much of it was true and fake. I mean, he showed me pictures of his family and told me stories about each of them. He was a well-dressed 50-something-year-old man! That got me for $240 and my favorite mini-backpack, and brought me to be much more skeptical of people. Let’s move on. The story is almost over. Returning to the pound, I saw a line beginning to develop to purchase tickets for the 7pm hound to the Springs and I jumped on it. What a crowd we had in the station that fateful night in Denver. It could be compared to the night I spent in the Los Angles hound house where I watched prostitution and drug deals go down all night. The Denver station had much more of a dysfunctional family flavor to it. Arguing matches broke out while I stood in line for the tickets. Small, dirty children ran laps around the place while all sorts of scenarios unfolded which made for quite a show for a people watcher such as myself. Finally we boarded our bus and hit the road. For some damn reason, or more likely a combination of a handful of reasons it was probably the worst bus ride of my life, certainly the worst ride of the trip (and the bus out of Pasco was pretty bad). I remember feeling very stuffy and uncomfortable. My ex-girlfriend was picking me up and letting me stay at her house for the night where I had left my truck for her to drive to school over the winter. We were already arguing about where to meet over the phone. As I walked away from the Colorado Springs bus station into the brisk night air I realized my hobo trip across the states to get back to my summer job was quickly coming to its end. Qz was already in new staff training and I drove to Cañon City the next day to start my re-cert training. Back to the fucking grind. But I sure did feel free as shit for a few real good moments there. Long live the old railroad, and the nomads that still ride it! -=millz=-