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Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
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Topic Author's Original Post - Nov 13, 2009 - 11:27pm PT
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Back in my California college days a couple of friends and I hopped a freight in the Oakland yard and rode it down to LA for Christmas vacation. I became quite intrigued with this relaxing method of free travel and would sometimes ride up and down the coast, sometimes alone and sometimes with other climbers like Eric Beck and Steve Roper. When I moved from Berkeley to Boulder the freights seemed like the way to go. I could even take my bicycle. So I rode down to the freight yard asked a yard worker which track had the train I wanted, found a boxcar, threw my bike and pack in the door, hopped in and waited. Often the wait would be for hours but seemed much mellower than hitch hiking where I was always hoping the next car would pick me up. Finally the train was rolling out of the industrial city, across the central valley, and over the Sierra out into the Great Basin. I sat in the open doorway watching the world go by all the way into Salt Lake City. There I found another train that was going to Denver, and another boxcar.
It was fall. Time for the pea harvest in southeast Colorado, and a half a dozen migrant farm workers climbed into the car just before the train pulled out. I wondered what they would think of this kid with a bicycle, but everything seemed cool. One guy mentioned being in Chicago and another said he used to live there, had a job, a wife, and some kids, but one day just walked away. Never been back. Any how we were heading out into the dark and it was getting cold. The bums were rolling up in newspapers trying to stay warm. That made me feel quite self conscious as I pulled my down sleeping bag out of my pack. I looked over at a friendly Mexican shivering in the corner, grabbed my down jacket and handed it to him. The sound of the wheels and the rocking rhythm of the train lulled me to sleep. Sometime in the night the train rolled to a halt and I felt someone shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes in the darkness to hear someone say, "It's too cold we're going to get out and build a fire. Here's your coat". I stuffed it back into my pack thinking that a down parka is probably one of the best things a hobo could own and felt the warm feeling of brotherhood.
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Don't let go
Trad climber
Yorba Linda, CA
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Nov 13, 2009 - 11:38pm PT
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What a great story! Can you be open about asking for what train to hop on? Do you have to sneak onto the boxcars or does no one care? Any tips would be appreciated.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Nov 13, 2009 - 11:40pm PT
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Awesome, Dick!
I'd always wanted to try that, but was always afraid
of recent stories about the real criminals doing it
these days.
Your's was a time past. . .
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Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 14, 2009 - 12:10am PT
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I always had no trouble just asking the switchmen which trains go where. Some times they would warn me to watch out for the bulls (gumshoes, yard detectives). Some railroads were better than others. I heard, "Never ride the Union Pacific". The Great Northern was the best. A past president of the company said, "Let the bums ride". Pratt and Chouinard were riding the Sante Fe through Arizona and New Mexico and found a nice cushy seat inside an automobile on one of the car carriers. Unfortunately the windows fogged up and the bull spotted it. Their trip was delayed with a little bit of jail time.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:14am PT
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Great story, Dick! My adventures hitch hiking were never that pleasant.
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Eric Beck
Sport climber
Bishop, California
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:18am PT
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I was introduced to riding freights by Roper. It was the early spring of 1963, raining and snowing every day in the Valley and Roper says "Let's go to Mardi Gras". This seemed like a good idea. We hitched to Barstow and caught a train heading east. It went to Albuquerque where we caught another. In the morning we woke up not really knowing where were but inferred from the license plates that we were in north Texas. The train continued northeast and we finally jumped off in Oklahoma.
We made our way to Tulsa where we were kicked out of the yard and warned "You guys are lucky I caught you. Tiny, who works the other end of the yard has a ruber hose and knows how to use it". Several days of hitchiking led us to Little Rock where we spent a night with an old friend, Charles Bell working there for AP. He had done the first ascent of the Willis Wall (Rainier) and showed us pictures from the ascent.
We got a Rock Island train south and eventually got off in New Orleans. Only a few blocks out of the yard we ran into a Mardi Gras parade snaking its way thru a drunken mob.
Some hightlights from the return, being at gunpoint in Houston, throwing beer bottles off the train into the Rio Grande in Del Rio (wow, how environmental sensibilities have changed) and the amazing train we got from El Paso to LA. After poking around the El Paso yard for several hours we finally concluded that there were two trains heading west. The first was to be a drag and the second a manifest, leaving 45 minutes later. There was lot's of conflicting information. We waited and dozens of people got on the drag. Our train left as scheduled 45 minutes later and roared past the first which was waiting in the hole for us. It wailed all night and we were in downtown LA in the Taylor Yard at 9am the next morning.
Riding freights became a regular practice. Some useful rides, the Southern Pacific 378 Oakland to Portland, and the Southern Pacific 336 Oakland to LA. These always made up on the same track each night and it was as easy as taking the bus.
Also rode Reno to Denver, Sacramento to Fresno, and Minneapolis to Seattle.
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Chaz
Trad climber
greater Boss Angeles area
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:21am PT
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I've seen enough F.T.R.A. grafiti (whether genuine or bogus) near train tracks to squelch any train-hopping curiousity I ever had.
I dig hearing about it, though.
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Big Piton
Trad climber
Ventura
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:21am PT
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I met this young guy 6 months ago. He was sick and tired of living in Oxnard Calif. He said he was heading to FL. by way of the freight train.
Claiming he has done this many times before.
His rules of the rails are:
1) Never travel alone.
2) Always have a knife aka weapon.
3) Off before the yard and on right after the yard.
He called me one month later from FL. No Problem!
MMM
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:02am PT
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Speaking of travel adventures, Mark Powell once told me a story about Roper's first car. Galen Rowell was working at his garage and sold it to him for fifty bucks. He also let it be known that he thought that it might have been hot. For its maiden voyage, it was decided that the Needles of South Dakota was the place to go. Roper, Powell and Eric Beck loaded up and headed out. Since Eric is here, he should fill in the details. Eric was assigned to be the oil guy since the motor burned up a quart in no time flat so they had a case in the trunk....
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Mighty Hiker
climber
Vancouver, B.C. Small wall climber.
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:18am PT
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Thank you Dick, Eric and Jim! Great stories - I had no idea riding the rails was done so often in the 1960s. From reading about the depression, the hoboes, and the railroad bulls, I had the impression it didn't happen much.
There's a somewhat related thread on climbers and hitch-hiking: http://supertopo.com/climbers-forum/495602/Hitch-hiking_to_the_crags
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MH2
climber
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:25am PT
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Climbing at Index Lower Town wall we would sometimes see people riding the freights on the railroad below.
Back East I remember hearing about a guy, I think he was at one time a hut-keeper on Mt. Washington, who lost a leg riding the rails.
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Batrock
Trad climber
Burbank
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:35am PT
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Reading Jack Kerouac's On the Road right now, good rail riding stuff in there.
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Mighty Hiker
climber
Vancouver, B.C. Small wall climber.
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:36am PT
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Hobo Dave, with what I believe is called a bindlestiff. He doesn't actually seem to ride the rails, but he sure is nostalgic about them. http://www.hoborails.com/
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Reilly
Mountain climber
Monrovia, CA
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Nov 14, 2009 - 02:38am PT
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My ex's cousin, a Dartmouth boy, loved ridin' back in the early 70's. He was very slight of build and non-confrontational but never had any problems. Last I heard he was a VP at CitiBank!
LA Times had a nice article a while back that was quite good. The bloom is definitely off the noble life what with ass-kicking rail dicks and a general decline in the ethics and morals of the brotherhood.
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hobo_dan
Social climber
Minnesota
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Nov 14, 2009 - 10:05am PT
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I took four cross country trips in the early eighties. The best ride was a hotshot to Spokane where we transferred to a Portland bound freight. We got a real flat wheeler-or maybe the track was bad but I recall being bounced off the floor of the car about 6" for what seemed like forever. We made it into Portland (32Hours!)very early and settled in to sleep a little but they started making more train with our set and we were getting smacked pretty good with each collision. We got out and had breakfast at a Dennys and then hitched down 101 to San Francisco and eventually Yosemite.
Another time we were going to Glacier National Park. The High Line for Burlington Northern makes a stop at Spokane, Cour de Lean, Whitefish (Glacier) and then out of the mountains to Havre. We had left Sandpoint and it was late- the train stopped and we couldn't tell if this was Whitefish- it might have just been pulled onto a siding to give way to priority trains and we did not want to hop out and get stranded in some Montana grizzly bear forest-We stayed on- Big mistake- 6 hours later we hit Havre.
There we met up with some waitresses who worked at an all-night restaurant, They let us crash at their apartment and use their bath tub. I still remember how grungy the ring around the tub was when I got out.
That night alone with one of the waitresses-She refused my crude offer of a night in bed with a "travelling man"- informing me she wanted to save herself for marriage..........while I informed her this was something I was willing to spend before I got married. Unfortunately that bank account had to wait a while longer even though it was not lacking in interest
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:02am PT
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Great story Dick.
Thanks for sharing some more with us!
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TKingsbury
Trad climber
MT
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:13am PT
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Very cool stories!
Thanks for posting up!
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WBraun
climber
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:15am PT
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Warning
Get earplugs when riding the rails or you'll be riding a splitting headache in your head.
Even with my shitty ears it's LOUD!
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Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:26am PT
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Nice, Dick and Eric.
After Royal brought me with him to Yosemite in the
fall of 1964, I rode the freights from Fresno to Denver
with Rick Horn. That was a wonderful adventure for a young
lad. I've written about that stuff in a couple different
books... the various hoboes
and people I met, the snowstorm as we lay freezing on a
flatcar... and the brilliant red sunrise as we came into
Eldorado Canyon, with the Yellow Spur a black silhouette against
that red sky...
Then I made that same trip again a few times and reversed
it. I got to Yosemite, Denver to Sacramento several times.
Went to see Mort Hempel and my then girlfriend in the late 1960's...
arrived at Mort's door with a black face from the train soot,
nearly scared him out of a year's growth... Rode the freights
to see Higgins more than once, then connected with Royal and
Liz who drove me to the freight yards for the return trip...
A few times I simply needed to go, be free, and got on a train. Had
some great sleep and great dreams and restful thought, some
good writing. Took at least three women with me on freight
train adventures (not all at once). A great place for love...
Most every train trip I took, my mother made me several loaves
of banana bread, my favorite train food. I would simply sit there
and gnaw at the delicious bread for days.
Fell off a freight coming into the Sacramento train yard, hurt my
elbow, and the doctor's letter got me out of the draft.
Once a professor asked me to teach him how to ride the freights and
sent me a plane ticket to his city, from where we caught the freights
back to Denver... One interesting moment. He stood up and watched
the sleeping bag he was sitting on fly away into oblivion. We
could only smile...
Yes, Dick, I always spoke with the yardsmen, with engineers, and
never had any trouble. They would fill my water bottles... Certain
yards, such as Ogden, were known to be places where they trained
the bulls, or where there were a lot of them. You'd get off just
outside the yard and back on just beyond. Of
course there were rules of the road, such as don't break a boxcar
seal, don't make yourself to visible... I once made the mistake
of letting half a dozen young climber friends of mine go with me
to Yosemite. They started climbing around on the car, and the engineer
saw it and radioed ahead. The police were waiting for us in Grand
Junction. When they determined we weren't runaways they took us to
the bus depot. Everyone got on a bus west, and I snuck back down
to the yards and continued on the freights...
I once rode across the deserts of Nevada and Utah with a hobo
who simple stooped down and staied that way, as best I could tell,
the whole trip. He smoked cigarettes nonstopped, "To stay warm."
I nearly froze in my sleeping bag, and all he had was some kind of
tweed jacket. "Got kind of cold over the mountains," he said.
Pat
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mooser
Trad climber
seattle
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:52am PT
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My climbing buddy and I had planned on riding the rails in order to get to the Wind River Range for about 6 weeks of climbing. Had it all planned out, and then I met the woman who would become my wife. No regrets!!
Fantastic stories, all!
John Cameron - those polaroids are really amazing. Thanks for posting the link!
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Studly
Trad climber
WA
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:52am PT
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Someone mentioned riding the rails past Index, WA. Be forewarned that the train going eastbound over Stevens Pass goes thru a 8 mile train tunnel, and when my roommate in college did this, he said he almost suffocated and his face was black when he came out the other side and he couldn't hear. other then that he said it was just great.
My friend Jesse Burkhardt has written several books on riding the rails. They are super funny and well written. The first is "Travelogue From a Unruly Youth" and the second one is "The Crowbar Hotel: By Freight Train across Canada" Chck them out at:
http://www.rollingdreamspress.com/
If they catch you riding the rails nowadays, they will kick your ass and then arrest you.
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Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 14, 2009 - 11:54am PT
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One semester at Cal a couple of my profs moved the dates of the final exam to an earlier date for reasons of their own. I remember my excitement on that last day of linguistics realizing I would have two weeks of free time, and my mind was abuzz dreaming up things I could do. A January trip to Banff seemed most intriguing, and riding freights across BC in the winter particularly so. I hitch hiked to Seattle and got on a Greyhound bus to Vancouver. At the border the passengers filed one by one past the border guard. Finally it was me and he says, "Where are you going?"
"Banff"
"How much money do you have with you?"
"Forty dollars"
These were the wrong answers. He said that he would not let me into Canada.
So I reversed the loop I had planned and hopped on the Great Northern headed for Montana. I had always wanted to ride that railroad after hearing it was the best for bums. I didn't know yet how good it was as I was riding up into the Cascades in the dark. It was a gray snowy dawn as I was walking through the yard in Wenatchee and heard an engineer in a locomotive call to me, "Hey kid where are you going?" "Montana" "Do you know how cold it is there this morning? Thirty below. Come on up here." He probably thought anybody riding a freight to Montana in the middle of winter would have to be desperate. I climbed up the ladder and into the cab. He looks at me and asks, "Have you had breakfast yet?" "Well uh.." "Here take this." He hands me a brown paper bag and I look in seeing two sandwiches and a banana. I look up surprised and he says, "Eat it" He was unable to dissuade me from my journey and tells me which track had the train to Spokane, saying that I better get moving, it's leaving soon. I start walking along the string of cars looking for a good one, when with a big lurch resounding car to car it starts pulling out of the yard. I grab onto a ladder at the corner of a car and pull on it as the ground leaves my feet. I climb up on top and make my way car to car eventually getting to a piggyback. I scrunch down under the semi trailer and lean against the big rubber tire. With the hood of my cagoule pulled up over my head I look out at the falling snow as the train comes to a stop right on the main line. I hear footsteps squishing through the wet snow, and a guy stops and asks, "Were you riding on the draw bar coming out of the yard?" "Yes" "You could get killed doing that. Follow me." We walked up to the locomotives and climbed into the rear one of about 4 or 5. He made a radio call and we were on our way; a nice warm dry ride all the way to Spokane.
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WBraun
climber
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Nov 14, 2009 - 11:55am PT
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Yes
The long tunnels are scary. I thought the same.
I thought I was going to suffocate.
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mojede
Trad climber
Butte, America
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:53pm PT
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Never got to hop on a train (yet)--great stories up above make me want try it...
The only rails that I've ridden:
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Mighty Hiker
climber
Vancouver, B.C. Small wall climber.
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Nov 14, 2009 - 12:57pm PT
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One of the cliffs at Squamish, the Malamute, is immediately beside railway tracks. As close as two metres. Much of the cliff is officially closed, in that it's within the railway right of way, and some climbers have behaved irresponsibly there - usually group fusterclucks, but also things like idiots tying to the tracks for belays. Anyway, long ago, when p'terodactyls still nested on the Chief, we used to walk along the tracks to the cliff - no one cared, and indeed sometimes the railway guys on their speeder would stop to chat. It's a five or ten minute walk, and we would naturally enliven it with things like trying to walk the distance on one rail, or hopping back and forth from one to the other without touching the ground, or 'jousting' - sort of dry land burling. All in good fun.
It is rather overwhelming when a loaded 100+ car freight goes by only five or ten metres away.
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mooser
Trad climber
seattle
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Nov 14, 2009 - 01:40pm PT
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How many is a metre? ;-)
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Mighty Hiker
climber
Vancouver, B.C. Small wall climber.
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Nov 14, 2009 - 02:24pm PT
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The metre or meter[1] is the basic unit of length in the International System of Units (SI). Historically, the metre was defined by the French Academy of Sciences as the length between two marks on a platinum-iridium bar, which was designed to represent one ten-millionth of the distance from the Equator to the North Pole through Paris. In 1983, the metre was redefined as the distance travelled by light in free space in 1⁄299,792,458 of a second.[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metre
Something like seventeen freedom fries laid end to end equal one metre. One metre is 1/93 of the height of the Statue of Liberty, one of many gifts from France to the United States.
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Jingy
Social climber
Flatland, Ca
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Nov 14, 2009 - 05:07pm PT
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Is this mode of transport still employed?
I'd think that security has been made at least a slight bit more stringent in the last 30 years or so.
The idea of jumping on a train/boxcar has always intrigued me, but I've never indulged. When I start thinking of all the things that might be needed in order to protect myself, the easier it was to talk myself out of taking the leap.
I guess there is just a certain nostalgia about riding a train.
That was a really cool story Dick.
Thank you
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Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Nov 14, 2009 - 07:02pm PT
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Of course the Moffat Tunnel is a long one and even longer
on a slow freight in winter. My first trip through it, in
1964, my partner Rick Horn was aware of it and its upcoming
location and had me fill my sleeping bag with as much air
as possible(I don't mean THAT kind of air). We held our bags
out so the wind would fill them, and then just before we
entered we crawled into our bags, breathed slowly and deeply
for several minutes, and relaxed, until at west portal we
put our heads inside and with our hands held closed the ends
of the bags. We wanted to be relaxed so as not to breathe too
much or too hard. It was great, but slowly all the air in their
ran out and was replaced by diesel smoke. Yet at least we got
through about half or slightly more of the tunnel on good air.
Strange to realize how many have successfully gone through by
breathing the smoke all the way, with no problem. On the other
hand there are cases where people suffocated.
I could give you
a list of dangers of which any freight rider should be aware,
such as how to block a boxcar door so it doesn't slam shut and
chop off your head while you look out and enjoy the view.
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guido
Trad climber
Santa Cruz/New Zealand/South Pacific
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Nov 14, 2009 - 07:25pm PT
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You could be sitting around Ropers house in Berserkely, after dinner, sipping some of his nice personal stash of "Incubus Hills", when all of a sudden he would jump up and say "oh sh#t oh God", we're late.
In a flash, out the door, we were headed to the car for a rendezvous at the old Santa Fe station for the nightly train. Like clockwork.
Both his driving and his hiking were at a rapid pace.
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Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 14, 2009 - 07:59pm PT
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For some reason I naively looked forward to going through the longest railroad tunnels in the country and was actually disappointed when I found that I had slept through the entire 7.8 miles of the cascade tunnel. A while later I got another chance in the Moffat Tunnel in Colorado. My eagerness disappeared right away in the stinky diesel smoke and it was a relief to come out the other side and in a while get my first glimpse of El Dorado.
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Nov 15, 2009 - 02:03am PT
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for Pate:
Climbing 180 November 1, 1998
page 98
"Rock 'n Rail" by Kevin Swift, photos by Corey Rich
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Jan
Mountain climber
Okinawa, Japan
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Nov 15, 2009 - 02:09am PT
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I never got to ride the rails but loved hearing about it from Beck and Erb when I lived in Berkeley. The nearest I've come is riding third class trains in India when they were still pulled by steam locomotives and specks of cinders came flying through the open windows. The best sleep in the world is on a gently rocking train listening to the rhymic clackety clack.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nov 15, 2009 - 03:11am PT
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Chai-ee, chai-ee... What an exotic time warp those Indian trains can induce with just your mention of them. I only ventured from Dehli to Udaipur.
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Jan
Mountain climber
Okinawa, Japan
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Nov 15, 2009 - 04:24am PT
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The only times I managed to be more exotic than the Indians was when I pulled my big puffy down bag out of its small stuff sack and spread it out on my sleeping shelf on an overnight Indian train. This often provoked wagers among the other passengers as to whether I would ever get it back into the small stuff bag again.
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hooblie
climber
sounding out stuff as in the manner of crickets
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Nov 15, 2009 - 05:38am PT
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sensory overload is how i've described the rides i've taken. after rolling thru the redwoods, we branched off along the middle fork of the eel river, headed south on top of a load of lumber. the speeds were quite modest. in an out of the sun in perfect weather, cool in the shade, warm in the sun. stopped in fort seward and got some berry picking in. the greatest thing was peering down into the river, pools clear enough to see fish, otter, and the continuity of riverine sculpture, where rock and sand were shaped to fit
the fluid passage of pure cool liquid.
it was many miles between bridges or any sign of human disturbance. if we had been on the river, one side would have screamed about the scar of the roadbed, but we were spared that with only a view below and across. plunging ridgelines separated alternating worlds. each south facing slope had the golden grass, smelled of oakey california toast, and each contrasting slope breathed cool pine and fir. the flight of every bird could be traced in its entirety from our domeless vista.
our perch was the upper two bunks of lumber, set on three below, so we had a notch fore and aft to settle into facing either way and not a care in the world at sixteen. that line has since been closed, some eco burning of a timber supported tunnel spelled the end as i understand it.
then down through the wine country, things were pastoral and moved along a little quicker. we stopped in schellville, ambled over to a road crossing and hitched with a sign reading s.f.
across the street were three retirees, sitting in the shade of a big porch, we could hear their murmur. finally one of them walked over and with his thumbs in his suspenders, suggested that if we were going to san fransisco, we should cross the road and aim the other way. my folks lived on the penninsula where our ten thousand mile summer would be celebrated.
~~~~~~
my next freight ride was from fresno to bakersfield, and this is where the sensory overload really kicks in. after describing such ambiance atop the last load, my friend took the bait and agreed the lumber thing sounded good.
small detail, three bunks on three, no notch.
things got wicked quick as we outran the traffic on 99 burying it in blue smoke long before the dreary days of fifty five. banging up and down on our sitbones, trying not to travel around we resorted to suspending ourselves from feet and reversed palms in a flexing arch position only youthful indescretion could necessitate.
our hats promptly blew away. flaping long hair tore our scalps by the roots. eyelids long since tarped down over gritty eyeballs,
we were mouth breathing now, nostrils clogged with dirt. only dreamed about freeing a couple fingers for aching ears.
variety allowed for pounding on our knees till we invented downward bouncing dog. we had shanghaied ourselves for the duration,
in full view of station wagon america, sipping bottled coca cola on the freeway.
as we approached bakersfeild, each increment of slowing brought a new level of relief. when the train slowed to where bailing seemed even barely survivable we were off, not daring to let it carry us away again.
soon we found a blue collar breakfast, which also went clumsily. there was an honest miscue regarding the whoabouts of payage. it was my buddies turn to pay and i thought he had done so while i was in the can. our "escape" was going trudgingly under heavy loads.
so pleased to see a car pull over next to us, unsolicted, i was grinning and stuffing my pack into the back door when the driver in a waitress outfit went bananas on my buddy. i barely retrieved my sack as the car screeched away. no arrangements had been made about the return of a good bit of change. moving on now, toward the eastbound tracks, feeling we had just been rolled by a lady in white polyester.
but all was right with the world again as we chugged up over the tehachapies, round the big loop where the train crosses over itself.
all abloom with poppies and lupine in abundance
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=849357&msg=849734#msg849734
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tradchick
Trad climber
White Mountains
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Nov 15, 2009 - 09:44am PT
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There's a huge revival of riding the rails going on in this country. My son has been doing this for the last 18 months and has a book with all the yards in the states. It's amazing, has schedules, which yards are safe and not, what sort of security is in place etc. etc.
He has been to every state in the country except Alaska and last winter went down through Mexico, Central American and on to Colombia. He said he's "having the time of his life" and is seeing things from the rails that he'd never be able to see otherwise.
Certainly I worry about him as he's out of touch for weeks at a time. Occasionally he travels alone, but usually in a group. He has amazing pictures and stories, and is keeping a journal with the thoughts of writing a book. He's been arrested twice, once in Austin TX and once in VA. The cops in Austin let them go, they thought it was "cool" that Kevin and his friends were seeing the country that way. VA wasn't so nice about it.
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Charlie D.
Trad climber
Western Slope, Tahoe Sierra
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Nov 15, 2009 - 10:10am PT
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Great photo tradchick, thanks everyone for sharing and to Dick who started it rolling.
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John Morton
climber
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Nov 15, 2009 - 12:04pm PT
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With instructions from Beck etc. Mary Graham and I set out at Christmas 1965 to catch the 378 to Portland, where her parents lived. The first mistake was hiding a pack as we explored the Oakland yard - we returned to find it rifled and mostly empty. Then we realized our train was already moving. I jumped into an empty boxcar but Mary couldn't follow and I jumped back out. Getting into an empty boxcar is very difficult, like mantling over a 180 deg. overhang. It's a very bad idea when the train is moving, legs have been lost this way. (Some years later I was hired as a brakeman on the Canadian Pacific RR, and I was taught how to step off a moving car ladder. You bring your trailing foot around behind so it's ahead of your leading foot, then hop down on that foot. This causes you spin away from the train as you land.)
We finally found a Portland manifest, but as with most highball trains there were no empties. We scrambled up through a car carrier and rolled out our bags in the bed of a pickup truck on the top level (not inside a car, remembering the famous tale of Pratt, Chouinard and the Winslow jail). This proved to be secure but very uncomfortable. The car suspension, carrier superstructure and the pickup suspension all compounded to create a wildly lurching motion. In Oregon it began to rain, creating a pool in the pickup bed. With the dawn we were rewarded with a beautiful passage across a roadless mountain region, then down a valley with tiny logging camps. That's the best, when the railroad takes a different route than the highway. We were wet and miserable, and it was embarrassing to resort to a taxi in Portland. But not as embarrassing as it would have been to call for a ride from Mary's parents.
We had things figured out a little better on the next trip, to Mexico at Easter. In good weather a gondola is the best - good views, you can duck down if necessary, and if so inclined you can move between cars. No such luck when we changed trains in L.A.. We tucked into the recess at the end of a hopper car, but we were spotted by a bull and ushered out of the yard at gunpoint.
Riding the freights was common long before the depression years. If you are interested in historical freight riding culture, you will enjoy one of my favorite books, You Can't Win, by Jack Black. He describes his life as a itinerant crook in the American west from around 1885 to 1915.
John
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nov 26, 2009 - 04:59pm PT
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Nostalgia Bump!
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Nohea
Trad climber
Sunny Aiea,Hi
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Nov 26, 2009 - 08:27pm PT
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An enjoyable group of tales shared around the campfire. I have taken the train many times. Such a bore though I was always thrilled with the cheap rates I got.
You could do the passenger thing across Europe cause they barely check your tickets. We were once going from Norbonne, FR to Barcelona and underway about an hour or more before asked for a ticket, these two American teens, backpack in hand knew the drill, they were escorted off at the next stop.
Have a great Thanksgiving! I am thankful for every breath I get!
Aloha,
wil
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Bill Mc Kirgan
Trad climber
Cedar Rapids, Iowa
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Nov 26, 2009 - 08:32pm PT
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Yeah, Pate...I always liked that one...heard it on an old folk recording of Carl Sandburg. What a haunting lyric...those rods must have been hell even with some wooden pallet slats for support.
I enjoy the true stories in this thread and to learn that unlike the bulls, many of the people actually running the railroad, the engineers, switch men and brake men have kind hearts.
Here's that lyric from
http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiJGOULD1.html
Jay Gould's Daughter
Jay Gould's daughter said before she died
Papa, fix the blinds so the bums can't ride.
If ride they must, they got to ride the rod.
Let 'em put their trust in the hands of God.
In the hands of God.
In the hands of God.
Let them put their trust in the hands of God.
Jay Gould's daughter said, before she died,
There's two more trains I'd like to ride.
Jay Gould said, "Daughter, what can they be ?"
The Southern Pacific and the Santa Fe.
The Santa Fe, etc.
Jay Gould's daughter said, before she died,
There's two more drinks I'd like to try.
Jay Gould said, "Daughter what can they be?
They's a glass o' water and a cup o' tea.
A cup o' tea, etc.
On a Monday morning it begin to rain.
'Round the curve come a passenger train.
On the blinds was Hobo John.
He's a good old hobo, but he's dead and gone.
Dead and gone, etc.
Charlie Snyder was a good engineer
Told his fireman not to fear
Pour on your water, boys, and shovel on your coal
Stick your head out the window, see the drivers roll
See the drivers roll, etc.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Jun 27, 2010 - 04:40pm PT
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Shining steel story bump!
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Dr.Sprock
Boulder climber
Sprocketville
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Jun 27, 2010 - 05:29pm PT
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thanks for the link!
i remember a guy telling me he broke into a pickup coming down from portland, the keys are in the ignition, so he starts it up and has radio, heater, and automatic transmixer all rolled into one sh#t bucket, dang thing was facing backwards ,over...
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hooblie
climber
from where the anecdotes roam
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being an veritable bum is one thing. add the burden of lumping a bunch of climbing gear around the west,
things get a little less happy go lucky.
after a stint in the tetons, tackle dropped me off in livingston with a modest load of gear. within minutes i was westbound in a gondola along with three heaps of some sort of kitty litter ore. i dug in pretty good, zipped up the bivy sack, and when i dismounted that rig, i was well pleased with the coup, because as diamond miners know,
there's a limit to how much grit can be pilfered using just the standard orifices.
comes the next season, but with twice the load: wall gear, alpine stuff, and boxes of foodstuff that poverty demanded i should tote along. i found myself on the west end of laurel, montana with all this gear. waiting and waiting and waiting. some guy wandered up and offered that if i was headed west, a bridge up ahead was out, so all westbound trains were routed through great falls, which required repositioning to the eastside where the tracks split off to the north.
rucksac up front, expedition pack on back, and foodbox bouncing on the thighs. parentheses times two. through gravel or blindly stumbling across the ties, pick your poison. this involved leapfrogging cached loads in the freightyard, but another helpful soul pointed out my train so this only went on for a couple of miles and i woke up in great falls.
from there, in the dark, the mystery of which train was mine to solve. how soon if ever? all the way or to some god forsaken siding? all the while feeling at least psychicly tethered to the tools of my lifestyle which were piled in a heap in some non descript spot in an unfamiliar freightyard... and with luck, departure would come before i fell victim to either the yard detectives or their surly prey, my brethren in pursuit of outlandish opportunity, the bums and me.
a unit train, all grain hoppers, was the next one out. theres a little framed-in space, at each end above the couplings, where the cone shape of the hopper leaves a cubby to crawl into. you take what you get, grab what it takes to get the hell out of there, cuz rolling is how you get relief from these inscrutable places.
absolutely fabulous, the galaxies strewn across the sky. wicked chrystaline cold up over marias pass. it's been a long time since a ranch light, even a distant one. i'm standing in layers of modern tech gear, hanging onto a lurching train, dancing in place like a boxer, marveling at tramps that came before with newspaper stuffed in their shirts while i am losing the thermal battle to sapping wind and frozen steel with several rounds to go.
spokane is a monster of a yard, a maze of trains with labels passing for landmarks. all my gear is still in place while i'm rabbiting around searching for a clue. i'm headed to leavenworth, but all i know is this train is headed to the coast, which given the grain shipping routes, might mean portland.
bang, my train is moving so i'm hopping through the neighboring trains to find mine amongst identical cars and reunite with my gear. rolling through town, across the river and here comes the fork ... DAMN. i've hijacked myself, off to spend the day going in the wrong direction. watching the tracks that lead to central washington fade away.
but we're climbing a hill, and not accelerating for now. snap decision, boom, i'm getting off this train! wish to hell i had packed things up from bivi mode. so it's just grab and toss, wreckless heaving cuz i don't know how long this hill will last. stuff is scattered for a quarter mile, and now i'm down the ladder, having picked up a little speed. i dab a toe to gauge the speed, and get spun around pretty good but i'm getting off with my stuff regardless. i do regret tossing my helmet.
here comes a thicket of brambles, i move up a rung with a butt drop in mind but it still looks out of range. the end of greenery is in sight so i leap, double leg land it on the flat, delaying the collapse one beat, launching headlong over the edge with a shoulder roll to deep in the thicket, unimpaled. as i reach the daylight, the caboose goes by with a head sticking out the window. he'd been rubbernecking the colorful mess, and after a suspenseful pause, my ragged visage offered at least, well... resolution.
i gathered up the debris field, salvaged a thanksgiving meal by carefully spooning last portions from shattered jars,
then loaded up and trudged off in the direction of the interstate.
leapfroging implies levitation, so from there on out it was plain old
loadup, bypass, cache, return, repeat
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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This Arlo Guthrie tune rattles around in my brain quite a lot. Shining chip off the old songwriter's block...
I want to hop on the last train in the station
Won't need to get yourself prepared
When you're on that last train to glory
You'll know you're reasonably there
Maybe you ain't walked on any highway
You've just been flyin' in the air
But if you're on that last train to glory
You'll know you must have paid your fare
Maybe you've been lying down in the jailhouse
Maybe you've been hungry and poor
Maybe your ticket on the last train to glory
Is the stranger whose been sleeping on your floor
I ain't a man of constant sorrow
I ain't seen trouble all day long
We are only passengers on the last train to glory
That will soon be long, long gone
I want to hop on the last train in the station
Won't need to get yourself prepared
When you're on the last train to glory
You'll know you're reasonably there
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FRUMY
Trad climber
SHERMAN OAKS,CA
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Woody Guthier "This trains bound for glory" At least i think thats the name of a great book.
I read it thirty five years ago & its still with me like i'm reading it today.
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Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
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The book is "Bound For Glory," Woodie Guthrie's bio, and a book I read
more than a dozen times, on more than one occasion as a bedtime story
with some girl friend. The movie was a horrid botch. Thanks, Steve, just
to mention Arlo's song. I have always loved him. He had a hard
fight, because everyone thought he was
simply riding on his famous father's
rods, so to speak, but he is and has been a genuine talent and a beautiful
lyricist. I saw him in Grand Junction not many months ago, still very good,
and he got into it with an unruly fan. I almost threw that guy out myself,
sitting two rows in front of me, when suddenly Arlo was about to,
and I think he might have had security not invited him to leave,
a drunken fool who kept yelling, "Play
Alice's Restaurant." Arlo never did, probably for that reason.
I cherish the memory of all my own freight rides, with friends, with women,
making love under the rocking stars... I don't think my body would like
or tolerate the bumpy nature of the shockless freights. Well, they
have shocks... but not like passenger trains. I like to take the
passenger train now and then, such as I did when I went out to
California with my film not long ago....
Thanks Dick, for your memories.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Last of the Brooklyn Cowboys is well worth owning. Arlo managed to carve out a nice and relevant place for himself dovetailing into his father's legacy. Any memorable passages about riding the rails in Woodie's bio?
And the sons of Pullman porters & the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep, rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Iconic Americana...
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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May 15, 2011 - 12:30pm PT
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Even the Dead had a train song...
I know you rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone
I know you rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone
Gonna miss your baby, from rolling in your arms
Lay down last night, Lord, I could not take my rest
Lay down last night, Lord, I could not take my rest
My mind was wandering like the wild geese in the West
The sun will shine in my back door some day
The sun will shine in my back door some day
March winds will blow all my troubles away
I wish I was a headlight on a north-bound train
I wish I was a headlight on a north-bound train
I'd shine my light through the cool Colorado rain
I'd rather drink muddy water, sleep in a hollow log
I'd rather drink muddy water, sleep in a hollow log
Than stay here in Frisco, be treated like a dog
Jerry's face shows up as a headlight on the cover art of one of his solo albums.
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Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
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May 15, 2011 - 03:31pm PT
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Steve, you asked if there are any memorable freight riding passages
in Woodie's "Bound For Glory." The whole book has them, but one
of my favorites is central to the story, where a host of hard
travelin' men are on the top of a boxcar, and they're cold and
rain soaked, and the black smoke from the engine pours back along
the tops of the cars and warms them as they huddle and sing,
"This train's bound for glory..." Being a broke and broken down
old freight rider myself I can relate to what they were saying...
the truer sad meaning of their hopeless hope...
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Jul 16, 2011 - 07:49pm PT
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Just found this Woody quote...
"I have hoped as many hopes and dreamed so many dreams, seen them swept aside by weather, and blown away by men, washed away in my own mistakes, that — I used to wonder if it wouldn't be better just to haul off and quit hoping. Just protect my own inner brain, my own mind and heart, by drawing it up into a hard knot, and not having any more hopes or dreams at all. Pull in my feelings, and call back all of my sentiments — and not let any earthly event move me in either direction, either cause me to hate, to fear, to love, to care, to take sides, to argue the matter at all — and, yet ... there are certain good times, and pleasures that I never can forget, no matter how much I want to, because the pleasures, and the displeasures, the good times and the bad, are really all there is to me.
And these pleasures that you cannot ever forget are the yeast that always starts working in your mind again, and it gets in your thoughts again, and in your eyes again, and then, all at once, no matter what has happened to you, you are building a brand new world again, based and built on the mistakes, the wreck, the hard luck and trouble of the old one."
"Notes about Music" (29 March 1946)
Pretty much puts a bow on it.
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Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Jul 16, 2011 - 09:49pm PT
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My first freight trip ever was from Oakland to LA, semester break at Berkeley. My Climbing buddy Steve Thompson and another friend Dave walk into the Oakland yard, and the first people we see are a couple of older hobos sitting on the ground.
"Hey, where you kids going?"
"We're looking for a train to LA."
"How are your dukes?"
We found a train and headed south. It seemed like we must have pulled off at every siding to let another train go by. One time we're sittin' there and Dave, looking through his wallet, pulls out his student registration card for the last semester. "I won't be needing this anymore." He says as he gives it a toss. Finally after over a day we pull into the LA yard late the next afternoon. If we had only known we could have left Oakland several hours later caught the 378 in the evening and been in LA the next morning. After hitch hiking to Joshua Tree for some climbing, we returned to Berkeley where the police found and questioned us. It seems that some murderer, being pursued by the police fled into a freight yard losing the cops. The cops snooped around and found Dave's reg card in a boxcar.
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Tom Johnson
Trad climber
Guerneville, Cal
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Jul 17, 2011 - 12:24am PT
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As a youth I occasionally hopped a freight from San Jose to my friend's house in San Luis Obispo. A beautiful ride through Steinbeck country. The first time, in the yards of San Jose, I encountered some other riders who were actually cooking a can of beans over a campfire. One of them said he was on the run for a rape he didn't commit. Hmm
Another time I rode north in a gondola car - the guys said a boxcar door might slide shut and the car could sit unused for weeks. When I got to San Jose, I walked to bus depot to get a ride to Redwood City. Everyone in the bus station stared at me like I was from the Twilight Zone. I went into the john, looked in the mirror and saw in addition to wind blown frizzed hair (ah to have hair) my face was completely covered with soot.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nov 19, 2011 - 12:17am PT
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Hobump...
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Chief
climber
The NW edge of The Hudson Bay
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Nov 19, 2011 - 12:55pm PT
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While living in Churchill back in 69, I knew a kid in school who lost his foot hopping a train. I was eleven at the time and wasn't digging the scene and despite my friend's misfortune, decided to hop a train and find my way back to BC. Scrounged up a wool blanket and crawled into an open box car in the wee hours and eventually headed south. At one point the train stopped in the mid morning heat and the Manitoba muskeg mosquitoes attacked me with a vengeance.
I was real glad to have that blanket and even happier when the train started rolling again. I made it about 350 miles south and the Queen's Cowboys found me sleeping in the box car waiting for the next leg south to Winnipeg.
I had no idea how I was going to get across the prairies to BC but I was giving it my best effort.
Kinda reminds me of a Bluegrass song.
Tony Rice Unit, Blue Railroad Train
http://youtu.be/yhI-4Agmax4
Tony Rice, Old Train
http://youtu.be/f0teWGME6nw
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Tricouni
Mountain climber
Vancouver
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Nov 19, 2011 - 02:06pm PT
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On Boxing Day of 1963, I think it was, Dick Culbert and I grabbed a 3 a.m. drag out of Squamish; we were heading for Prince Rupert. It was cold, snowing, and the only thing not sealed was a flat car. We spread out our sleeping bags at the front of the flat, with the adjacent box car giving us a bit of shelter from the wind. The train rolled on, and it snowed, and it was cold, cold.
Around dawn, at Clinton, the drag slowed but didn’t stop. A yardman waved to us from the platform, but we were too cold and sleepy to respond, let alone get our hands out of the sack.
An hour or so later, someone came over the top of the boxes and dropped down onto our flat. We sat up. “Ah, I’m glad to see you two are ok,” the fellow said, “they radioed from Clinton to say that the yardman there thought we had a couple of frozen corpses on board!”
We chatted for a minute before he headed back. He mentioned that the temperature was going to reach a high of minus 35 that day, and he suggested that at the next stop (Quesnel) we climb into the second unit. Of course, we did, and we spent the rest of the leg to Prince George in toasty comfort.
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flyingkiwi1
Trad climber
Seattle WA
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Nov 19, 2011 - 03:10pm PT
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Awesome thread, like reading "On The Road" over breakfast. It never occurred to me before, but there are some parallels between rail-riding and wave-riding. Although surfing on a day when the high was minus 35 might be tough. Jeezus, what a ride! You British Columbians must have anti-freeze in your veins.
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Brandon-
climber
The Granite State.
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Nov 19, 2011 - 05:38pm PT
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There's a strange show on Netflix called Thumbs Up. The host is an urban artist from the bay who travels from LA to NO by freight and hitching. Kinda juvenile at times, but worth checking out.
Great thread, BTW.
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BooDawg
Social climber
Butterfly Town
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Nov 20, 2011 - 12:50am PT
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The one time I rode a freight train, it was with 7 other members of the UCLA Bruin Mountaineers. Our stated goal was fairly tame as freight adventures go: to see the UCLA-UCB football game. We gathered at the San Fernando Valley freight yard. Someone asked a worker there which train to board. He told us about an empty caboose in the middle of the train, so we climbed in and rode in comfort all night to San Jose. So much for freezing our asses and breathing soot and other hardships of the hard-travelin’ life!
However, there we were met by the police who took us to the Santa Clara County jail where most of us spent the rest of the weekend. And there we saw another side of life which was one in which I decided I did not want to participate again: 18 bunks in a cell; one toilet in full view of the other 17. Meals were definitely lower level dirtbag at best!
The story of the freight ride is most humorously told by the reporter who ran our story three times in the Mercury News and can be found on the “Ever Been Arrested” thread here:
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=1243506&msg=1243580#msg1243580
As far as music, my favorite hobo tune is Fast Freight sung here by The Kingston Trio: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1rWyyYfQaw
Another version that I also like by Gordon Lightfoot & Terry Whelan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpWccNgx-GQ
My favorite fiddle tune is also a railroad tune: The Orange Blossom Special
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEjp-CG7h4w or here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjkpI6jfR6g&feature=related or here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEl-V1gfK24
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Mighty Hiker
climber
Vancouver, B.C.
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Nov 20, 2011 - 01:03am PT
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Oddly, I was thinking of the story of Glenn and Dick's adventure - entitled "Freight Christmas" - on my way back from Squamish today. The story was originally published in the BCMC newsletter, and reappeared in the Canadian Mountaineering Anthology.
They were then (late 1963) working on finishing "A Climber's Guide to the Coastal Ranges of British Columbia", which appeared a year later. Glenn and Dick had to go to the Prince Rupert area to interview sources, and being impecunious students, that was their only option. Dick tells of them leaving North Vancouver on Boxing Day morning. (It was a white i.e. cold Christmas even in the city.) Having gotten to Prince George via Quesnel and the P.G.E. aka Please Go Easy (Pacific Great Eastern, later B.C. Rail) train, they warmed up overnight in a laundromat. A day later they were in Prince Rupert, visiting Jim Baldwin and family. Dick's observation: "The best way to travel with freights is in a stupor.". They talked with their sources, in particular about rumours that the "Reisenstein Peaks" were in the area, hopped freights back to Prince George, and hitch-hiked back to Vancouver for New Year's.
The sacrifices that authors of climbing books make...
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Auto-X Fil
Mountain climber
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Nov 26, 2011 - 02:59pm PT
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Bumping political garbage off the main page.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Jul 14, 2012 - 01:14pm PT
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And the sons of pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
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RyanD
climber
Squamish
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Jul 14, 2012 - 02:18pm PT
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Very cool thread & awesome stories. A type of freedom that can't be obtained in too many other ways.
Interesting documentary on railroad hobo subculture & train art monikers. An interesting concept of putting your signature or message on a moving canvas that is free to travel & reach others all over the continent, for free. Warning: these guys aren't what you would consider to be your usual graffiti artists & may change your perception on train art.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
[Click to View YouTube Video]
[Click to View YouTube Video]
trains are so cool!
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scaredycat
Trad climber
Berkeley,CA
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Jul 14, 2012 - 11:49pm PT
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bump 'cause I like it.
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Reilly
Mountain climber
The Other Monrovia- CA
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Jul 15, 2012 - 02:00am PT
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So why do the railroad companies want to spend their money on yard dicks to
keep people off their trains? They afraid someone will get hurt and sue them?
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Mark Rodell
Trad climber
Bangkok
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Jul 15, 2012 - 03:05am PT
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I hired out on the Southern Pacific in 1974 and worked as a brakman and conductor for 14yrs, mostly in Oregon and California. I also jumped a few during lean years.
Why does the company hire bulls? Well, not all who ride are angels. I had very few problems with the men who rode but a friend of mine took a knife in LA. And I worked the Oakland yard and it was a tough place. Theives. Worked out of K.Falls and it gets real cold there and a bum wants to warm so he starts a fire and uses a bit too much kindling and maybe the plywood walls catch and the next car is full of some god-awful chemical.
And once we came into Roseville and bum had busted out a lot of windows of the autos we'd hauled. They're not all angels. But most are and most trainmen get along fine with those who ride.
Don't ride the power - don't climb into the cab of a unit.
And it is dangerous. A hobo in Colton got slammed by a boxcar, they roll quiet off the hump. He didn't stand a chance. And rolling steel wheels on steel rails, they cut as clean as a guillotine; I know; I've seen. Lop a head off easy.
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Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Jul 15, 2012 - 05:40am PT
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Good job, Mark. Yes there are all sorts of things to learn.
I have been in and through that L.A. yard, met a big fellow
who seemed crazy, wondered what I was doing there. He kept
asking if I had drugs. "You can't ride the freights without
drugs." Some other people later said to watch out for him, that
he was known to jump people if he thought they had something
of worth.... The yards are a little more paranoid these days,
what with all the terrorism stuff and 9/11. Security is a little
tighter at certain yards, or especially around fuels.
There is, as I pointed out upthread, that danger of a boxcar
slamming shut when the cars bang together, and you can have your
head chopped right off. Or just get locked in a car, and your
screams will be like wind blowing through the yards. My dad
was a sheet metal worker at the Denver round house for 17 years
and dealt with the big power. He used to take me down with him
to work, when I was a kid. I always felt the mystery of trains.
Where I live now, they roar by often each day, just outside my
window. I remember staying at Dennis Henneck's house on the
coast north of L.A., in Ventura, and I had
a little bed by a window, and freights roared by that window
close enough to touch (it felt so).
The yardsmen were always great help to me, filled my water bottles,
shared stories, told me when the next train was leaving, where
it was going. Some even walked back to wake me up, when they were going
to leave a boxcar or piggy-back I was riding on. When I told them
about my dad, it always seemed they treated me a little like
family.
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RyanD
climber
Squamish
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May 12, 2013 - 12:53am PT
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Bump
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Dec 15, 2013 - 10:48pm PT
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Non-acrimonious Bumpage...
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rottingjohnny
Sport climber
mammoth lakes ca
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Dec 16, 2013 - 12:17am PT
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Rodell...I heard you use to run down the tracks to squeeze in some training...Rumor has it...?
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Chugach
Trad climber
Vermont
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Dec 16, 2013 - 11:07am PT
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I hopped trains a bit in my youth and enjoyed it.
Here's a quick story; an old adventuring partner of mine was in S. America, caught a freighter to Miami and then a train (or trains) back home to LA. He hopped a train in the Gulf coast where it was nice and warm but headed into West Texas and beyond it got cold. Really cold where he couldn't stay warm. He worked his way back to another rail car that was full of new cars (automobiles). He hopped in one, fired up the engine, cranked the heat and fell asleep. When that one ran out of gas (they carry very little from the factory), he moved to the next car, fired up the engine, cranked the heat and fell asleep. Repeated this all the way to the coast.
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Flip Flop
Trad climber
Truckee, CA
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I hitchhiked to Shasta to try a solo ascent of the North side. The weather turned and I started walking back toward Shasta City. I was sheltering under a train bridge when a slow moving hulk of a train came rolling down the tracks. Now my pack had ropes, axes and all manner of heavy equipment but I decided to make a dash and jump that train. I had taken a few short train hops and felt like it was worth a try. I could remember the kid with one leg from my childhood who lost it on a similar effort.
I couldn't run effectively with my massive load so I lobbed it on the train and started running. The wet rails and rocks reminded me that my jump to the train was a no-falls situation. Pretty quick I was up with my pack sitting under a tractor trailer watching the world go by.
After a short while I saw a crew cab pickup truck following along the train and the rail workers in the truck saw me too. I wasn't excited about meeting those four fellas in the rail yard. When the train slowed down the next time I hopped off and opted for the company of my boots and not the boots of those men.
I was rewarded with a long walk down a sandy road. I followed the tracks of a Mountain Lion for a few miles who was, in turn, following the tracks of a deer. For years that was my only encounter with the lion. I have seen the mountain lion now but never the yard bull.
I hear the train whistle rolling through Truckee as I write this.
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Mark Rodell
Trad climber
Bangkok
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Rottingjonny, yes, I got in a lot of running while working. Rules said that the brakeman on the rear had to walk up the train when stopped. I'd bound off and trot to the power. One of the best things about the job was those walks up the train. Working between Dunsmuir and K Falls put me in nice country often.
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John Morton
climber
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some observations about trains:
I worked as a head-end trainman (brakeman) for a short spell on the CPR out of Nelson, BC in the snowy winter of 1969-69. Having ridden gondolas and reefers illicitly, I found it surreal to see everything from the comfort of the engine at night in the depths of winter. The walls of snow on the way to Cranbrook were almost as high as the cab, and very close. Tragically, animals that had found their way into the plowed right of way could only run ahead of the engine until they tired and were run down. That took a lot of the romance out of driving a train.
Plowing the sidings was pretty fun. No rotary plows in BC, too many logs in the snowslides. They used a shovel plow, which they'd repeatedly ram into the snowpack until it cleared the way or went off the track. Once the engine (always called "the unit") derailed as well (just at the front), and I was amazed to see they had a way of putting it back on the tracks. They hauled out the "replacers", massive cast steel blocks with a twisted guide surface, slotted underneath. Those were dropped over the rails behind the displaced wheels, and the engine would pull the wheels into the guide grooves and back on track.
I never quite understood how trains avoided each other, with no communication when underway. Well, there was a walkie-talkie that worked from engine to caboose, unless the track curved. There was a schedule - the train had to keep to it in order to be safe on a siding when something came the other way. But if we were too late for the scheduled departure, they just went anyway and called it an "extra". I didn't pester the crew about this, they already thought I was pretty dumb.
John
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 30, 2014 - 09:18pm PT
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One Shining Steel Rail...Bump
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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May 25, 2015 - 09:38am PT
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The prettiest girl
In all the world
Is in a little Spanish town
But I left her for a Bonnie lass
And I told her
I'd see her around
But that Bonnie lass
And her heart of glass
Would not hold a candle
To bumming around
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day
Tell the boys back home
I'm doing just fine
I left my troubles and woe
So sing about me
For I can't come home
I've many more miles to go
Why, there's Miss Kelsey
You taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day
Now when I was a boy
My daddy sat me on his knee
And he told me
He told me many things
And he said sone
There's a lot of things in this world
You're gonna have no use for
And when you get blue
And you've lost all your dreams
There's nothin' like a campfire
And a can of beans
Why, there's Miss Kelsey
She taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day
Tom Waits Lucky Day
https://search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?p=tom+waits+campfire+and+a+can+of+beans&ei=UTF-8&hspart=mozilla&hsimp=yhs-004
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Jul 26, 2015 - 11:29am PT
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Bump...
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Jan 20, 2018 - 07:17pm PT
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Cheap transportation bump...
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Sierra Ledge Rat
Mountain climber
Old and Broken Down in Appalachia
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Jan 21, 2018 - 06:42am PT
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I used to jump trains when I lived in F*#king Lower Alabama (FLA). It is surprisingly easy to do.
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Contractor
Boulder climber
CA
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Jan 21, 2018 - 07:12am PT
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For young, poor surfers it was buses in Mexico. Everything from small local school buses with chickens and farmers to the big cross country Tres Estrellas- "tree star" line. The drivers were well respected yet I was always freaked out by how fast they drove and where they choose to pass slower traffic.
If you've spent much time in Mexico you have undoubtedly seen a Mexican tabloid "Periodico" with graphic photos of dead bus passengers and luggage strewn down a hillside from a pass gone bad.
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Contractor
Boulder climber
CA
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Jan 21, 2018 - 07:17am PT
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Z Brown- I've spent many days in that desert and climbed all over the Goat Canyon Trestle.
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originalpmac
Mountain climber
Timbers of Fennario
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Jan 21, 2018 - 09:51am PT
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I used to work with a guy that got shot in the ass with rock salt by a yard bull. Apparently that really sucked.
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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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May 31, 2019 - 11:32pm PT
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bump up a Dick Erb thread ... and consolidate my rail stories:
thumbing around the west in '70, northerly inclined, i spilled over the divide up in glacier and hooked a left at the chief, slipped across the border and absolved myself in the waterton lakes.
off to banff, i found myself on the trans-can where a couple of girls were holding court at a campfire surrounded by a dozen hopefuls. passing by, i overheard "la honda" which was my well known dirt bike turf and site of the kesey enclave noted in the acid test. the blonde and the brunette were each quintessential prototypes of their kind.
openers are not my forte, but these were neighbors in a foreign country and i uncharacteristically ignored their intimidating beauty for the brief time it took me to elbow my way into the crowd. i wasn't trying really, and that must have been the key.
the next ten days could fill a volume, the details of which my wife never pried out of me no matter how she cajoled to be told about the "angels." i will confide that her imagination outstripped the actual in terms of lurid debauchery. i am at heart a gentleman and romantic with a penchant for savoring every increment of anticipation, plus a devilish knack for ratcheting up the stakes and i suppose, tension. they were perfect foils, and flawlessly cooperated to suspend me at the midpoint of their forcefield. it was their spiritual maturity and forsworn complexity, this bathed in exquisite appreciation of His handiwork, that prompted me to be resolutely demure when pressed to unwrap this gift.
now on to the trip report. after rollicking about in the embrace of forests and earthy conjugation upon succulent meadows behind the hot springs, we ascended to the alpine realm. high above valley of ten peaks behind lake louise, we happily overstayed our vittles, so snug were we in their little pup tent.
then, upon hearing my tales of riding the rails along the yellowstone, thru the redwoods along the eel, over the tehachipe's in bloom, they gushed when i proposed a freight ride over kicking horse and rogers pass. little did i imagine that their curves would be parlayed into upholstered seats in the second engine. we were honored with guest visits by each of the fawning crew members as the lyserge brought into vivid clarity the structural geology i so adored studying back at ucsc. recumbent folds, upthrust faulting, the rockies revealed their suffering and i empathized. hydrocarbon infernos raged both against and through this throbbing electro-mechanical bohemith that i leaned out of to better lavish my respect upon the translucent river. it cheerfully obeyed every nuance of hydrodynamic law with panache. riparian freshness enveloped the ferrous, rolling, unimaginable burden that strained on each coupling. the girls were linedriving a beaming admiration from vibrant bright faces, our grins tight as chrome. surely god agreed.
after we each were escorted up front for hornblasts at moose and goats and the shackles of conformity, evening fell along with a steady drizzle. walking distance short of revelstoke the whole train came to a halt where the boys knew of a dry bivy in a hay loft up a dark slope. hugs all around, good bye to the crew. as much as i admired their life, it felt like they admired mine.
well the next day we snagged a ride in a painted bus full of assorted souls that had been gathered up along the way. there was room for us on top where a big partialy inflated raft was lashed to the roof. like a magic carpet, it was remarkably unwindy, devoid of engine noise and most traffic commotion. enjoying panoramic mountain views, i layed back in the sun as my portrait was sketched into a journal.
at a gas stop we heard that emergency hiring was underway to fight a fire that was sending a column into the sky to the south. able bodies with good boots seemed to be the job requirement and my funds were low. the girls seemed to be in good hands.
what strikes me as quaint about this easy parting, now years round the bend, is how sure i was that something just as sweet lay ahead just around any corner, because clearly things were unfolding just how "it's sposed to be."
well, yes women have been good to me through the years, but i call these the angels because they knowingly, compassionately escorted me to the epiphany that the earth was my mistress. even as the lovers have come and gone, each giving their poignant best in human terms, it has been the planet that has always sustained me, always let me in, impassionately tolerating my crawling about and laying on of eyes from every possible vantage. and when i screw it up big time, i shall return to her.
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