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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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