continuing proofs America is wacko

{{{We'll just have to be even more clever than we are already -- that shouldn't be too hard, methinks! }}}

{{{I'm drinking extra buckie with that aim in mind Orwell }}}

Orwell wrote:I just went back and did a bit of quick research, Dave! Have you broken our encryption code?

I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Orwell!

Here's one of my adventures with tunnel thinking on several levels. I wrote it out for a different forum a couple years ago. Hope it make sense. It's also back to thread topic of wacko Americans!
Please laugh, pity, or ask questions as it seems appropriate:

This was back in March 1982. My buddy Dan and I had just figured out how to ride freight trains a couple months before. When you’re just learning is when you screw up most, but it makes the best stories once some time has passed.

Dan and I had decided to catch the BN northbound from Seattle Interbay to Bellingham. In those days you could walk right through the Interbay yard in broad daylight as long as you didn’t loiter. The yard workers would sometimes say hi and answer a question or 2. The only fences were to keep out stray dogs and kids. In those days Spokane and Tacoma were the only BN yards in Washington that were anything like hot. After dark the night watchman would sometimes invite you into the shack to show you the printout for the next day, and sometimes you’d get a cup of coffee. BN was like that.

So catching out was easy. You watched your train making up, wandered up the tracks to where they had to stop to push the button that closed the bridge by the Ballard Locks, picked a nice boxcar, then sat back and watched the scenery.

The trouble was we hadn’t figured out the Everett yard yet.

Dan and I were back deep in the boxcar as we passed through Everett. Our train never came to a complete stop, and at first we thought this was good. But then we noticed that there was farmland where there should have been houses, and the afternoon sun was shining in the right-hand door, which meant we were eastbound over Stevens Pass. Dan argued with me about this for about 15 min. That was Dan’s thing. He could make a good argument out of almost anything. Sometimes this got annoying, but about half the time he was right, and it sure passed the time when traveling.

The next problem was we were streamlining. Small packs. No bedrolls. We did not want to spend the night in the mountains where it was getting down to 0 (-20C).

As we started to climb toward the pass we decided to stay with the train till Wenatchee where we could at least stay warm for the night. By now the boxcar was getting really cold. There was no dunnage in the car to sit on, so all you could do was to sit on your pack and try not to touch metal, but the cold of the floor sucked the warmth from your feet through the soles of your shoes. I had wool liners in my boots, but Dan had made his liners from cardboard which was better than nothing but after just a few hours in the mountains his feet were numb.

We stopped at Scenic to add helper units, and 2 guys climbed into our boxcar. They told us they were going to Spokane and had nearly frozen the night before, even with sleeping bags. We watched them as they tied thick rags over their faces getting ready for the Cascade Tunnel (7 ½ miles and about half an hour). We tried covering our faces with bandanas, but I was still choking on the diesel smoke as we got into the tunnel (although it was warmer which was really nice!) I discovered it worked better to put my face down into my coat and breath the air from around my body, which was both cleaner and warmer.

Our train dropped the helpers on the other side. About an hour later we pulled over for half an hour to put out a hot box and let the breaks cool. It turned out there were 7 of us riding this train. By the summer this train would probably have 2 dozen riders, but in the winter there was plenty of room. We all got off and stretched our legs in the woods where the snow wasn’t so deep. The most professional rider walked over and talked to the train crew and learned which cars were rolling through to Spokane.

The train was rolling straight through Wenatchee, so we tossed our packs, jumped off on the fly and started scouting for warm places. We spent a couple hours putting high score on the “Battle Zone” at the mini-mart, paid for a movie and got a couple hours sleep in the theater, then over to Denney’s about 1am where we bought breakfasts and bottomless coffees. When it got light we went back out to the tracks to wait for westbounds.

We were there all day. Trains came by westbound every 2 or 3 hours, but they never slowed below 10 mph, and sometimes not even that. We’d decided we weren’t going to spend another night in Wenatchee, so we decided to catch on the fly. We got our chance about 3 that afternoon.

Dan stationed himself where they seemed to roll the slowest. I took both packs 50 yards further down the grade. When the first open boxcar came by Dan ran alongside grabbed the handle, kicked up and rolled in. I took off running and pitched both packs into him as he went by, then looked for a car of my own.

The next open boxcar was maybe a dozen cars back, and by now the train was speeding up. I grabbed the handle, kicked up and got my left heel over, but I was hanging in under the car a little and didn’t have the strength to pull up and roll in, though it would have been easy if I hadn’t been cold and tired. I tried again and missed again. I tried a 3rd time, but this time when my feet went down to kick I couldn’t touch the grade. We had passed the wide flat part we had scouted, and the shoulders of the grade now dropped away really steeply. And all the time the train is speeding up.

The next part happened really fast.

I’m flying along at maybe 25 mph hanging from the handle of an open boxcar, not able to get in, but not able to see where I’m going and not wanting to drop. Then I hear the lead unit put the hammer down and can feel the train beside me starting to really accelerate! No time to think. I shove off and let go, cover my face and head with my arms and try to roll into a ball. I land on the 3” ballast rock on my back and left shoulder and go rolling and flying down the grade like a sack of garbage.

The wind is knocked out of me and the world is spinning, but I jump up full of adrenaline and wave to Dan that I’m OK. He throws my pack out to me, maybe a quarter mile down the grade now, and I start limping toward it. When I get to my pack I lay down.

Back to real time again.

As lay on my pack I could feel my body stiffening and the blood from my cuts was filling my eyes. I knew I’d freeze if I just lay there, and this far down the grade they probably wouldn’t find me till the coyotes were done, so I put a bandana around my forehead to catch the blood, got up and started walking back toward town and the Greyhound station.

I don’t remember this part well. I know one leg was pretty messed up. I was afraid to sit down in case I couldn’t get up again. My nose and forehead were cut pretty bad from my glasses and the rocks, and the blood was running into my eyes and dripping off my nose and chin. I think I puked once or twice.

I somehow made it to the station and dropped into a chair in the back. It actually felt good that people were staring. After a while I felt a little better so I went into the bathroom and tried to wash up and stop the bleeding. I’d kind of straightened my glasses, but one of the nose pads was busted off, so when I came out I had toilet paper stuck all over my face to stop the bleeding and a big wad of TP under my glasses as a pad. People were still staring but nobody said a word.

I had some money, but I was probably $5 or $10 short of a ticket back to Seattle. I took out every penny I had, walked up to the counter and told the man, “I’ve had a really bad day and I just need to get to Seattle. How far west will this get me?” and put the money on the counter. He counted it slowly, looked at me for a second and said, “Today this will get you to Seattle,” and wrote me a ticket.

Sometimes the Dog (Greyhoound Bus Line) can be your best friend!

Orwell wrote:{{{PS Petty... 'He Who Must be Obeyed" is loitering... f%^$%^&g sneaky Admins! }}}

Pettytyrant101 wrote:{{{yes hes's been doing that a lot lately Orwell, how are we supposed to organise our coup now? }}}

{{{Remember, Admins can break encryptions. }}}

What a curious pungent smell!

Dave that was a very enthralling and exciting story, it was probably horrible and painful at the time, but by goodness its good to have adventures like that I think. As long as no long term bad happens of course. that was your very own There and Back Again, travelling in the belly of a smoking iron dragon over the Misty Mountains.

This is why I don't travel far from my barrel- except that time I was really drunk and it rolled down that big hill.

And Eldo, um, just checking to see you were paying attention! {{{That should fool him-oh yeah you can break encryptions cant you? }}}

I'm glad the story was enjoyed. The point for posting was in response to Orwell's comments on tunnel-thinking. When told right this can be a really funny story because of my repeated stupidity/tunnel thinking. There's really no good reason I lived through this (or a bunch of similar stories from my 20's).

I see in the telling I stuck pretty close to the hard facts and left most of my thoughts and emotions out of the story, but there was a sequence that went something like:

F**k! I really need to get on this train or I'm gonna die!
F**k! I was wrong. I really need to get OFF this train or I'm gonna die!
F**k! Now I just need to get down to my pack or I'm gonna die! ...
F**k! I was wrong. I'm at my pack now and I'm still gonna die!
F**k! I need to find people, ANY people or I'm gonna die!
F**k! I've found them and nobody's doing anything!

Its funny but although I did some f***ing stupid things in my twenties I never actually meant them to be stupid at the outset, it just kind of whoops accidently happened, like the time I went to Tenerife on my own one time, I had decided I had had enough of the rain and would get some sunshine in a place with guaranteed year round sun. I knew nothing about Tenerife, I didn even know it was volcanic. I met a girl in the airport who was also like me going alone and we had one of those rare meeting of minds and sparked up an instant friendship, I found out she was a nurse from the Manchester RI.
We had not even booked anywhere to stay just a flight so we decided to stick together once we landed, we were heading for Los Cristianos and got there at 5.00 in the morning, it was your typical ghost town rolling tumbleweed barking flea bitten dog kinds place, obviously we couldnt find a soul to ask for help so we waited on the black sand beach to wait for signs of life, in that wait we met some German bikers who were camping rough in the hills as the local police had taken a distinct dislike to the amount of beer fumes coming off their bodies. They told us we could crash at their campsite until we could find a hotel room. It sounded like a cunning plan.
We trudged up the side of an extinct volcano rather like Frodo and Sam, two innocents to the slaughter, on the way there one of the bikers had a little fall into a cactus and broke his foot, my friend being a nurse told them they had to take 'Hans' to hospital to get a cast, but the bikers refused saying they had no cash to pay for diddlysquat and could my friend help them?
You dont say no to German bikers. whether they are smiling or not.
so we trudged back down the f***ing mountain and found a handy building site, where my friend found some plaster (the bikers had followed, carrying 'Hans' in a firemans lift).
we all sat on the beach and watched in awe as my friend set his foot in concrete.
much later we went to the pub, the bikers pub and were bought beer and given some funny cigarettes, the police raided the pub in a whirl of barking Alsation dogs with fangs rather too close to my face and machine guns strapped to their backs, they were also dressed in black with those Darth Vader shiny black helmets the spanish police wear, needles to say we legged it, poor old 'Hans clonking behind us on his concrete boot.
My friend and I got home and planned our next trip somewhere calm and civilized.
it was even weirder in Corfu.

Wow, I've always wanted to do some train riding, David - the height of vagabond cool in my mind. I'm honored to be at least in the electronic presence of someone who has done a lot of it.

the closest I can come is second hand, but it's such a good story I repeat it anyway even though I can claim no credit for it. A friend of mine was out drinking with some college buddies out in pennsylvania late one night. They were wandering over a bridge when they saw a train stopped below. It was a low bridge, and they decided (as only inebriates could) that it would be a fine idea to jump down on top of that train. Things here become a bit vague, and I don't know if it was only my friend who decided to jump, or they all did but with his head spinning after the jump he decided it was also a good place to take a little rest before climbing back up. Either way....

He woke up to find sunshine and wind blowing through his hair. The train had taking off and he was a couple hundred miles down the road, still riding on top like a train robber. His friends were probably under a tree somewhere still sleeping it off. This was back before every college kid had credit cards, so I think he had to call his parents to get a ticket back. I'd have loved to listen in on that one.

OH Figgy - the best meetings are unintentional, aren't they?

so true!

You simply must tell us about Corfu.

halfwise wrote:OH Figgy - the best meetings are unintentional, aren't they?

Yes, the very best.....and the very worst!

I'd like to hear about Corfu too, please! I'll even trade you another hobo story for it if you like.