My First Time
I wanted something new, something out of the ordinary.
The great metal beast loomed over me in the full moon. having stopped to switch engineers, I had roughly 30 minutes to find a space and get situated. Usually, it was pretty easy to weasel my way onto one of the hopper cars without being noticed.
Scouting the train, I found a particularly newer hopper which was painted an awful shade of orange. It was a newer car though….I really only like the newer cars. Older ones tend to have *ahem* signs of use if you know what I mean.
All aboard. Listening to my scanner, the engineers are talking. While generally professional, this crew seems unlikely. The transmissions are riddled with profanity and innuendos. Some people’s kids, I tell ya. The train’s spine engages as each car tugs against another. We’re off.
Hopping trains has been a hobby of mine ever since high school. It seems that when someone tells you not to do something, that is the very thing you want to do. I was a good student, straight B’s, somewhat of a history geek. But the issue I had was a wandering mind. Classes were great and all, but I always found my mind outside the classroom when I was supposed to be paying attention.
Senior year, I decided to be adventurous, go rogue. I know, I know. Terrible timing. I should have been applying to college. I should have been getting ready for LIFE. The problem was, I just didn’t want to. I wasn’t apathetic, I’d get on with life, I honestly wanted to just go against a mold for once. I embodied what it meant to be a B student, life always being predictable. How long could the routine stay routine?
The railroad was less than a mile from my school, and on a Spring day during lunch, I did it. I left the school and hopped a train bound for who-knows-where. Don’t ask me why “hoboing” was the first non-routine activity to come to mind. I have no idea. It felt cool.
My first time was about as bad as you can expect. The train had yet to move forward. I scoped it out and picked the worst possible car to hop on to. Boxcars seemed romantic. Just open one up and hop right in, right? Wrong. They’re pretty much always locked.
Next down the line was a flatcar. No shelter on it whatsoever. No payload either. I hopped right on and tried to make myself comfortable against one of the rising flats at the back end.
The train sprang to life a minute later, and I was off. No backpack, no jacket, no phone. I really thought this one through. Adrenaline coursed in my veins. This was a defining moment. The crisp air of a spring day whipped past me as the train gained speed. I took a deep breath to savor the aroma of blooms. Something else wafted past my nose. Crap.
I had sat in something. Braving a look downward, I chose the ONE spot on the car someone else had deemed worthy of a bowel relief session. Apparently, adrenaline doesn’t help with situational awareness.
Wonderful. Suddenly freedom stank. I scooted over, not wanting to lose my balance as the train picked up speed. Ok, not a good start. The smell of feces followed me.
While the flat car was the easiest to hop on to, it had very little cover. Through every crossing, I awkwardly smiled and waved to the waiting motorists. Their faces were a mix of amusement, confusion, and concern. Discretion was non-existent. How often do you see someone just catching a ride on a freight train? My only recollection was when a naked guy rode a coal car straight through downtown. That made the news.
We were almost at the edge of town, and I could see wide open spaces ahead. The train was headed West, to the coast. Questions began racing through my mind. How long would I stay on? Would we stop again? What do I do if I’m found?
I didn’t have a plan. Even if you’re a seasoned train hopper, you NEED to have some sort of plan. Where to get off, how to avoid detection, having an estimate of where the train would stop. Yea, I have zilch.
The open desert of Washington was before me. I felt free. I smelled terrible.
Our speed stabilized as we burst from the city limits. The gentle rocking of the car on the rails was almost hypnotizing, and the adrenaline was wearing off a little bit. I started to think straight again. The concept of doing this for an extended amount of time seemed attractive. Take a year off from school, hop some trains, see where they would take me.
Camping would be the best option for lodging. Minimal food. Physical exercise. This could really work.
A shrill grinding came from below me. The train was stopping. Even though I had never ridden on a train illegally before, heck I had never even been on a train before, something didn’t sit right. It was too soon to be making a pit stop. We had only been going, what, like 10 minutes?
Glancing around, I tried to make sense of the situation. A dirt road ran alongside the rails, and from my seat, I could make out a plume of dust with red and blue flashing lights. It clicked. Someone had reported me, and I was about to get caught.
Fight or flight. Well, I had no fight in me. Wrestling in 8th grade proved that. The train was still moving. How to get off? The lights were a good 30 seconds away from me, and from the feel of the train, we would be stopped pretty soon. If I was to jump, this would be the time.
Jumping onto the road for the police cruiser to ram me would be a mistake. The other side was occupied by hard dirt and numerous boulders. Now or never. I launched my feces-covered behind off that train. Now, mind you, sports of any kind never really suited me. Therefore, I never learned how to properly land from any kind of jump.
My time in the air was short, but there was a split second when I realized that with my current trajectory, I would land semi-sideways. How to correct this? Flail wildly. I landed not on my feet, but on my right ankle. I heard a loud crack, my torso and face smashed into the ground, and the wind rushed out of me.
So let’s recap:
- I was covered in poop
- I was about to get arrested
- I just broke my ankle
- I couldn’t breathe
- I had just had the time of my life
Preoccupied with my situation, I didn’t hear the crunch of boots on the soil next to me. As I wheezed like a beached whale and held my ankle, the police officer had come up alongside me.
He put a hand on my back. “Alright kid, calm down and take some deep breaths.”
I slowed my breathing and was able to catch some air again. Panic was replaced by a pit in my stomach.
“You ever done anything like this before?”
I shook my head. Words weren’t forming.
“Seems like you got enough punishment already without my help. Let’s call your parents and get that ankle looked at. I heard that snap. Can’t feel good.” He reached for his radio and started mumbling words to a dispatcher.
Dust floated lazily around, agitated by my impact. Glancing back at the train, a mental note formed.
Next time, don’t get caught.