The Train-Time Continuum (part 3)

As far as freightyards go, this one was pretty boring. No jungles to explore, no switching jobs to watch, just a few tracks of cars in the middle of a city, so, along with a freshly-purchased pint of Night Train, I whiled away the afternoon as best I could. Toward evening there was an increase in activity as a string of piggybacks were shoved up to the north end of the yard, followed by another string a half hour later. I mentally made a picture of where the properly-oriented trailers were located, but this was meaningless since I didn't know which of the two strings of cars would be on the head end, but it did help to pass the time. As the yard returned to its quiet boredom, the Night Train had worked its magic, and I drifted off to yet another nap.

Around midnight I was awakened by the wonderful sound of road power approaching, and I scurried around to gather up my stuff. Another mental note, this time the lead unit number, so I could differentiate it amongst the radio chatter on my scanner from the three different railroads that work around Portland: Southern Pacific, Union Pacific, and Burlington Northern. The train was put together, aired up, and I was leaving town before 1:00 am. Crossing the big bridge over the Columbia River as a Union Pacific freight went by in the other direction, we pulled around the curve at the Amtrak station and in minutes were speeding eastward into a warm evening befouled by the smell of the adjacent pulp mills.

By morning we were slowing for Pasco, where a two minute crew change was the only impediment to what seemed like a very fast ride. Spokane was no different, and by noon we were crossing the long rail bridge over Lake Pend Oreille and into Idaho... then Montana, which I knew because of the long tunnel before you get to Whitefish. The scenery here was great, but we started to run out of daylight just as we got to the snowsheds of the Rockies, and I just got a glimpse of the Plains coming down the east side before I rolled out my sleeping bag and called it a day.

Early the next morning I awoke to what had to be eastern Montana... or maybe it was western North Dakota? I had no idea, but it really didn't matter — just miles and miles of undulating grassland, interrupted by a dead coyote draped across a barbed wire fence, or a herd of Pronghorn Antelope, or a block long town of brick buildings with no people. Man, what did people do out here? The trains had a way of helping out, though, as the scenic parts, where you want to spend a lot of time in, were done at a slower speed because of curves and grades, while the incredibly boring sections always seemed to surround straight track, where you could fly by quickly and not feel trapped.

By now I had seen just about all the grass-covered low hills I needed to see for the rest of my life, so I pulled out a bottle of the "good stuff" kept deep in my pack for special occasions (like extreme boredom). White Port had gotten me through periods of train riding that would have taxed a normal, sober person into delirium and this would be no exception. In no time I actually began to develop a fondness for rusted tractors sitting like abandoned sentrys in valleys and hills where I was sure that something of value might grow but never figured out what it was. Even the Antelope came alive, and often paced the train for short stretches, instead of just eating grass all day. I was feeling good because I was leaving this part of the country and would soon be back in civilization again, but never far from the tracks.

Another nap and soon the lights of "civilzation" appeared in the east, so I cleaned up my stuff and got ready to de-train. It was now pretty late and I knew that there wouldn't be much in the way of bus service, so I hopped off somewhere between the Northtown Yard and downtown, found a convenient loading dock, and settled down for a nice sleep on terra firma. I was now in Minnesota, so the next morning I adjusted my watch to the new time zone and began weaving my way through Minneapolis to Saint Paul, and then South St. Paul, by bus and shank's mare.

part 4 of 6→