Time Spent Well... (part 3)

For the last few days I was the "still" object, and everything around me was moving, but now it was reversed — I was now speeding through one suburb after the next, watching the normally fluid traffic at each grade crossing sitting uncomfortably still. Payback time, I thought, and as we climbed up Cajon Pass out of the sprawl and into the high desert, again I experienced that wonderful feeling similar to the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, where the monotone bleakness of the smoggy flatlands is gradually transformed into the colorful expanse of the desert, capped by a blue sky, of all things.

All three railroads use the pass to get from LA to just about anywhere else, and hardly a minute goes by when there isn't a train visible somewhere. Mine made surprisingly good time going up the grade, and when we reached the summit it was a fast but smooth ride over to Barstow, where the Union Pacific tracks are routed right through the Santa Fe yard, and where a few years earlier I was popped by the Bull and spent 5 days in jail, so this time I made myself as invisible as possible, and we passed by with no incidents. A crew change in Yermo lowered my spirits considerably because they set out a string of cars that included my smooth-riding boxcar, and I had to hoof it up toward the head end to climb on a piggyback, as all the rideable cars were left in the yard. It was pretty much just desert for the next umpteen hours, so I settled down to re-aquaint myself with my Mom's home cooking, even though the combination of White Port and sugary molasses cookies was a bit much on my digestive tract. That, coupled with the previous three cups of Denny's coffee prompted me to be ready to dismount the next time we stopped. For the next several hours it was just the gentle rocking of the car as it squealed around curve after curve and the faint sound of the cap being screwed and unscrewed from the wine bottle, then a delicious nap...

Leaning over the side to pee at one point, I noticed that our speed had slowed considerably as it appeared that we were ascending a long grade. The temperature dropped as well, with snow falling and blowing onto my gear. A quick nightcap of wine and I burrowed back into my bag and resumed my sleep. Sometime after dark we stopped again for a crew change and the next thing I was aware of was winding our way into the Salt Lake yard early the next morning. I was really looking forward to dropping down and actually walking somewhere after remaining virtually motionless for so long, but as we entered the yard there was another train pulling out a few tracks over, and I recognized several types of cars that always ended up in Stockton or Oakland, so I jumped off my car, ran a few feet, then grabbed onto a ladder and was off to California on a dirty but properly oriented grainer already graced with a large chunk of cardboard.

Another daylight ride across Nevada, but this one in clear but 20° weather, which meant that I was wrapped up in just about every item of clothing that I brought along. At midday I finally finished the Christmas goodie bag, and settled back to see what my last bottle of White Port could accomplish. My thoughts wandered back to previous train trips, mostly in warmer times, but the feelings were very similar, though difficult to explain. When it was hot, I was hot, and when it was cold I was cold, but there were very few times that I really, really wished that I was somewhere else...