The Way of the Land - part 2
over, around, and through
As we came up on the golf course that marks the approach to the Brooklyn yard I gathered my stuff, now one bottle lighter, and sat in the doorway ready to hop off. We dropped to a comfortable walking pace where a street dead-ended against the yard boundary and I hopped off, bidding my "home" goodbye and waiting for the train to clear before I walked over to the street and waited for a bus. After constantly moving for the last day and a half it felt odd to be sitting still on the bus bench, even though I spent many an hour sitting equally still in the boxcar. Since just about all of the buses here are heading to the downtown area I decided to get into town this way, rather than walk the 2 or 3 miles down the tracks. Spotting a familiar looking part of downtown I got off and made my way over to a state liquor store to re-supply, then angled back over to the tracks to get me to the southern end of Union Pacific's Albina yard, where I'd get a train east to Hinkle. Finding a secluded spot to wait near the grain elevators was difficult, as there were homies everywhere I looked. I didn't feel like bringing out a bottle of White Port in front of this crowd, so I wandered around and found a nook between some blackberry thickets that would serve as home for the time being. This was a good spot to wait, as the trains were out of sight of the yard tower, there was a 10mph speed limit, and they often had to stop anyway to wait for clearance.
Before I could even take my pack off I heard a train approaching, so I hunkered down and waited. Sometimes promising looking stack trains stop here, tempting riders to think of them as being an easy ticket to everywhere east, but one sniff will tell you that they're the "garbage train" and are only going half way out the Columbia River Gorge to a landfill, then coming back. I made this mistake once and was not about to make it again. Fortunately the train bearing down on me was a junker, and without stopping it curved around a wye and turned east, and I caught one of dozens of empty grain cars headed back to the Midwest, or wherever they came from. Settling down on a relatively clean porch I made myself at home as we sped along the Columbia River. Offering many toasts to whatever the river was supposed to represent, I had a nice ride out to the east side of the Cascades, or as some tramps like to say, "Where the scenery ends". Soon we were slowing for the Hinkle yard and I bailed off at my first opportunity so I could get over to the departure yard without being seen.
Apparently there was one train a day that went from Hinkle up to (and through) Spokane, but I had no idea when it was supposed to leave. The departure yard was on the far north side of the yard and I was on the far west, so I slowly made my way around far enough away so as not to be seen but close enough to run up and catch a train, if needed. There are not many places to hide around here, unless you are about the size of a sage bush, but I didn't see any evil-looking white cars or trucks. The climate difference between here and Portland was significant — it was a little after noon and it felt like it was already in the high 90's. At least my allergies were happy. Finally reaching a long string of cars I shelved my fear of getting busted and moved over into the shade alongside them, continuing over to where I remembered a shanty to be. I was startled to see that the dilapidated wooden shack that I knew from previous visits had been replaced by a modern metal building, completely lacking in character but equipped with something that the old shack didn't have — air conditioning!
No one was inside or in the general vicinity, so I set my pack down outside and went in. Wow, this place is great, I thought. There was a huge ice making machine, and several plastic gallon jugs with the Chicago & Northwestern logo on them. Grabbing one I quickly discovered that the individual ice cubes were just a tiny bit too large to fit down into the neck of the jug. This I fixed by holding several ice cubes in my hand for a minute until they began to melt and shrink a bit, then pushing them into the jug. This worked fine, except that my hand was getting numb from the cold, so I switched hands until I had the jug over half filled with ice cubes, then added water until it was full. This I quickly stowed in my pack in case someone drove up, but after sitting outside in the heat for awhile I seized upon a daring remedy to combat the heat. On one side of the building was an outdoor open-air shower, the type that safety rules call for as an emergency wash if somebody gets diesel fuel or whatever spilled on them. It also had a fountain below to wash out someone's eyes, if needed. Right now I decided to find out how it would work if someone was merely hot, and wanted to cool off. Stripping down, I waked over and pressed the big handle and was pummeled by a surprisingly strong jet of ice cold water. This was great! In a matter of minutes I was freezing, and after stepping out and drying off with my t-shirt I remained at a comfortable temperature.
With perfect timing a truck drove up just as I was tying my boots and a worker got out and walked over. Not knowing if he was going to chew me out for being here, I was supremely surprised to hear him invite me inside to get out of the heat. This I did without further prompting, and we engaged in the usual conversation of where I was headed and where I came from. For some reason he appeared to be genuinely interested, but then I noticed him eying the box along side the ice making machine that held the plastic jugs. It was obvious that there were six slots for the jugs but only 5 jugs. We looked at each other and a millisecond before I could think of anything to say he came back with "I see ya' found the water jugs. Make sure ya' fill 'em to the brim — supposed to get to a hunnert today".
Almost collapsing with relief, I inquired about the Canadian train, and he said that he actually worked in another part of the yard and didn't know about departing trains, but I could tell which cars were going north because there was always at least one Canadian Pacific engine along with the Union Pacific power. He showed me what tracks they built the train on and told me that I was welcome to stay inside the building, but I didn't want to overstay my welcome, so I told him that I should probably walk the string and thanked him for his hospitality. Reluctantly leaving the arctic environment of the building I walked out into the sun, thankful that there was a full jug of cold water tugging at my shoulder straps.
I began to notice more and more Canadian cars in the string I was walking along and felt confident that this would be my train. Finding a nice, clean grainer facing the "right" way I climbed in and decided to just hang out here. I was tired of walking in the heat and I would be able to hear the engines when they came and quickly figure out which string they were connecting to. It didn't take long — maybe a half hour — and I saw several engines backing down to "my" string with a CP unit in front. This couldn't have worked out better because I was starting to really detest the heat, and it would be nice to get moving so I had some wind blowing by. Shortly the air test was done and we pulled out of the yard and turned north, shortly dropping down the bluffs to the river level where we crossed the Columbia into Washington on an impressive bridge. This line was to almost parallel the Burlington Northern line all the way to Spokane, only a few miles east. As boring as eastern Washington is (and it is boring), the White Port made it seem almost pleasant, and in no time I was drifting off into a delightful nap.
By early evening we were coming into the outskirts of Spokane, and since I had no idea where the train would take me I rolled up and got ready to do whatever I needed to do. We entered town the same way the BN trains did, but several blocks past the downtown area we veered to the left and slowly made our way along until we stopped in a small yard. I watched the head end crew climb down and walk away with their grips, but the replacements were no where to be seen. Since we appeared to have stopped on what passes for the "main line" I figured that we wouldn't be here for long, and about an hour or so later a van pulled up to the engines and the outbound crew climbed up the steps, much to my delight. After a bit we pulled out and weaved our way through this and that neighborhood until we merged onto what looked like the BN mainline. It was getting too dark to see any landmarks and since we were passing through a cool forest setting I really didn't care whose tracks we were on, as long as they went north.
At some point we turned off the mainline and began to climb up into the mountains and I really wished I had brought some sort of map along. The scanner wasn't any help because I forgot to find out the Spokane International frequencies before I left home, and without knowing the lead unit number I had no idea of who was talking to whom. It was now time to "toast" something and today it was the sweet smell of pine, fir, cedar, and whatever other kinds of trees passed me in the dark. For the first time I believed that I could actually "smell" Canada...