Iowa, my Iowa! - part 4

The night was uneventful, so much so that I slept right through the crew change in Winnemucca and woke up when we entered the Chilcoot Tunnel, about 45 minutes or so before stopping in Portola for another crew change. By now we were winding our way through the Feather River Canyon, and our speed, although definitely in the "fast" category, was nothing like our speed across the Nevada desert, where you'd get sandblasted if you tried to look out to the side or ahead.

Being in the Canyon also meant that the scenery was much closer — instead of the distant mountain ranges ringing the desert landscape, there were rock cliffs almost close enough to reach out and touch as we went by, with water dripping on you as we went through numerous tunnels, and of course the Feather River following us down the canyon all the way to Oroville. As boring as the Central Valley is, we mercifully sped along quickly so that I didn't feel marooned in the endless rice fields or olive groves. Coming into Stockton we slowed and pulled into the yard, where we picked up more cars destined for the Bay Area. I really needed to get off and stretch my legs, so I dropped down and walked around in circles for awhile. I was severely tempted to grab my gear and walk over to the nearest liquor store for a bottle of wine but in a few minutes we aired up and it was time to go. Pulling out of the yard going West I was passed by a similar piggyback train going East, and exchanged waves with a rider under a trailer like I was. For a second or two I felt like trading places with him. After all, riding trains is about riding trains — it really doesn't matter where you're going. I imagined that I somehow transported myself over to his train and spent the rest of the day going East instead of West. It would be almost like re-reading your favorite book. I knew where I would be going and what I would see and do along the way, but like re-reading that book, there was always the chance that I'd come across something new — something that I missed the first time. It would have made it worthwhile, I knew. I felt a very pronounced sadness when the rear end of the other train went by without stopping. Just a few yards separated the tracks at this point...