Freight Trains

I woke to the sound of bicycle spokes zinging, bells ringing, and feet tromping as joggers stomped through the recreational path that lead to the overlook of Mount Royal. Almost immediately, I started making my way towards Angrignon in Montreal Quest wandering the busy city streets looking for Western Union and a “Pay-As-You-Go” SIM card to get service on my phone. Tourists and passersby flooded the sidewalks almost as heavily as construction equipment occupied closed

To avoid crossing the border by foot, I took a Greyhound to Montreal, which did not go smoothly by any means. It never does on “The Dog.”  My bus arrived three hours late that night at my transfer in Burlington and by the time I made it to Montreal it was 1 AM.  The bus station put me smack dab in the middle of a new city with unfamiliar faces, new language, and signage plastered

It's 5 AM.  I can't sleep again for the third night on this train.  It's cold.  The rain finally stopped after nearly four days of intermittent pitter-patter and downpour, but the chills of the night sky linger with films of morning dew in the air.  I can't help but wait for the light, a dose of sunshine to strip me of the doldrums, this miserable state, and

With less than twenty cars on the train, most of them unrideable gondolas with hoods, I didn't have much choice than to climb up on inside a foxhole in Squamish.  Now the grainer can be a tramp's best friend at times, but also his worst enemy.  In this instance, it fell in the middle. I've come to learn with age, the small bangs to my joints, knees, shins, the

After visiting the in-laws, watching the Super Bowl and getting squeaky clean in a bath tub instead of a fast food sink, I felt that itch to hit the road again after a few days of being housed up.  I hit the open road, taking a free Lyft to the train yard in downtown Phoenix, where I met back up with Rooster.  With a 40 in his hand, a few schwills, belches and nothing but

We woke up in a field.  My head throbbed from the whiskey the night prior and I swore to myself I would take a night off the booze, but we all know how that goes. “Rooster ya wanna hit up Walmart?” “Fo Sho, lemme just sleep another hour...fuckin' tired bro.” I found it odd how I kept myself preoccupied so easily, but, “Without employment and little to do, why not wander in thought?

Bakersfield made me feel like a home bum after five days of bumming it.  That last bone-chilling night, with a film of frost on my bag, waking up to a text message on the roof of a church, made me smile.  My breath froze in front of me, like plumes of white smoke, as I walked to the train tracks along the dark streets to meet my road dog, Rooster from Squat the Planet.  With

The inclement weather followed me as it always does on the road.  Getting wet is a part of travel, but the key is staying dry. Although I never encountered Sergeant Flood in Roseville, I certainly dealt with my fair share of rain.  I felt too lazy to walk, to setup camp in the woods, and honestly, too damn sick to step another inch.  I plopped my ass under a bridge by the tracks. Rail cops,

Yesterday I learned that just because I've been through tunnels dozens of times over the years, does not mean the train can't side out in one for three hours.   At first, I figured the crossing light was out, and she'd start moving in five minutes, or she was briefly waiting for clearance — no biggie.  When that didn't happen, I panicked.  My mind started racing, and I just

After hopping off the train last night in torrential rain, I set up camp in an empty storage container for a few hours on RR property, until it calmed to a mist, to start hoofing it into town. Walking in the dead of night on Ridley Island Road scared me more than I imagined it would. My heart pumped erratically erasing the chills of my saturated state as I marched up the slick asphalt road,

I took a break from trains to enter the states legally and left Canada a few days ago on a bus, crossing the border into VT.  Border Patrol always asks me the most cynical questions just because there's a little dirt under my fingernails and smudges of grease on my winter jacket, where holes and patches are fairly noticeable.   He asked me if I had been to jail in about five different ways