Freight Trains

I woke up covered in a thick, wet, film of condensation from the crashing raindrops running rampant throughout the rough night, festering from the ambush of humidity. I glanced through the alcove of dripping forest at the dismal sky. It blocked the sun with dark, puffy, storm clouds giving the façade of night. In three hours, I would interview for “gatekeeper attendant” at Baxter State Park Headquarters located behind the McDonald’s in Millinocket. The

When my freight train is in motion, riding in a well during winter often feels like I'm trapped in a snow globe.  Wind surges around those ribbed walls of double stack containers, with a cool, subtle stream flowing into my well, nothing violent, but persistent, quickly pulling up any tiny crystals of snow packed to the porch.  At first, they dance and they swim and they soar through the air playfully grazing my

The hardest moments for me are goodbyes.  Always.  Don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy my solitude, but the goodbyes always tear me down like watchin' a building of emotions collapse as you push that tiny red button.  Sometimes I'd rather just hit fast forward on life and skip ahead a day without havin' to say goodbye or cya later at all. I do love the freedom of

I remember my correspondence with Northbank Fred from over a year ago via email like it was just yesterday. I thanked him for his contributions to hobohemia and the many adventure stories and monikers plastered throughout his blog. They are all truly inspiring and preserve so much of the train culture; it’s unfathomable, with dissertations, short stories, and photography the symbol of freedom resonates through the bindle of the early American Hobo. The words

I woke up early that morning on a bed of mulch with limbs of pine drooping overhead and thick dew in the air. The clanking commotion from heavy equipment jostling stone boulders around bellowed over the sound of freight working in the train yard. For the most part, the yard looked pretty empty compared to the old Roseville I knew, once bustling with steady freight traffic, but now less trains "seemed" to run

I rolled over in the dirt this morning, poking my head out of my bivy, lying in viny tendrils of plants scattered along the river between remnants of dead birch and leaves.  A garden of amanita virosa lingered in the shadows, hidden in the cracks of decayed earth, under a canopy of hardwoods. The only sign of autumn flowered from the rhus skirting the bank of the river, painting parts of the verdant mountains a

I splay out along a swimming hole where the cataracts flow, down the craggy chasms of rock, over the moss and through the riffs and ferns, swimming out to meet the St. John's.  Beneath its glinting ripples the bass and the muskies roam free with the moose hidden in the deep green forests and lush meadows of the wilderness.   I look beyond through the dark, slick passage where mountain water meets the river.

I zigzagged through the green maze, pushing my way through the thick vegetation, limbs and thorns clawing my bare arms and snagging my pants, as I hit walls of impenetrable forest.  The faint trail left by other riders over the year had faded to muddy banks with a creek snaking through it.  My feet sank into soupy earth as I hopped across the brook traversing the last stretch of woods to reach the hop out

Ogden, UT to Chicago, IL in 34 hours. First time riding through Wyoming. Caught the North Platte River at sunset and rode over a different section of the Mississippi River today going into Illinois. Hopped off at Global II, which is straight in the burbs. Got off in front of some kid playing basketball. Ogden is tweakerville. I left my spot for 20 minutes the other day to grab water from Walmart and came back

I woke in the middle of the night to yelps and squeals echoing from up in the hills.  They weren't from a dog and didn't sound like a fox or a coyote, but I couldn't distinguish the animal nor did I really want to know.  I heard these screams over the surging rage of winds that ran wild through the naked trees scattered along the Hoosic River.  My face