In the 90's I did some train hopping and recently started writing about some of my experiences. Below is the somewhat long occasional embellished story of my ride in the summer of 92 from Stockton to Bend Oregon. It was an amazing experience. Like I said its a little long and still needs some editing. It was also written more for non-railroaders so keep that in mind when you notice technical details are hinky.

The Ride

When I was young it became apparent early on that I had an innate interest in trains. I knew all the local railroads, where the tracks went and and what they hauled. My interest came with me to adulthood and when I was in my early 20’s I thought it would be a good idea to ride freight trains. What could go wrong?
This was way before the internet so the hard part was how does one get enough info so you don't get stranded in the middle of a desert or inadvertently wind up in the snowy mountains and freeze to death because you thought the train was going to Southern California.
I stumbled around for a couple of years trying to figure it out and one day ran across the Open Exchange which was a freebie self help newspaper that offered classes that ranged from Yoga and to my surprise a class called “How to ride Freight Trains” . And how could I ever forget the teacher's name, Gary Littlefeather.
It was a one day class at Sonoma State with most of the day in a classroom and a visit to a local train yard for some hands on practice. My always up for a good adventure friend John and I signed up and off we were to Sonoma State to learn how to ride freights. The class was great, Gary was a teacher and for 20 years he would spend his summers riding around the country on freights usually going back to Chicago to visit his parents and roaming the country and Canada. He was such a pro at it he would only ride the Engines, they had bathrooms and water and he was tired of dirty freight cars. This guy was a fount of information and told some amazing stories. By the time we completed the class we were well trained pseudo Hobos and ready to ride.


It was an early warm summer morning in Stockton California in July of 1992. My wife Cathy was driving with my 6 year daughter Shalynn in the backseat along with my good friend John. We pulled into the Union Pacific Railroads large sprawling Stockton freight yard on a mission to ride a freight to Bend Oregon to see my friend since 1st grade Kimo. We had done 2 previous rides with mixed results, this was our 3rd and by far the longest as the other two were day trips.
We pulled into the yard onto a service road and Cathy took took us to the far end where we said our goodbyes and I had to promise not to die. I don't know what she was worried about, freight train riding is a safe hobby, right?. As they pulled away I'll never forget my cute little 5 yr old Shay waving goodbye and I could hear her say 'Bye daddy, have fun riding the trains" It made me think, well at least for a minute, is this really a good idea? I've got this precious little daughter and 2 year old son at home that I need to be around for”. It was a brief moment of clarity because as soon as they left we went into let's find a train mode.
I felt we could pull this off safely, I had done plenty of research and even took a class on how to hop trains. I love adventure but I'm not reckless. I plan the best I can, I consider it a calculated risk.
We found a nice spot in the trees by a creek it was already getting warm and the shade was nice. It was decided John would go into the yard and do recon and I would hang back with the gear. Back when you used to be able to ride trains which you cant do post 9-11you got all your information from the railroad employees who for the most part were happy to share. They were kind of like Hobo travel guides. The guys on the ground, like the Switchman or Carmen were the friendlier ones. Engineers sometimes thought they were elite and just acted like you weren't there.
I waited for a good hour sitting by our quiet little stream reading the National Lampoon when John finally walked into camp. I could tell he had good info by his satisfied grin and started with " Well, Jerry the Carman says" That was John, a strong gift of gab that I was imagining he made Jerry feel like an old friend and would be happy to spew all the info we need to not wind up in Arizona or somewhere entirely inconvenient or even deadly.. That's one of the potentially dangerous thing about what is normally a completely safe activity. I've hard stories of riding through the rural Nevada desert and the train stops. In the age of Cabooses this was never a problem but now they can just cut off a big piece of your 100 car train on a siding in the Nevada desert and leave you stuck for a week.
John went on about all the tips he got from Jerry, Jerry said there's a train leaving in the afternoon that would stop in Oroville and if we got off there another train would be coming in around midnight that was heading to Oregon. The important thing was to stick with the 2 yellow boxcars that are marked" explosives" They were bombs that were being sent to a base in Washington and I wasn't really excited about riding next to a carload of bombs all the way to Oregon. All that was left to do at this point was wait.
If you don't like waiting you probably won't like freight hopping. The trains don't run on a schedule so you never know when there actually leaving. The crews can give you a few hours window but it's like the dispatchers make it up as they go along. Once you do get rolling it's not unusual to be stuck in a siding for hours waiting for oncoming traffic to pass. If you're on a low priority train this can happen multiple times in a trip making for a long ride.
A relaxing day was had by our little stream which I was growing fond of. It was a little green oasis sandwiched between a large railroad freight yard. On one side a noisy freeway overpass ran parallel and a large steamy stinky Sugar Factory on the other side. We spent the afternoon reading and anticipating god only knows what lies ahead ahead.
Finally around 2:00 pm it was time to find our train. Jerry the Carman said it wouldn't leave before 3:00pm which means it will probably leave somewhere around 5:00. We gathered our packs and headed into the vast yard looking for our bombs. Looking across the 25 track wide freight yard for the first time I thought how the hell will we find two particular yellow boxcars among the other few hundred other yellow boxcars and the couple of thousand other types of cars. Just as I was scanning the yard and thinking how this could be a hopeless task 4 tracks in I could see the last 3 Boxcars cars of a long train were yellow. The door on the last car was open indicating it was empty which was just what we were looking for. It was to far away to see if the other two had the ominous red "Explosive" placards on the side that would seal the deal.
We trudged across the yard always scanning for the dreaded railroad police also known as the Bulls. Historically they have a reputation of the wood stick smackdown if they caught you riding the trains or poking around railroad property.In 1994 times they were more likely to just kick you out if you played it cool. But if you should have any kind of outstanding warrant train hopping might not be your best transportation choice.
It was only a few minutes before were able to clearly see the explosive placards. It was our lucky day, within 5 minutes we had found a needle in a haystack. It was a perfect Laaaaaa moment, it just needed a rainbow to make it perfect. I was really hoping this was an omen on how well the rest of the trip would go.
Excitedly we scrambled into the last open boxcar took off our packs and got ready to roll. The first thing you need to do when riding a boxcar with open doors is find some wood and jam the doors so they don't rattle shut. There difficult and sometimes impossible to open them from the inside so if that were to happen on a 100 degree San Juaquin Valley day it could be ugly.
With the doors securely jammed it was once again time to wait. I found a large clean piece of cardboard which was nice to recline on in a dusty boxcar. John was on one end, I was on the other and we just kind of laid around bored for a good hour when we could hear a vehicle coming our way. Immediately we were on our feet and the first thing that came to mind was the dreaded Bulls. We kind of stuck out like a sore thumb walking across the yard with our backpacks it seemed reasonable that someone called us in.
I was actually kind of pissed, here we were minutes from a trip I dreamed of for years and it was going to be snatched away right when it was getting started.
We listened intently as the vehicle pulled up, I was sure a Bull would pop his head in the door and the party would be over. I heard the vehicle doors close and listening intently I could hear every crunching footstep in the gravel. Soon I heard the voices of two Carmen discussing everything but the fact that we were in the Boxcar. As they started working on the back of the train I quickly and with great relief realized they were there to install the "FRED" on the back of a train.
A "FRED" is a device that bolts on the last car of a train with a red flashing light and equipment to monitor air brake pressure. It's also an acronym for .FRED's were instrumental in making modern railroading much less interesting. Because of them the iconic Caboose at the end of a train was replaced by a cold lifeless red flashing light. No more friendly railroad guy waving as the he rolled by, trains just weren't the same anymore.
It only took about 10 minutes for the crew to install the device and you could hear them gather their tools and chit chat as they headed back to the truck I heard one door close and as I was anticipating the close of the other one I heard one of the Carmen say " Look at that perfectly good 2 x 4 . I immediately scanned to a perfectly good 2 X 4 sitting in the open doorway. I could hear the crunch of the Carmans steps heading towards the door and saw his hand reach in to grab the board. I was up against the wall on the head end of the car right in his line of sight so when he rounded the corner and reached for the piece of wood he looked right at me.
Awkward to say the least, all I could do was produce a @#$%& eating grin and a nervous wave. He looked the other direction at the back of the car and John did the exact same thing almost as though we rehearsed it. The Carman didn't blink or say a word. He just grabbed his shiny perfectly good new 2’x'4 and I heard him toss it into the truck followed by the satisfying sound of his door closing and driving away.
Now we were pretty sure we were busted, Mr Carman was likely headed to the office to report two Cheshire Cats in a boxcar. We sat nervously wondering if we would get rolling before the bulls could get to us and hoping Mr Carman just didn't care what we were up to and went on his way.
It wasn't long before we would know our fate, about 10 minutes later I hear the dreaded sound of a vehicle approaching. I was pretty sure we were done before we got started because the Carmen had done all they needed to do and the train was ready to go so who else could it be but the bulls.
The truck came to a stop in the gravel and only one door closed. The footsteps of one person approached slowly and after what seemed forever our buddy, 2' x 4' the Carman poked his head in the door. He started the conversation with a relieving not tat all concerned tone asking" Where you guys going"? We told him our Oregon plans and following the boxcars of bombs and he concurred we were on the right track.....so to speak.
He was a nice guy who was just interested in our story as he didn't usually see people with decent clothes and shiny new backpacks riding like hobos. He left after about ten minutes with" Good luck, be careful and lay low until you get out of the yard". Back we went to our corners relieved that we probably just finished our last hurdle before we roll.


Barely 10 minutes later we heard the hissing of air brakes being released indicating it's time to go. We immediately leapt to our feet and within minutes started to roll. We still weren't completely out of the woods until we got out of the yard. We lumbered along at about 10mph and before too long we passed the dispatchers tower at the end of the yard and quickly sped up to a good 40mph. We realized we were born free and ran into the middle of the car and both spontaneously broke into song and dance to the Beat Farmers "Ride that old death train". It was one of those odd special moments that I will treasure forever.


Soon we were rolling crossed over the American and Sacramento rivers heading north up the San Juaquin valley. It was beautiful, the grass was still green and the landscape was Oak tree studded untouched valley. Most of the San Juaquins natural landscape is now either farms or cities, for about 15-20 miles we went through this beautiful time capsule of untouched land.
As we sped up to about 50 mph I can still remember the feel of the wind as we sat in the doorway admiring the rolling landscape. After a couple of hours the Oak trees started to thin out and the landscape started changing to green grassland with occasional farms.
It was getting to be about 6:pm and the farms were more frequent and the train started to slow indicating we were nearing our first stop the hot little dusty town of Oroville. We rolled in and came to a stop and scurried up a small grassy hill on the side of the yard to see what they were going to do with our train. Just like Jerry said the last 10 cars, including our beloved bombs were cut off and the train was on its way. All was going according to plan, the 10 cars left behind were supposed to be picked up by a Oregon bound train around midnight.
We wandered into town which was pretty unremarkable, hot, dusty, it reminded me of a sprawling strip mall with lot of big American flags in the back of pickup trucks and people with not a lot of teeth.
Looking for food we soon found we had a cornucopia of options if we had wanted to eat shiity fast food which we didn't. There were very few conventional restaurants so we settled for a little BBQ joint and kind of enjoyed a pretty unremarkable dinner.
Belly's full we dragged ourselves back to the yard. It was mid June and the sun was still up around 8:00pm when we got back to our grassy hill under some oak trees waiting for our midnight train to Oregon. We laid in the grass and slept with one eye open looking down the tracks to the west. There was a signal at the far end of the yard that would turn red when a train was coming our direction. We laid in the grass on a beautiful full moon summer night. Finally around 11:30 the signal turned red and in the distance was the unmistakable bright white light of a train. We quickly scrambled down the track to the edge of the yard. I was watching the train approach and when it entered the yard it looked like it was going awfully fast to stop here which was right because he blew through the yard at 40mph. Disappointingly and a little confused we headed back to hobo hill. An hour later was the same scenario and even better two more trains blew through after that. At about 4:00am yet another blew through, we were tired and this was getting old. Would we ever get out of stinking Oroville?
Dawn had barely started to crack when the signal turned red yet again and the light in the distance was coming our way. I scanned intently and soon determined it was slowing down and before long it slowly snaked into the yard and came to a stop. We quickly picked a Gondola car with a giant generator in it. A Gondola is like a flat car with 3' walls around the sides which was perfect for resting your arms on and getting the maximum view.
When you're out of the large city yards and in the smaller country yards the Crews are generally even cooler. They don't have as much management around and are more likely to give info. As we climbed into the Gondola right in front of the Carman I asked if we were still going the right direction and he cheerily affirmed.
We settled into our new ride sat down as to not be to obvious which was probably too late seeing as the crew watched us climb in.and we waited to leave. Before too long the engines came down to our end of the train and started pulling cars off the end and switching them around. He got to us and I don't know if he was screwing with us or for some reason this what railroads do but we were cut away from our trusty bombs and rolled away from them down the tracks only to violently shoved back into the bombs which was more than unnerving. This went on for another 20 minutes and when Engineer McCrashsycrash was done with us rolled on by and back up to the front of the train.


It was still early dawn when the sound of bleeding air brakes was heard again meaning we were finally heading to the Feather River Canyon. Slowly we pulled out of sleepy Oroville headed to the mountains to the east. We could see our train stretched out ahead of us with 5 engines in the lead and two more in the middle for the mountains ahead. The train looked to be about 100 cars of mixed freight with our trusty Gondola about 10 cars from the rear which we would find later to not be the optimal position.


Up we climbed through the grasslands that turned to Oaks which turned to Pines and we crossed over Lake Oroville on a double decker bridge that had the highway up top and the railroad underneath. High over the waters of lake Oroville we lumbered along at about 30mph watching the landscape start to change from scrub brush and Oak trees to pines as we climbed towards the mountains
It wasn't long when we entered our first tunnel, It was exciting plunging into the dark abyss.. Within seconds of entering the first thing I noticed was how amazingly, all encompassing, hellishly loud it was. Screeching, banging, and the roar of 7 giant diesel road engines. I could scream at John 2' away and he couldn't hear a word I said. Then a minute or so in the blackness set in, coal dark completely devoid of light with an occasional meteor like spark thrown off the wheels. it was kind of like a dark loud hell that only got worse as the Diesel fumes started to build up.
This is when I realized being in the back of the train was visually cool when you're outside watching it stretch out in front of us snaking through the curves but all that diesel smoke from the engines up front was coming back our way.
It was after maybe 5 minutes I started getting concerned about the fumes.The tunnel was curved so I had no idea how long it was and I was breathingwith my shirt over my mouth which was next to worthless. The air was getting hotter and thicker and my eyes started to burn. I was thinking of how I could MacGyver up some kind of breathing device when I could see a faint light ahead indicating the end of the tunnel. I watched with great anticipation as the daylight in the distance grew stronger and after 5 or so long minutes that seemed like 20 we popped out into the fresh air and sunlight deep breathing the fresh pine air.
Our relief was painfully short lived however as the tunnel exits perpendicular to a canyon and within a hundred yards and maybe 30 seconds or so we were back in another tunnel. It was as loud and dark and noisy as the last one and I was hoping it would be shorter which of course it wasn't.
We reached a point that we were still in the tunnel about the same amount of time as the previous tunnel and there was no end in sight. The noise heat and dark were uncomfortable but could be shaken off but the air was starting to get scary. Hot thick and full of diesel, breathing started to sear my throat and lungs and felt like it was leaving an oily hot residue in my throat It seemed as if we had been inside for 10 minutes and I was starting to get desperate. I figured if I could at least wet my breathing shirt I could cool the air and filter the solids. It was tricky with the rocking train and pitch black trying to go through my pack feeling for water and another shirt and bonus, starting to feel nauseous.
I found what I needed or it at least felt like it when I got up and looked ahead and could see the faint glow of daylight at the tunnel exit. Relief was in sight! For the next few minutes I stared towards the front as the daylight at the exit grew brighter and the thought of sweet cool air on the other side.
We finally popped out of the tunnel and gulped fresh cool pine air. It was like when you're deep underwater and as you push yourself to the surface you realize you should have done it just a few seconds sooner because you really need some air.
Once we got some good breaths in and cleared the Diesel snot from our noses It was only a matter of minutes when the tunnel from hell was forgotten because we had popped out in the beautiful Feather River canyon.
The Canyon is one of the Sierra Nevada scenic wonders. Surrounded on both sides with 1000’ + granite walls and the summer snow melt river paralleling the train. It was so beautiful it was like a model railroad, dozens of small and large bridges crossing over side streams, with another dozen or so mercilessly short tunnels.
Passenger trains through the Canyon ended around 1970 so it's either drive which is still beautiful; get a job with the railroad, or our option, act like a hobo and hop on.
On we went seeing the occasional fisherman and passing through a few little river resort communities. It didn't take long to realize an important part of freight riding is waving at people. Virtually everyone who saw us trackside would give a friendly wave that we would return. I never realized how much people like to wave at trains, it was cool, like old Americana.
On we climbed with the morning turning to afternoon never tiring of the splendor of the river the beauty of the mountains and the joyful waves. The sun was warm and beating down on us but the frothing river threw up a cooling mist that made for a perfect temperature balance.


We were pretty sure but not certain we were on the right train but I knew about an hour ahead was the crossroads that would send us north to our Oregon destination or East to god knows where in the deserts of Nevada and Utah.
As we climbed the Canyon narrowed and the river got farther away , the trees and smells made sure we knew we were in the Sierras. We could see ahead on the opposite side of the river was another rail line precariously hacked into the vertical walls of the canyon heading North.
I knew that meant our crossroads were right around the corner and soon we plunged into another tunnel. We quickly popped back out on a high twin steel bridge and with great relief could see the head end of our train on the northern track, Oregon bound.


The next few miles were some of the most impressive railroad engineering we would see which was saying a lot with the beautiful canyon we had just left behind. We were about 1000’ above gushing Spanish Creek where it empties into the mighty Feather. The guys who built this line in around 1900 were mighty ballsy as its almost vertical down to the water of loose crumbly rock that looked like it would avalanche if you sneezed.
We had climbed from about 500’ at Oroville to around 4000’. The difference from Oroville was striking, although its real easy for a location to be nicer than Oroville here was exceptionally scenic. After we got through the cliffs we entered the middle of a long spring green mountain meadow framed on each side with snow covered 7000’ peaks.
For the next twentyish miles we worked our way up the meadow passing through a few small lumber towns that looked tired. The Lumber mills that gave birth to the towns were long gone which and I can't imagine there is much of an economy in these little places. They made me think they were good places to be from.
We eventually ran out of meadow and headed into a thick mature pine forest and after an hour or so popped out along the shore of Lake Almanor. The lake was full of spring melt and filled to the brim.. It was beautiful gliding along next to the deep blue lake with the warm pine smelling mountain air.
It was early afternoon as we turned away from the lake and back into the forest. For the next 3-4 hours we were in lonely land, no towns, no roads except for an occasional dirt track.
I really like trees but after a few hours It got a bit montatanus withh the only view being trees and more trees until slowly the terrain started changing to fewer trees and more large Juniper trees. We could see the beautiful 14,000’ snow covered Mt Shasta about 50 miles to the west and to the east of us was the high desert of the Modoc Plateau.
Around 4:00pm P.M. we stopped in the first town we had seen in 4 hours, the thriving metropolis of Nubieber. It's a tiny 4-5 building town of maybe 50 people, I think it's only there because of the railroad as there's nothing but sagebrush and dust.
. Our trip so far was on the Union Pacific railroad but it ended in Nubieber and the Burlington Northern was going to take us the rest of the way. Years later i drove through the area and went through Nubieber and a couple of miles up the road was Beiber which was had an even sparser population than its sister down and somehow looked even more desolate and hopeless.


It took about a half hour to change engines for our new railroad and we were on our way. The high desert slowly changed to farmland as we got closer to Klamath Falls Oregon where we planned on stopping for the night. It was probably around 7:00 p.m. as we got to the outskirts of K Falls and it was time to get our waving arms again. Through the edge of neighborhoods and passed little league fields of 8 year olds trying to play baseball we rolled into Klamath Falls. I got another Americana nostalgia moment with all the waving. People were just so happy smiling and waving at us as we rolled by.


Soon the train started to slow and I could hear the squeal of the brakes as we pulled into the sprawling K Falls freight yard. We hopped off our trusty ride and with the confidence of 2 successful days of riding we strode across the yard to a phone booth at the yard offices and did what every self respecting hobo would do and called a cab for a ride to a motel in town.


Klamath Falls was similar to Oroville, dusty, kind of broke, the outskirts where the land of the strip mall with an old traditional downtown that was more empty than occupied. We wound up at a cheap motel for the evening and had a rolling sleep dreaming of our days adventures.


The next morning we were up early and went and had a crappy breakfast at the local crappy diner. It looked like it opened around 1970 and the owners have preserved the fine formica tables and wall paneling to its 70’s splendor. It was like a time capsule.


It was the subtle things that made it a special crappy place. The first thing I noticed was the original faded Open/Closed sign in the window with the flipping corners darkened with generations of greasy fingerprints.. I sat down and rested my arms on the table. As I reached for the menu I could feel my skin sticking to the decades of grease mist and food leavings that were embedded into the table. When your arms stick to the table you know you're somewhere special.
I opened the plastic covered menu and it resisted being held by the same greasy mist and grime, and when it opened the golden glisten of grease in the light confirmed this was going to be a good breakfast. And even more fun smoking was still legal so there was that yellowish haze on the wall and the unmistakable smell of 30 years of stale cigarette smoke.
Our server greeted us nicely and she fit the part so perfect it was like she was casted for the spot of little town waitress. She was probably around 65 and had the comfortableness of someone who had spent a good part of their life in this town and diner.
We ordered our meal from Meara who was quickly becoming our new best friend. Coffee quickly came in chipped faded ceramic cups, tired and hungry and in need of caffeine I couldn't wait for a taste of rich country diner coffee. I grabbed the cup and knocked back a big slug and to no surprise and it tasted more like tepid brown water than coffee. Yep, this is gonna be a good.meal
As I was pursuing the tabletop juke box that was seriously a musical time capsule EXPAND NAMES Meara professionally glided in with plates and side dishes heaping with food and places then in front of our eager faces. I was really hungry, you know travelling and being off your usual routine and being on freight trains for a couple of days and ready to eat anything hungry.
I looked at my plate with great anticipation and I felt, well, sad. Before me a pathetic weak ass shriveled BLT which I change to a BLO Bacon Lettuce and Onion instead of tomato. The supposed Whole Wheat bread looked like amenic cardboard which was a great indicator that I was in for a treat.
I opened my delicious looking sandwich which was hindered by the ½” of mayonnaise to see a translucent baconish bacon. It was so thin and wispy I thought it might be tofu based Facon or something but Meara assured it was nothing but the finest cut of pork. The barely cooked swimming in oil hashbrowns were heaped to one side and looked barely edible and possibly dangerous.
I was starving so I gutted down my meal hoping I wouldn't regret it later when I was stuck on a freight train. Mewara asked where we were from and we told her what we were up to and she was just blown away. She couldn't understand that if we afford to drive or take a bus of fly why in gods name would we be riding trains. She was so impressed she said “You've got to meet Big Mike, he loves this stuff”.
Out comes Big Mike who was about 6’ 3” with red hair and a big red beard, he reminded me of a Viking short order cook, an imposing figure. Big Mike was the owner and cook and a happy happy gregarious guy, he listened intently to our story so far and asked a lot of questions. He had always wanted to do a similar trip but never knew how and couldn't talk anybody into trying it.. He was such a nice guy, we spent a good half hour talking adventure and life and he insisted on buying our Breakfast.
4-5 years after our trip I stopped by the Cafe while passing through town on one of our Oregon Bike trips. The place was completely different, I went right by it the first time seeing a neon “Open” sign instead of the original greasy handed one.
I asked for Big Mike and he came out with his trademark giant red beard and as soon as he saw me gave me a big ol bear hug, he remembered me. He then good naturedly teased me about my Spandex bike shorts and I told him about the bike trip we were on
I asked what happened to the place, the fdark ugly paneling was replaced with clean warm painted walls. The faded cowboy paintings were replaced with pretty nature photos. The musty, greasy and every type of food and beverage the cafe has ever served stained carpet had been replaced with new clean nice looking hardwood laminate. The tables, the dishes everything was different, clean, nice. It even smelled like a restaurant.
I asked Big Mike what happened. He said” well when you were here some years back what did you think of the place?” I was at a loss for words, I couldn't possibly tell him how much it sucked but the look on my face quickly gave me away.. Big Mike with a roaring laugh bellowed loudly ”It's okay you can say it it SUCKED”. and roared out laughing again.
Once he settled down he told me he used to be a Oil Refinery Welder in Texas and hated the work and Texas. He was visiting his sister in K Falls less than a year before my first visit and the Cafe was for sale. Within 2 weeks Big Mike had bought the restaurant from the original owners who opened it in 1966 and moved to K Falls.
I met Mrs Big Mike who’s name I can't recall and she was the inspiration for the changes. She had a little restaurant experience, at least enough to know this wasn't a good restaurant and directed the makeover. We ate the amazingly improved delicious food and talked for over an hour. He never knew if we completed our train ride from years ago and was glad we came by and of course bought our breakfast again.
I went back probably 5 years later and the cafe was closed. I like to think Big Mike didn't go out of business from giving away to many breakfasts or pass away or anything bad and probably moved to somewhere like Montana and opened another non crappy little diner and is thriving.


It was back to the Motel to pack and we were delayed on getting going because there was some stupid old movie on the black and white TV that John wanted to finish and I was getting annoyed. Finally it was time to call a cab and get back to the freight yard.


The cab showed up and our driver Floyd was a tiny little man from Zaire, he couldn't have been more than 5’ tall and maybe weighed 100Lbs. He spoke English just well enough that I could mostly understand him. He told us he had came to the U.S. 5 years ago and wound up in Klamath Falls with the promise of a lumber mill job. He said when he went to punch in on the first day the Foreman saw him and fired him on the spot for being ”To Scrawny, you're gonna get yourself killed in there”.
There's really not much work in K Falls except the mills so Floyd had been driving a cab for 4 long years. We gave him our destination of the freight yard and he wanted to take us to the Amtrak station instead. When I explained that we would rather ride freight he burst out laughing. He said, or I at least think he said, it sounded much different than this “I came from poverty and it wasn't unusual for the people with no means to ride freights but in America people with money would rather ride a dirty old freight train, crazy!” He laughed loudly like we had just made his day.


We passed over the yard on an overpass and I had Floyd drop us off underneath. We said our goodbyes and Floyd wished us well and insisted the ride was free. Whats with K Falls people I thought, the city is far from thriving and people kept wanting to give us stuff for free. We gave him heartfelt thanks and I pretended that I had left something in the Cab and went back and snuck a $20 bill into his glove compartment. Floyd was a good hard working man who was trying to get his family here, he needed it more than me.
We walked under the overpass down a little trail through the tall grass and popped into a hobo camp, a real hobo camp. There were about 6 guys sitting around a fire and as soon as they saw us welcomed us over. Being a pseudo Hobo I was a little reluctant not knowing how we would be received. I quickly found my fears to be unfounded, they welcomed us like hobo brothers which John pointed out later he wasn't sure if we should be flattered.
They actually turned out to be nice interesting guys. Most of them were Veterans and they would spend a couple of months on the road and go home and cash their disability or assistance checks when they run out of money and get back on the road. One guy who seemed to be the most pickled of the bunch offered to sell me his sleeping bag that looked like a dumpster diving Bear or something had been using it, I politely declined.

We talked to our new dirty friends for about an hour and they showed us which train was headed to Oregon and that it wouldn't be leaving for a couple of hours. We left our new real hobo friends and I was glad they didn't realize were stay in hotel hobos, I don't think we would have been received as well.
We headed to our train that looked to be about 75 cars of mixed freight and knowing there were no tunnels ahead we chose a hopper car towards the end of the train. Hoppers are a good ride due to the view. At the ends of the car above the coupling theres a platform where 2 can easily fit and it's covered from the rain. There's no sides so you have an unobstructed view of your train.
It was around 9:00am and the train was supposed to leave around 10:00 so we settled in for who knows how long a wait. Quickly I became bored, I had read what little reading material I had brought not anticipating how much waiting time we would have. We were sitting on the ground and I started building a house with the rocks on the tracks and before long John joined an and we were having a who can make the biggest stacked rock house. We were at it a good hour and had a couple of pretty elaborate Flintstone type structures going when I noticed a carman coming our way inspecting the train as he went. Now if this was Stockton we would have hightailed it to the bushes but up here it was much more casual. Also I could see a couple of our real hobo buddies waiting by their chosen ride and they didn't seem at all concerned about the oncoming Caraman. It took him awhile to get down to us and when he passed we exchanged polite hellos as he was passing. I saw his eyes turn to our little construction projects, stopped and looked for a few seconds then looking confused he was starting to say something but then just turned and went about his business. We theorized he thought we were a couple of escaped mental patients and he should just leave well enough alone.


Finally at around 11:00 we could see a set of 4 fresh engines being hooked up to the front of the train and we climbed on up. Before long I heard the familiar hiss of releasing brakes and we slowly started to leave. The yard was going through a track maintenance program so crept out of the yard at 5mph. When we got to the last switch at the end of yard there was a switchman sitting in a chair with his two way radio making sure the train made it out without derailing. We were obvious as day with nowhere to hide so all I can do was say hi. He gave a big smile and a wave so I took his picture and we were on our way to our destination, Bend Oregon.
Out of the yard the train still had to meander through the city so we were going about 25mph and waving our asses off because there were people all around.
Finally we were at the edge of town and quickly got up to around 50mph. It was another warm beautiful day and we rolled right along the edge of the large Klamath lake for about 10 miles. It was a beautiful sight, the deep blue lake full of waterfowl heading north with the Spring and to the west still snow covered mountains just starting to free up from the winter's grip.
We eventually ran out of lake and the rail ran alongside the snow melt engorged Williamson River. It was so damn pretty crossing over the raging river a few times on steel lattice bridges we watched the scenery quickly change from high desert Juniper and brush to pines.
This was lumber country. Now on the highways of Oregon they tend to leave a buffer patch of uncut trees along the road so you don't see a clear cut forest. They don't care about the trains so we would run through a patch of thick tall trees and it would suddenly change to a large ugly clear cut, a meadow of stups usually a hundred or more acres. Then it was back into Shangri La until the next clear cut.
We went by the biggest cut we would see all day, and it was freshly done and they were burning off the slash. It looked horrible, like a tank army had crashed through and slashed and burned everything On it went for the next 4 hours pretty trees, ugly slash, pretty trees, ugly slash. Almost the whole 7 hour trip to bend was off the highway and didn't go through any towns. We went over a handful of roads and a few dirt roads but all in all it was a quite pretty ride.
About an hour out of Bend we thought it would be a good idea for a change of view and climbed up the ladder to the roof. This was a whole new somewhat scary perspective as there's not much to hang onto. We sat up there for about a half hour and climbed back to the safety of our platform.
Minutes after we climbed down a loud banging of tons of steel raced from the front of the engine and ran through us to the end of the train. We didn't realize that we had just climbed a long hill and were heading down the other side.
On trains the couplers all have roughly 1” of slack built into the couplers so when there switching cars and banging them together the coupler isn't stiff and won't break. When a train is going up a hill all the couplers are stretched out to maximum slack and the train can actually be many feet longer than when it was sitting still. When it goes over a hill all that slack goes in the opposite direction banging each car together all the way down the train.
Once we realized what just happened it kind of scared the crap out of as when the slack hit our car it gave us a good lurch. Now if we still happened to be sitting on the roof there's a good chance that forward lurch would have threw us off of the roof between the cars and dicing us up under the train wheels. I was sure glad that didn't happen and lesson learned.
We were heading down the long grade and I could hear the brakes apply. Within a few minutes the sound from the cars wheels ahead of us changed. I looked down and I could see the brakes had locked and the wheels were sliding along the rail throwing out an eerie hissing sound. I had never seen a rolling train with wheels locked up so I found it a little concening. And just in case I didn't have enough to worry about i looked towards the rear of the train and 5 or six cars back was an oil tanker who brakes were smoking away.
Great I thought, were less than an hour out of Bend and either the sliding wheel is going to heat up and break 6’ from our faces or the oil tankers brakes would catch fire and the tanker with it causing it to explode.
5 Minutes after the car in front of started sliding I can see the wheels start to turn red on the bottom and throwing off sparks, this was getting serious.
Two of the most common ways trains derail are stuck brakes which causes the wheel to heat and break and hot brakes that catch fire. How lucky can we be, both problems within cars of each other.
So I start thinking, jumping wasn't an option at 50mph and a pretty strong chance of death. I asked myself what's the better way to die, crushed under tons of derailed train or taken out in a fiery explosion.
As I was pondering our potential demise i heard the brakes release, a good start but we wrent out of the woods yet. The sliding wheels had developed a flat spot and as soon as they made their first free rotation the flat spot hit the rail with a loud bang. Now consider how often that loud bang happened doing 50 mpn.
I knew that this was a particularly dangerous time, hot wheels tend to brake when a flat spot hammers the rail. It took about 15 minutes but slowly the sound lessened until it was down to a light bang as opposed to pounding hammer. The tanker behind us was also no longer smoking so It looked like we were going to finish the trip without dying to death. Slowly the Pine Forest started changing to Juniper and grasslands with occasional ranches and farms. The ranches and farms quickly started changing to houses and small subdivisions, I figured we were 20 miles out of Bend. As the small subdivisions started to change to neighborhoods and strip malls we suddenly in a large chaotic lava field. The Cinder cone that belched all this lava was just a couple of miles away and you could see how it spewed from the cone and rolled up the valley. We went through 3-4 miles of lava and it was back to neighborhood and strip malls.
Before long our train began to slow and I could see the city ahead, I was kind of sad. This was one of the coolest things I had ever done and wasn't ready top finish.


Finally our train came to a stop, we had safely made our destination of Bend Oregon. Pretty cool!