Spring Break, 1977

I had nothing to do for my Spring Break my first year at CU, so when Paul proposed that we ride freight trains out to California, it seemed like a good idea. We went down to the Denver freight yards and met up with Ugly Jim, Margie Kirby and Harry Esteve and started our adventure.

Paul went down into the yard and and learned from one of the switchmen that there was a mixed freight bound for Salt Lake City, all made up on track 19. All we had to do was wait for them to hook up the power, and off we'd go. "Ride the power" was good advice. As soon as the string of engines was attached, we climbed up the fifth engine and settled into the cab. It was March so it was still pretty chilly out: riding in a locomotive was surely a lot more comfortable than riding in an open boxcar.

It was already evening when we got underway, and it was dark as we climbed the grade out of Arvada toward Big Ten Curve. As we started up the four percent, we saw a fireman coming along the catwalk. It was only a matter of time before he reached the fifth engine and found us all there. With five of us there, there wasn't a lot of extra room in the cab. Ugly Jim had his back to the door when the fireman opened it, so he fell out onto the catwalk as the door opened. We didn't know what to expect. But as the fireman shined his light around and took in five new faces, he said, "Welcome aboard!"

He told us not to touch any of the controls, and then showed us where the refrigerator was, and the spigot for fresh water. "How far are you going?" We explained our plans to get to Salt Lake City and then ride the Southern Pacific out to San Francisco. "Well look out for the bull in Salt Lake."

The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful, but there were a few things worth remembering. Air inside the Moffat Tunnel was pretty bad. I could feel myself getting coated with diesel oil as we passed through. There must have been at least one engine that wasn't firing on all cylinders.

I probably dozed at bit, but it was full day when we pulled off on a siding near Bond. We waited there for the longest time. We were sure we would be discovered and kicked off the train out in the middle of nowhere. But after about 4 hours, the train was under way again.

I next remember that we were going up a long grade in the western desert. I thought it was very pretty and wanted to remember the place. Conveniently, there was a sign at the siding announcing that we had reached Soldier Summit -- not too far from Salt Lake City.  We arrived in SLC around 2:30 or 3 in the afternoon. Paul asked around and found out that they were going to be making up a Bay Pig and sending it off about 6pm. We had 3 hours to blow, so we marched into town and took the tour of the Mormon Tabernacle. In spite of our diesel-coated exteriors we were treated to the usual spiel, including hearing a pin drop.

We returned to the freight yards in time to be harrassed by the yard bull. He asked for our IDs and wrote down notes. He said something like, "Don't let me see you hanging around here." being definitely not in our plans. We also clambered aboard the power on an SP freight bound for San Francisco and settled in for the long ride. Then, we climbed over the pass into the Humboldt River Valley. It was day again as we pulled through Reno.

Ugly Jim had brought along his cross-country skis. He planned to go skiing at Truckee. So when the train stopped for a crew change in Truckee, he said goodbye and clambered down. We waved goodbye as the train headed up the grade toward Donner Pass.

Going down the grade on the far side of the pass toward Sacramento was spectacular. I remember watching the afternoon sun glint off the trees as we snaked around curve after curve on the downgrade. It was fully dark when we reached Stockton, but we still had some hours to go to reach Oakland. I remember climbing over a hill with the lights of a large city below. Finally we descended into the Bay Area and headed north toward Oakland. We didn't want to go all the way into Oakland, so as the train slowed in an industrial area, we jumped off the train one by one. I made sure to be running in the direction of the train, and hit the ground running. Somehow, Margie got turned around and hit the ground facing the back of the train -- falling over on her backpack. She wasn't hurt, so we collected ourselves and went off to try to find Harry's aunt Polly's house in Berkeley.

Harry's aunt Polly was a real estate agent there. She let us stay in her condo while we were visiting. I think we may have spent the night hanging out in a park in Berkeley, because it was broad day when we finally were able to get cleaned up. One by one we took baths, and each of us left the bath water the color of used motor oil. Margie came out of the bath singing, "I feel pretty". Indeed.

Paul -- as usual -- had things to do, but made sure that I was well taken care-of. We went together to the top of the hill behind Berkeley on the free shuttle (the Humphrey Go-Bart). Another time, we went on the BART to the Exploratorium. One evening, he wanted to go to a party at the ZAP (Zeta Alpha Pi?) house on the Stanford Campus. I decided I wanted to look up Gary Robson while I was there, so I rode the train down to San Jose and went to his apartment. There was no answer, so I found a payphone and rang him up. He had moved, so he gave me his new address.

I had a distorted view of distances, so I thought I could walk to his new apartment in Sunnyvale in a short while. I walked the whole 8 miles from San Jose to Sunnyvale along El Camino Real. I did find Gary's new apartment, but there was still no answer. It was close to midnight by then, so he might have been asleep. I hiked back down to the main road and continued on to Stanford. I wandered around the campus looking for the ZAP house, but did not find it. It was in the wee hours by then, so there were no students walking around from whom I could ask directions. Finally, I went back to the train station to wait for the train to take me back to Berkeley.

While I was crossing El Camino Real, a cop car pulled up and stopped me. I explained that I was just going to the train station so I could get back up the peninsula and go to bed. But looking at my license, they saw that I was underage. Thinking that I might be running away from home, they asked for the number so they could call my parents and make sure it was OK for me to be wandering around the Stanford campus all by myself at 4 in the morning. I gave them the number for our house in Boulder. Which they tried. A few times. After about half an hour they came back and said that number didn't work. 

By that time, I had realized my error, but also was happy enough that I had delayed them by half an hour. I gave them the number for the house in Greensboro, and so Dad received a call at 7:30 on a Saturday or Sunday morning. "Do you know that your son is in Stanford?" "I do now." "Is it okay for him to be taking the train up to San Francisco?" "I suppose so."

So I was allowed to finish crossing El Camino Real and hang out in the train station for another hour or so, waiting for the first train. I had started out wearing only my green cloth jacket and the night air was below 50F by then. I got pretty cold sitting on the concrete bench waiting for that first train. I did eventually make it back up to Berkeley and Aunt Polly's house. I probably slept most of the day.

To get back to Boulder, Paul thought that sharing a ride would be faster and more reliable than hopping freights. He probably also wanted to get me back to Boulder in time to resume my classes. So, he examined the ride board and found a ride that was going our way. We piled into the Chevy Vega and headed east on I-80. As we neared Donner Pass, it began to snow. The snow was accumulating on the far side of the pass and there is a steep downgrade going into Reno. The Vega was poorly maintained and there was so much play in the steering that the wheel went through a quarter of a turn without influencing that car's trajectory. It was quite an exciting ride.

I don't remember why we abandoned the ride at that point. It was easy to imagine that we just didn't feel safe in that car. Be that as it may, we ended up hitching a ride with a very nice guy who took us to his house in Sparks and fed us breakfast. Then, he took us back out to the highway and let us continue on our way. We caught a ride with someone as far as Lovelock.

About that time, a sandstorm came up. We walked backwards for what seemed like hours, trying to catch a ride. Finally, a couple in a fancy black car stopped and picked us up. They gave us a ride as far as Winnemucca. We'd had about enough hitchhiking by then, and Paul knew that there was a crew change in Winnemucca. The train would slow for the engineer and fireman to board the engines, and then again for the conductor to board the caboose. We could walk out to the north end of the yard and board the engines during this second stop.

To pass the time while waiting for the next train we went into the diner and each bought a hamburger. Being a casino town, we were given our change in silver dollars -- one dollar each. It was once again dark when the train came through. We climbed aboard as planned, and settled in for the long night. But as we were crossing the Great Salt Desert, the engineer kept ringing the overspeed bell (at 70mph) and waking us up.

Paul looked out in the early morning light, and noticed that there was something wrong: there was water on both sides of the train. The other rail lines went around the north and south sides of the Great Salt Lake. Only the Union Pacific went through the middle of it on a causeway. The Union Pacific had a reputation for dealing harshly with hobos, so we did not want to encounter any crew. 

After pulling into Salt Lake City, there were two possibilities: Either it was a through train, or else they would send it to the classification yard to be broken up. In the latter case, they would break off the power and we would most likely be discovered. We hung out in the bathroom for what seemed like 5 hours. Then they let out the air and we were underway again. Every time we stopped or came into a city, we hid out in the bathroom until the train started moving again. But even while the train was in motion, we kept out of sight.

By evening, we had made it as far as Cheyenne. We waited until the train slowed to 20mph approaching the yards and then jumped off. We then walked over to the nearest restaurant. Paul noticed a guy who was by himself and started chatting with him. It turned out he had been hired to drive a rental car down to Denver, so Paul managed to talk his way into a ride all the way there.

Even though it was dark when we reached Cheyenne, it was early enough that we got to the Denver bus station in time to catch the last bus back to Boulder. For the last leg of the journey, we boarded the Denver-Boulder bus, and paid the driver the $1 fare -- each with our one remaining silver dollar.