Running as fast as my short legs could carry my duffle bag and myself, while trying to hop a freight, was not my idea of the perfect honeymoon, but it was ours. John’s long stride got him aboard fairly easily but I wasn’t exactly athletic. Still, I managed to catch up, toss my duffle aboard and grab John’s outstretched hand. He pulled me up on the car carrier with ease. It had three levels of brand new cars and trucks and John said we were moving on up to get a good view. Of course, that meant climbing up a ladder on the outside of the carrier.
Climbing out onto the ladder with the grace of a star athlete, John quickly reached the second level carrying our old footlocker and started coaxing me to get on the ladder. Well, I mustered up my courage, stuck my foot on the ladder and swung out just as the train started to round a curve. The duffle bag pulled away from my back with the force of the curve and sixty miles an hour as I stood there hanging on for all I had, arms straight out, knuckles white and screaming my head off! It was only a few rungs to safety and I managed to climb up as soon as the curve straightened out.
While I regained my composure, seated on my duffle bag, it started to rain. John climbed to the third level and on his return he said, “There’s a Chevy Luv pickup truck unlocked up there and we can get out of the rain and have a comfy ride. We’ll leave the bags here out of the rain.” It happened to be facing backward to the direction the train was traveling, so we watched where we’d been instead of where we were going.
As we were coming into the hill country of northern Montana, the rainstorm turned into a full blown electric light show, allowing us glimpses of farm and field, and suddenly wrecked train cars everywhere! On both sides of the tracks for at least a quarter of a mile lay rusted hulks, twisted and crushed, being harshly lit by flashes of lightning. It was a might discomforting to say the least.
There was nothing to do but have a beer and try to relax, so we cracked open a couple 16 ounce cans of Coors. This was a treat because we couldn’t buy it east of the Mississippi, so we drank and watched and cracked open a few more. Soon enough, we needed to get rid of what we drank. As John got out of the truck, the wind caught the door, slamming it open into the railing of the carrier. He left it open to keep it from banging again. He relieved himself behind the truck, and as he did the wind swept it around the truck and into the open door. By the time I started hollering, he was done peeing and there was no sense crying over spilt milk. Now I had to figure out what I would do. How in the world was I going to go? I mean, squatting in sixty-five mile an hour wind wasn’t an option.
So as soon as John climbed in, I started asking him what I should do. He handed me an empty beer can and said, ”Pee in this.” I tried. Drunk, laughing hysterically and trying to aim at a one inch hole, while the train swayed, left me crouching in a puddle with wet pants. We spent hours laughing at the scenarios of the new truck buyer with the odd smelling truck. It’s a good thing that new car smell is so strong, but we still opened the wing vents.
In the morning, the train rolled to a stop, we picked up our bags and descended in a much safer fashion than our ascent. It was no challenge to climb down the ladder and I could be as agile as John under the right circumstance.
Then we had to walk a long way to get out of the train yard without being seen or at least not noticed. Oddly enough, no one seemed to pay any attention to the two of us carrying our worldly goods on our backs. There were many people, but they were about getting their jobs done. We walked to a nearby gas station where we used the bathroom to remove the evidence of our wild train ride. It wasn’t my first nor would it be my last unusual ride, train or otherwise in this marriage.
It was a new day and the adventure that was my new life lay before me like a gaping maw, which I would leap into without looking.
