KaBar

STRETCH IS IN TOWN My buddy Stretch, from Cleveland, OH, and his famous trainhopping dog, Burlington, blew into town yesterday from Shreveport, LA. He's been on the road 5-1/2 days from Amory, MS, the site of the Amory Railroad Days and the First Opener Hobo Gathering of the year (2003) in April. It runs between April 9th and the 13th. The town of Amory is a cool little town, and very hobo-tolerant, but, like at Britt, DO NOT HIT STUFF IN TOWN. Get caught and they will have a very bad attitude with you in jail. Stretch called me yesterday morning from a Dairy Queen in Humble, Texas (just north of Houston about 20 miles) and said "Hey, we're here, but our train went in the hole up here in Humble and we've been sitting here 2-1/2 hours. You want to come up and get us?" I jumped up, put on my clothes, called in sick, and drove up and got him and Burl. For a tramp, Stretch carries more goddamned gear than anybody I know. His pack (no exaggeration) is at least 75 pounds. He has three sleeping bags (Northern hobos carry what's called a "Montana bindle"--a whole lot of bedrolls, tents and shit,) a tent, a tarp that he rigs over the tent, several gallons of water, a ton of food ("I ate those big cans of Spaghettios first--they were breaking my back,") cooking gear, a pressurized gasoline stove, a tool kit and a mountain of pretty ripe ECW cold weather gear, complete with homemade boot inserts ("I cut them out of one of those foam sleeping mats and glued them to some Dr. Scholl's inserts,") insulated snow pak boots, Arctic-quality gloves and insulated Minnesota-style coveralls. ("I'm an outdoors kind of guy.") Boy, let me tell you, that's no shit. Stretch and Burl can set up camp in a blizzard without a care in the world. ("It was -15 one time and we were riding in the open. That was pretty cold.") We rode all over Houston checking out jungles and looking at various Yards ("Hey, I recognize that headquarters shack! I got arrested here four or five years ago. They put me in handcuffs and took me to the guard shack, but then they let me go with a warning.") and eventually, after looking at what was available ("No, I ain't going to Congress Yard downtown. It's too tramped out.") he decided on my jungle. We went and got groceries, water, dog food and a half-rack of Busch and then went to the jungle and set up. We built a fire and I hung around drinking beer and telling war stories about hopping, but I've got to work today, so I split at midnight. He and Burl are up there this morning probably checking out the dumpster-diving opportunities. I wanted to catch out SO FUCKING BAD, but I didn't. I'm a good little soldier---off to work I go.

Eli B Everybody keeps saying that. I really should, just for you guys. Actually, I'm working on a screenplay--I've got over 70 pages, it takes a long time because I vacillate about stuff. You wouldn't believe how misgivings about important major issues can screw you up as the plot progresses. For instance, I agonized over whether or not to make a main character an 11-1/2 year old boy (sort of me, as a little kid) or whether to make him a young teenager (maybe like 16, and he could be played by a very young-looking 18-year-old actor.) In the first case, I'm writing the screenplay that I want to write. And in the second, I'm writing a movie that I could actually shoot "by myself." That is, without Hollywood--an indie. I am a devoted aficianado of "outlaw" digital video film. You get a combat-ready camera, something tough that can take a good deal of getting knocked around without damage (something like a combat photographer would use) and a fearless sound man, and two or three actors, and a good script, and you just go out and fucking make a movie. With the right crew, I could probably shoot my movie for less than $10,000. Maybe $20,000 max, and most of that would be processing, fees for professional sound processing and so on.

Ka-Bump I don't know what it is about this thread. It's a character flaw, without question, but I just don't want to see "my baby" get scrolled off into Cyber-nowhere.

Britt Mulligan Stew A few posts up the stack^^^, we were talking about favorite recipes and condiments. I happened to run across the original recipe for Britt Mulligan Stew on the net. Here it is: BRITT MULLIGAN STEW 450 pounds of Beef, 900 pounds of potatoes, 250 pounds of carrots, 35 pounds of green peppers, 300 pounds of cabbage, 100 pounds of turnips, 10 pounds of parsnips, 150 pounds of tomatoes, 20 pounds of hot chili peppers, 25 pounds of rice, 60 pounds of celery, 1 pound of Bay leaves, 24 gallons of mixed vegetables, 10 pounds of Kitchen Bouquet flavoring. Serve with 400 loaves of bread. Brown kitchen stew chunk-cut beef in the bottoms of thirty clean 55-gallon drums that were cut in half with an acetylene torch (medially, not longditudinally) with a re-bar steel handle welded to each side facilitate pot-handling. Fire the pots over fifteen cooking racks made of welded steel angle-iron, each equipped with a burner fashioned from 1/2" gas pipe with 1/8" drilled holes spaceed 1-1/2" apart. Propane cooking gas will be acceptable, or regular natural gas. In a serious pinch, wood fires would work nicely. While the beef is browning, have several Boy Scouts or young hobos stir the pots with large wooden ladles made of planks, to discourage sticking. Wash, peel and chop potatoes, scrape and chop carrots, chop peppers, celery and cabbage into pieces small small enough to ladle. Once meat is nicely browned, divide the other ingredients more-or-less equally (mind the chili peppers) and cover with potable tap water. Bring to a rolling boil, add rice and Bouquet flavoring, salt and pepper to Cook's taste. Boil hard for fifteen minutes, then cut heat back to just enough to keep pot bubbling. Stir as required, do not let the bottom stick. Cook at least four to five hours before beginning to serve. Serves 5,000.

Thanks, Sivik I'd like to hear whatever you've got to say about trainhopping in Australia. I've heard that it is extremely difficult, but it doesn't seem like it should be. What would make trainhopping more difficult in Australia than here? Is it some kind of major felony or something? If you enjoyed the post about deliberately limiting one's equipment footprint, you might enjoy some of the earlier posts. I've recently read several posts on Trainhoppers.com and on the Tourist Union #63 web site that compare hopping to a military operation, replete with pre-operational recconnaisance, map recconnaisance, rally points, assembly points, communication protocols, signals (radio) recconnaisance, objective rally points and so forth. Frankly, I think all this shit is way too complicated and formal for most tramps, but to tell you the honest truth, when I hop, I make an op plan just like I did when I was a Marine sergeant. Before I ever go to the train yard, I (informally) do most of the above. I use the normal Marine Corps Five-Paragraph Order as a handy way to insure success. SMEAC a.) Situation 1. Enemy 2. Friendlies 3. Attachments b.) Mission c.) Execution d.) Administration and Logistics e.) Command & Communication Bizarre as it may seem, I use standard Marine Corps organizational acronyms and tactical organizational outlines for a lot of things in my life. It's easy to remember (I already know it), it's a proven way of conducting business, and it is combat tested. What more could one ask of a philosophy for overcoming adversity? How about this one for catching out at night? Infiltration Techniques A. Purposes of infiltration 1.) to avoid detection 2.) to surprise the enemy 3.) to avoid losses 4.) Used when movement by combat rushes is not practical B.Day infiltration 1.) Move by crawling a.) Lie flat, keeping head, ankles and elbows on the ground. b.) Head, abdomen, chest, arms, knees and ankles touch the ground at all times. c.) Pull one leg forward and push. Extend one arm to feel and guide. d.) Carry rifle by grasping upper sling swivel and allowing it to ride across forearm, with operating handle up. 2.) Obstacles a.) Go around, rather than over, where possible. b.) Place body alongside and parallel with obstacle grasping weapon at balance, slide it over obstacle. Slide one leg over, avoiding letting it fly into the air, use other leg and arm to push body over, dropping off obstacle between weapon and obstacle. Do NOT roll off onto your back. 3.) Barbed Wire a.) Roll over on back b.) Place weapon at center of body, operating handle DOWN. c.) Move under wire by rocking slightly on shoulders and pushing with outsides of feet. Keep knees down. d.) If necessary, use weapon to hold wire up e.) NEVER jerk or pull wire. It may be booby tapped, or hooked to a surveillance system. 4.) Trenches and Ditches a.) Turn fighting side parallel to ditch (note: if you are right-handed, your "fighting side" is your right side, if left-handed, your left side. Sergeants try to place people in movement formation so that right-handed Marines are on the left side, with their weapons pointed "outboard" i.e., to the left of the direction of travel; and left-handed Marines on the right side, with their weapons pointed "outboard", i.e. to the right side of the direction of travel.) b.) Feel with hand for booby-traps or mines. c.) Slide quickly into ditch. d.) Come out of ditch at a different position, after having selected route and position and next direction of travel. e.) Slide weapon out to arm's length, slide one leg out, keeping body flat on ground (riverbank), pull entire body from the ditch. 5.) Night Infiltration a.) Avoid obstacles whenever possible. 1.) Usually covered by enemy fire 2.) May have noise-making devices or booby traps. b.) When you must investigate and pass through obstacles, MOVE CAUTIOUSLY AND WITH STEALTH. 1.) When approaching wire, stay low to silhouette it against the sky. 2.) At night, you may be able to cross over wire more quietly than crawling under. 3.) If you must cut wire or fences, work in a team to prevent the ends of the cut strand from recoiling noisily into the barbed-wire entanglement. 4.) Learn to cut wire silently, and only when ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.. Now, obviously, one will not be crawling under any barbed-wire with a rifle. But the principles are sound.

Ka-Bump bump bump

I'm Actually Amazed That this thread and this topic have lasted so long and been as popular as it is. It's not a very complicated subject, really. The longer I hang out in hobo jungles and the longer I am interested in hopping and tramp life, the more critical that carrying a very light load becomes. It is so easy to adopt the "Everything and the kitchen sink" mode when hopping. One way to avoid this is to keep all your possessions limited to a short list and to substitute knowledge and resourcefulness for equipment. In the Marine Corps, we were provided what was called an "issue" of equipment. We were supposed to bring all that crap with us whenever we went into the field. Basic issue in the Corps is a 66 lb. combat load, including full canteens, rifle, full magazines for one's weapon, two bandoleers of ammunition, helmet, flak jacket, ALICE pack (today's Marines carry the MOLLE pack system,) entrenching tool (E-tool --folding shovel,) bayonet, pistol belt, combat suspenders, magazine pouches, First Aid kit, poncho, poncho liner or sleeping bag, three meals, Field Protective Mask (gas mask) and carrier, sleeping bag cover, and foam sleeping pad. (Water and ammunition are the two heaviest categories of supplies in a Marine infantryman's combat load.) Combat load is calculated in light of "available combat support." In other words, the reason you only carry two full 1-quart canteens is that the Marine Corps will provide you with enough water by heli-borne, air resupplied "water bo's" (water tanker trailers). Each man only carries full magazines and two bandoleers of rifle ammo, plus two cans of machinegun ammo because a fifty billion dollar logistical train is lifting ammo to you from a Navy resupply ship. If the Corps screwed up somehow and you did not get the basic re-supply (water, ammo and rations) every day or so, you would be in a world of shit rather shortly--i.e. out of water and out of ammo. Either way, you're dead. Tramps are faced with a similar (although less dramatic) choice. Either you carry enough water, food, etc. with you to ENSURE that you do not run out, or you assume that you are going to get to somewhere where you can get water (or food, or warm clothes, etc.) If you do not ABSOLUTELY KNOW FOR SURE where your train is going or stopping, you must assume that no provisions are going to be available. I'm one of those guys that likes his comforts, and I tend to travel way too heavy. This problem can be ameliorated somewhat if you are hopping with a crew. You don't need four lightweight camping stoves, just one. One guy carries the stove, somebody else carries the stove fuel. Whenever you can share the burden with another able-bodied, trustworthy person, you should do so. Traveling with a woman, or a much physically weaker male, apportion the load out so that each is carrying a load appropriate to his or her stamina, strength and experience. In the Marines, this is done by corporals and sergeants. You don't get to decide what you will carry or what you will not carry. If the corporal tells you to pick up the machinegun (26 pounds), you pick it up, regardless of the fact that it's "not yours." It's yours to carry because the sergeant said so. End of discussion. The flip side of this is that you may be proud of being the squad's 0331 (machinegunner) but if the squad leader tells you to hand off the gun, you hand off the gun just as you are told to do. It is definately possible to get separated when hopping. This is another good reason to apportion out the load. If one guy is carrying all the water, and he stumbles and screws the pooch on the catch-out, YOU are the one with no water, not him. Everybody should have their own basic gear. A one-gallon water jug, two-blankets in a bindle or an inexpensive sleeping bag, a decent pair of boots with a pronounced heel, leather gloves, a couple of cheap bandana handkerchiefs, a jacket or coat and a cap or hat of some kind is really the absolute minimum of equipment. Anybody with less equipment than that is really risking dehydration and exposure. I would add a medium ALICE pack without the frame or some other type of DURABLE rucksack, some food, and a gunboat. The more stuff you add, the heavier it gets. Twenty-five pounds is supposed to be the maximum weight for ALL equipment. It's not easy to carry what you need and stay under that limit.

Seasoning? Crazeeb0b---You don't want to stay over there. It's cold as shit in the winter, and there's no good hopping. Scrape together a stake and Jump the Pond. Come ride some freight trains. You don't live anywhere near London do you? I used to know a bunch of really first-rate anarchists who were part of Cienefuegos Press and Black Flag. Of course, that was about twenty-five years ago and more. Ever heard of the Kate Sharpton Library? Yes, there are some culinary favorites, of course. Like I said above^^^, most tramps just eat at Burger King or MacDonald's. But some of the old hands still do things the old way. We had a first-rate mulligan stew up at Britt this year (the Boy Scouts in Britt cook 500 gallons every year, and serve it up for free.) The hard-core guys, like the FTRA, are likely to go with steaks and whiskey. They seem curiously wealthy, for tramps. Curiously well-armed, too. I enjoy making stew once in a while. The ritual of making mulligan was formed around having quite a few guys to help find the ingredients. Mulligan traditionally starts with beef chunks, if you've got it, but any sort of meat (chicken, pork, goat, sausage, whatever) will do the job. Traditional mulligan includes any root vegetable (potatoes, rutabagas, carrots, turnips), cabbage, onions, bell peppers, beans, tomato sauce, pasta like macaroni, some corn starch, and seasonings. The whole point of mulligan is that "anything that you happen to have" will make a meal. The more people you have in the crowd, generally the more pasta goes in the pot. Being a former Marine, the one condiment that I take everywhere is Louisiana Tabasco Sauce. Any kind of hot sauce will do in a pinch, but I prefer, most of all, "Scorned Woman" Hot Sauce from Georgia. ("Hotter than a scorned woman.") Stews and soups are popular with tramps becauise the clean-up is usually simple. Recipes that stick to the pot are not popular. I covered "personal hygiene" a little farther up the stack. To tell you the truth, tramps are pretty grimy, especially after a couple of weeks on the road. I have bathed out of a 5-gallon plastic bucket many a time. Most of the old guys wear a beard, so no shaving is necessary. The guys I rode with bathed pretty often (maybe once a week, or whenever we stopped somewhere near a river) and washed clothes when they could. In the winter, that means waiting until you have a washing machine or a laudromat available. When you can get a bath, but have no clean clothes, you wear your cleanest clothes next to your skin, and the most soiled clothes on the outside. If you only have a small amount of water available, you wash your hands, your face and your ass, in that order. I have bathed "out of a canteen cup" before. It was better than nothing, but we still smelled pretty bad. That's life on the trains. You are going to get pretty grubby.

Crazeeb0b Sad to say, most modern tramps panhandle and eat at Burger King and places like that. Very, very few live a life sophisticated enough to involve eating edible native plants, except maybe a few of the hard-core Earth First! anarcho-ecology types, and I doubt most of them know enough to do it safely. There is a very good book about a guy that did this (and died in Alaska) called "Into The Wild." I STRONGLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU READ IT if you are contemplating trying this. Exactly as you say, he was surviving fine, until he accidentally ate the wrong plant, one that looked EXACTLY like a safe one, illustrated in his wild edible plants book. Tramp ettiquette is a complicated topic, and a lot of people riding trains are just clueless dumbasses who don't know or care about what happened last week, much less a hundred years ago. Conyers book, "Rolling Nowhere" covers this pretty good. If you want to ride, find yourself an older, experienced tramp and ride with him for a while. You'll learn a shitload of info in a week that would take me six months to write down.

And you guys thought that the milk of human kindness and a decent respect for your fellow man was threatening to make graff all soft and civilized. Shit, no chance of that.

Prismacillor It's not illegal to be "just passing through." Personally, I never volunteer information to a police officer. If he asks me directly "Did you just get off that freight train?" I would say, "I really can't speak to that." If you say "Yeah," he can arrest you for tresspassing. The idea is to NOT BE SEEN. You lowline into the yard, hit a train, ride out of sight, and lowline out of the yard. "Leave no trace, do no damage, make no disturbance." BE A SNAKE EATER.

Yeah, He's Different, all right Blackie is crazier than a shithouse mouse, but he is a cool guy anyway. There's a good photograph of him taken in 1984 on North Bank Fred's website http://www.snowcrest.net/bndlstif/britt_84.html These photographs are from the local Britt newspaper. Blackie's photo is in the Part Two Section. He took off most of his clothes in front of a zillion tourists.

Binoculars I carry a pair of 7x50 binoculars in my ruck to watch for trains and also to surveil an area before I move from brush to the open. For instance, if I'm preparing to cross an open area within 100 yards of buildings and people, I'll lay in the weeds for a while, watching activity on the other side to see if there are any police cars or railroad bull vehicles on the other side. It occurs to me, as I write this, that with a recent occurance of a sniper shooting people from a tree line, and the FBI deciding that railroads are now a terrorist target, that I may ought to take a vacation from tramping/ hopping/ and surveilling stuff with binoculars. On the other hand, who better to be watching the railroads than railroad employees, hobos and tramps and graff artists? I often go for five or six hours hiking around near lay-ups, rail yards and junctions without seeing a single other person. Except for me, there are no human eyes watching these areas, or at least, it seems that way to me. Sometimes I mourn the change of American lifestyles, where people are so separated from the basics of life that they think of railroads sort of the same way we think of sewer plants or drainage ditches. We are developing a national attitude where if you aren't headed to the Mall or the grocery store, or to work, you really have no business being out of your house. It's kind of creepy. People on foot are almost considered to be a threat, simply because they aren't in a car. It's as though society has been divided into "those that ride in cars" and "those that don't." Watch people's reactions to panhandlers at a light and you'll see what I mean. If you have a cell phone, program in the number of the local police and the local railroad special agents. If you see anybody harming railroad property or acting like a terrorist (whatever that means) DROP A DIME ON HIM. If somebody had turned in Muhammad and Malvo, nine people might still be alive. I'm not suggesting you should rat off anybody who's just there, only people who are apparently up to no good.

Grrr!!! Links won't Work, dammit. http://home.talkcity.com/route66/stretch122 I don't know why, but I can't get any of my links to Stretch's sites to work. VERY FRUSTRATING. I'll ask him when I see him.

Vinyl Junkie Email me with a Hotmail address or something. Rsaxon50@hotmail.com It's bogus, of course. (My name's not Saxon.)

Effyoo I know it sounds stupid, and I've never done this, but I used to dream about writing huge messages about Miss Andersen on boxcars and tankers: "Priscilla Andersen, R.N.--Fight Like Her!" I always saw her as being "much older" than me, although she was only a few years older. I was 18, so she was probably about 24 or so, and today, probably about 57 years old. She was very tall, for a woman, and had a slim, athletic build, brown hair (back then) and brown eyes, as I recall (it's been thirty-three years) and very attractive. Back in those days, RN's wore white uniforms, white hose and shoes, and always wore the nursing cap of their school. She graduated from a nursing school up north, with a distinctive cap that looked sort of like a coffee filter (I know this sounds funny) with a band of black velvet running around the bottom edge. She always wore her hair "up" in a French twist. When the weather was cool, she wore a waist-length, blue wool cape, lined with red, clasped at her throat (this used to be common with nurses--the cape dates from the early days of nursing, Clara Barton and Florence Nightingale, two of the pioneers of nursing, who wore capes like this on the battlefields where they cared for the wounded.) Today, of course, we have no time for this sort of thing, and most female nurses are glad to be rid of those "antiquated" relics of nursing, especially the white uniform. Nurses, and nursing, were different back then. I was only 18, and I had never seen anything like the hospital where I worked. I was assigned as a nursing "orderly" (back in those days, nurses didn't do heavy lifting, they had a staff of orderlies and "nurse's aides" to assist with the routine nursing tasks like turning patients, baths, etc.) on a unit of twenty-eight paralyzed men and teenaged boys. Since it was "total care" (the patients were paralyzed) every bite of food, every drink of water, etc., was provided by the staff. Baths were either bed baths, performed right before changing the bed linen, or "assembly line baths" on 3-11 shift, in which the patients were placed on gurney stretchers (with wheels) and rolled into large, open shower rooms, and bathed by orderlies wearing rubber boots and rain suits. I worked 11-7 (the "graveyard" shift) and Miss Andersen was my supervisor. She led the nursing team on Unit Three. She was a no-nonsense, strictly business kind of person, and always addressed the staff as "Mr. KaBar,", "Mr. Jones," Mrs. Washington" and so forth. We performed all manner of routine nursing tasks, mainly turning patients from one side to the other every thirty minutes so that they would not develop decubitus ulcers (bed sores). Paralyzed patients have no bladder control (or bowel control, either), so they usually had what is called an "in-dwelling Foley catheter" hooked up to a "bedside urine collection bag." One of the things I did was empty these bags into a bucket and make sure that the patient was producing enough urine, by visually observing the contents of the bag. (Less than 30cc of urine/hour could mean a kidney shutdown.) One night we got a kid about 18 in from West Texas, who had been paralyzed in a car wreck several months before. He was a very troublesome kid, cursed the staff at the nursing home where he had been sent, threw stuff. His thuggy friends brought him beer and grass and he just drank and stayed stoned all day, and sat up in a wheelchair watching TV. Consequently, since he didn't take care of himself, he developed these huge, deep, infected decubitus ulcers--big as a coffee mug, clear to the pelvic bone. He was shipped to us via ambulance and nobody wanted to deal with him, so he had not been prepped for the trip, and had evacuated his bowels all over everything. Andersen came to me and told me what supplies to go get, and then she said, "Mr. KaBar, this is going to be unpleasant. No matter what happens, you are not to show any sign that it is disgusting or repulsive. Do you understand?" I said, "Yes, ma'am." When she whipped the sheet back, I wanted to vomit. He was laying on his stomach. Both holes were contaminated with shit, it was everywhere and smelled awful. I could smell the infection, too. We donned gloves, but no masks, and began cleaning him up. The whole time Miss Andersen was scooping shit out of these two gaping wounds in this kid, she was carrying on a conversation as though there was absolutely nothing wrong, asking about where he went to school, his family, and so on. I could tell the kid was mortally embarrassed. He couldn't feel anything, but he knew and he was just deeply ashamed to be in this condition. She treated him with such compassion and kindness, it really made it easier for everybody. After we finished cleaning him up and washing out the decubitus ulcers with Normal Saline and 4x4's, we packed them, bandaged the kid good enough to get him to daylight, and Andersen talked to him til he feel asleep. I was completely grossed out. All I wanted to do was leave that hospital and never come back. It was so---horrible. The kid was about my age. His life was ruined. He was paralyzed, he had these huge, gaping holes in his butt, the shit, the stench, the open wounds---it was just too fucking horrible. She came out of the kid's room, stripping off her gloves (we almost never wore gloves back then, although everybody wanted to, it was considered to be "too expensive") and looked at me sitting there. She had tears in her eyes. She came over and said to me, "Mr. KaBar, you performed admirably. That poor boy, I can't imagine the hell he has been through." and then she looked at me and said, "Our patients always come first. Their health, their best interests, and their dignity. We did more than just clean him up. We gave him back a little bit of his dignity." Then she patted me on the shoulder, and went to the nursing station to chart. I think I sort of fell in love with Andersen, right there. She was a fine nurse, and an excellent leader, and a decent, kind woman. We worked together a few more weeks, and then she transferred somewhere else, to a different job, but the last night we worked together, as she was leaving (putting on her blue cape, LOL) she shook my hand and told me, "Mr. KaBar, you should go to college. You are an intelligent man, and I think you have potential." I would have followed that nurse right down the barrel of a cannon. Working there was never the same after she left. There aren't many people in the world like Priscilla Andersen, and I'm glad I got to know her.

Hard To Say The decisions we make in our lives, good and bad, all work to form the person we are today. There are a number of decisions I might have done either way, though. I wish I had gone to college directly from high school, like all my friends did, except-- if I had done that I wouldn't have gone hitch hiking and hopping when I did, and I would have been young and immature in college, instead of older and more focused. I wish I hadn't been so dead set against the Draft, except-- if I hadn't been a conscientious objector, I wouldn't have been sent to work in a rehabilitation hospital, and I never would have met the attractive, dedicated young nurse that inspired me to become a nurse myself. (Priscilla Andersen, wherever you are--I never forgot the things you told me, and I have tried to live up to the high standards that you demonstrated for us that night the boy came in from Odessa. You proved to everyone that night that one nurse can make the difference between life and death for a patient. I know that kid will never forget you, and neither will I. I've told myself many times--Fight Like Andersen Did--Never give up.) I doubt I'll ever be a nurse as good as Priscilla Andersen is, but it won't be because I haven't tried.) The things I've done that I truly wish I could un-do are the (thankfully, relatively few things) things I did where I hurt other people thoughtlessly. There are a couple of women out there somewhere who have probably despised me my entire life because I was thoughtless and cruel and uncaring. I wish I could go back and re-do those occasions. I broke up with girls without a thought for their feelings. I hurt some accidentally. And I wish I hadn't. Most of my decisions, even the lousy ones, have turned out to have a silver lining. I'm pretty grateful for that.

Texas Mad Man and Pennsburg I heard from Tex, he said there were more than 70 tramps (edit: 9/25/02--latest figures say "over 100") in the jungle at Pennsburg, including a lot of young, "Flintstone" riders. Redbird Express, King of Hobos, was the organizer and the Perkiomen School in Pennsburg was the host. Pennsburg is a very odd event--a national gathering of tramps, hobos and homeless drifters hosted by a prestigious prep school. Red Bird talked them into it eleven years ago, and it has just been a resounding success since then. Rik Palieri sent a note detailing playing his banjo and singing songs with the Flintstone Kids up in the Boxcar Hotel, and says everybody enjoyed it, although apparently there was a fight that was quickly broken up. In my opinion, one shouldn't let something like a little tipsy fisticuffs mar an otherwise peaceful event. I mean, after all, five days of 70 tramps and only one fight? Sounds like exemplary behavior to me. Rik said he learned a new song written by the Flintstone Kids called "Up On The High Line", but that it's not the sort of song you sing for your mother. There was a wedding, too. Tramp Printer and his fiancee got married at Pennsburg. You guys near Pennsylvania ought to make plans to go next year. Rubber tramps and old timers in RV's are just as welcome as guys who ride in, and the Flintstones tattoos-and-piercings crowd. I'm definately going to try to make it.

See? You gotta love the Internet, no shit.

I'm easy either way. I enjoy writing all this shit, but I have to admit it, I get a lot of satisfaction from the attention it receives from 12 oz. readers. What does that say? I guess I'm an attention junkie, just like everybody else.

One of My Orignial Threads I think this is one of my original threads. I have been bumping it myself once in a while because it represents quite a bit of effort and time, and in the hopes that some new guy with questions about hopping might hit it and learn something. However, I'm considering letting it scroll off unless some of you guys disagree. Unlike some other threads I've participated in, most of the stuff on this one is pretty uncontroversial, but pretty informative. Opinions?

Ka-bump Bump bump

Nope. That would be "assault with a deadly weapon with intent to cause great bodily harm," a felony. If convicted, a person could get fifteen years in the penitentiary. I wouldn't like it there, so I avoid committing felonies, especially aggravated felonies, and especially in Texas. Annoying bums I just tell to go away, and they usually do after they process my request. It takes a little time to process thoughts if your brain is pickled in alcohol.

New York City is probably the biggest problem You are in the middle of the city that was radically transformed by the events of 9/11. Security is everywhere. There are numerous yards that send and receive trains from every which way. You got big trouble. Personally, I would get OUT of New York City altogether and hop from New Jersey or Connecticut. I've never ridden any trains in the New York City area at all, so any information I tried to give you would be worthless. You need to find an experienced NYC trainhopper. There are a few on trainhoppers.com that ride from the NYC area. Sorry. Wish I could help.

Bump again for knowledge Anybody got a question?