KaBar2

Scored some great railroad maps on eBay Not too long ago, before I went up to Britt for the National Hobo Convention, I started looking on eBay for "original equipment manufacturer" railroad maps. I bought five for $3.00 apiece. I got two Union Pacific maps, a Norfolk Southern, a Canadian National and a Conrail. I'm still looking, because I really could use a Kansas City Southern map, and a Burlington Northern Santa Fe and a few others. Having a variety of maps, especially OEM railroad maps and aftermarket railroad atlases allows you to do what is called "map recconnaisance." You figure out where you are, where you want to be, and then try to figure out how to get there from here. As much as is practical, you want to be familiar with the terrain around where you need to catch out. You should know street names, local landmarks and so on. For this sort of thing, it's hard to beat the Crew Change Guide. Many riders keep detailed journals and notes about where they've been, the lay of the land, important geographical features, street & place names, local businesses, what the scheduling of the particular railroad is like where they are trying to catch out. Lots of guys "on the inside" send this information to the tramp who complies the Crew Change Guide every year. Often times, if you are polite and careful, the railroad workers will tell you whatever you need to know. Covering your maps with acetate or clear vinyl packing tape, or painting them with Map-pruf, or a combination of several techniques will make your maps last a lot longer. Carrying them in some sort of waterproof plastic map case will help a lot too. I know one guy who carries his maps rolled up inside a piece of 4" diameter, white, PVC water pipe with a PVC cap on both ends. Whatever you decide to do, keep in mind that maps can be VERY, VERY valuable gear. TREAT THEM ACCORDINGLY. A compass can be absolutely invaluable as well. Buy a good compass, don't be cheap. A few places where a cheap, poorly made piece of gear is no bargain would be socks and boots, coat, sleeping bag and compass. Learn how to read a map and compass well. Lots of times you are going to find yourself in situations where there are no street signs, no way of easily determining where you are from the available information. On foot, in an unfamiliar rail yard or junction, with no street signs or readily identifiable landmarks. Some of the younger railriders carry GPS units, but the older guys usually rely upon experience, verbal information and the occasional map or compass. Stretch has about twenty years of railriding experience behind him. Texas Mad Man has over thirty years. Between the two of them, there aren't too many places on the U.S. railroads they have not already been at least once.

Bottomless Pit The problem with most "homeless" people (as opposed to tramps or hobos) is that they have apparently endless unmet needs. You get into the habit of giving somebody money every day, or food every day, or especially alcohol or drugs every day, and they are going to very quickly become "entitled," as well as dependent. People who live independently, and make their own way (one way or another) do not become dependent upon others. If you get in the habit of giving stuff to a particular homeless person, he's going to become dependent and he's probably going to blame you. You're getting something out of the deal, too-- you're getting to be "The Benefactor." That instantly becomes a power relationship (can't help but be--you got the stuff and he needs it.) I do give a buck or two to homeless guys flying a sign down on the big intersection at U.S. 59 and Bissonnet, but not unless the guy has a full set of gear---ruck, bindle, sleeping bag, water jug, tarp, something. I don't give streamliners anything. Most likely they are just ripping off the good will of the people that give them money and they've got a car parked around the corner, a nice house and a big, fat bank account. In order to keep some shred of self respect, these guys think and act (among themselves) as if the people that give them money are suckers and the spanging is just a sort of carnie rip-off. They like to think of themselves as "getting over." It might be true, to a degree; but from my perspective, it lacks dignity and requires a co-dependent benefactor. But whatever. I hope the guy used the paint to bomb and didn't just huff it.

Dear Sas Thanks for the welcome home. It's good to be back online, for certain. I missed being able to easily post on 12 oz. As for stories about getting stuck someplace, I've been stuck a bunch of places, over the years. Up in sparsely populated areas where stores and civilized towns are few and far between, if you get sidetracked you better hope you brought enough food and water to keep you going until they come back to pick up the string. In fact, it's a very good idea for a trainhopper to be thinking strategically all the time. What day is it? How does that affect the flow of rail traffic? Any holidays coming up? What does the labor relations situation look like? You definately don't want to be stranded by a strike, and if the railroad was crazy enough to try to operate with scabs, you definately don't want to cross a striker's picket line---you need those rail workers' good will. Pissing them off by hopping with a scab crew is DEFINATELY A BAD IDEA. Truth be told, though, I never heard of this occurring except way back in the day. Modern railroads work hand-in-glove with the railroad unions. Like the UAW and auto manufacturers, the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers (BLE) and the United Transportation Union (UTU) are very enmeshed with the various railroads. The romantic class-struggle model of unionism is way outdated. Modern union members are often more conservative than their employers. Getting stuck somewhere is just part of it. It's one of the main reasons so few homeguards can catch out. There's too big a risk of winding up 800 miles from home, sidetracked at 0200 on a Sunday morning. You'd need a very understanding boss in that instance. One of the worst I ever experienced for getting set off happened when I first started hopping. It took us eleven days to beat our way from Chicago to Butte, MT. During that whole time we did not see a single other train to catch other than the string of empties we were shagging. It SUCKED. We got stuck in every cow-chip backwater. Luckily we had some money and could buy meals along the way, because we ran out of food. Back then, tramps would give each other food, tobacco, water, etc. Today, that is a lot less likely. Be like a Boy Scout: "Always Prepared."

Back To those of you who tried to contact me---my apologies. My computer blew a power supply and I was "bucks down" for over a month. I am, however, back online. Stretch---I heard from Queen Mama Jo in KCMO, she and Hobo Santa said it's cool if I park my truck at their place during Britt, so I can drive up there, leave the truck, and we could catch out from one of the yards along the river. EMAIL ME, I've never gone north out of KC before, only west.

Local Railroad Line Names I'm not 100% sure of what you're asking about, so I'll use the scattergun approach and hope that I answer your question. First of all, every city and larger towns usually have more than one railroad company operating within the city. If the city is big enough to need a city map, usually the name of the railroad or it's initials will appear alongside the map symbol for the rail line. Older maps may have outdated information (for instance, my city map of Houston lists the "AT&SF" (Atchinson, Topeka and Santa Fe) as the owner of several tracks in Houston. Burlington Northern bought up Santa Fe a number of years ago, and this line is now called the BNSF (Burlington Northern Santa Fe). The Santa Fe yard in South Park (New South Yards) is now a BNSF Yard. So checking a city map is a place to start. In fact, get a new city map, a hi-liter and some clear vinyl packing tape. Hi-lite ALL the rail lines in your city. Make indications as to where stuff is (yards, lay-ups, major junctions, rail yards, etc.) and then tape all the folds carefully with the vinyl packing tape. I have a map I did this to that has lasted years and years. Look up your local model railroad shop in the Yellow Pages and check them out to see what kind of information they might have. My local model railroad shop gave me one of the most valuable maps I own, for free. It has many of the local subdivisions named. If you can find a signals switching shack or a switch marker post, or a siding marker near a main switch signal, there will be switch marker signs near the switch which usually has the name of the railroad on them somewhere. So do junction shacks. If you've got the money, look up the stack ^^^for the address of DeskMap, and buy their "Professional Railroad Atlas." Volume I or II. Vol.II is better, but it costs about $75 compared to $24 for Volume I. They make actual railroad maps, too. These have different railroads marked in different colored inks. Best of all would be to find a train crewman or MoW (maintenance of way) worker who can teach you all about it.

Video Security Cameras The installation of closed-circuit video surveillance cameras is becoming very common in the bigger yards. You have to look very carefully all over the place to spot them. Oftentimes they will be mounted very high, up on a halogen light pole, up on the eaves of a roof, on telephone poles and places like that. This is becoming quite a problem. As Stretch said in his email to me, they had to walk 14 miles in the rain because there was no way to get around the security cameras in the IC/CN yard. These cameras are turning up all over the place. One security employee at a bank of screens can monitor ten or fifteen locations. If they see anything suspicious, they displatch the bull. A "deadman" is a short piece of 2x4 (maybe 26" or 28" long) that is used to block the door track of a revenue boxcar to keep it from sliding shut from slack action. I carry one in the tie-tie straps on my bindle. I can whip that baby into action in no time, LOL.

Email from Stretch And Burl at Amory, MS Wed, 14 April 2004 12:05:21 -0700(PDT) Subject: Hi To: Kabar Hey there, back in Amory after taking John John for a quick run up to Cleveland (OH) and back to kill time. We got in early Tue morning around 3AM but spent the weekend in Fulton, KY. We have been wet and cold now for 3 days and the sun has finally come out, and will stay out till Sun or Mon. Big crowd here (Amory Railroad Days) so far, EVEN ROAD HOG!!!! Train Doc (publisher of the CCG), just about everyone that came to Britt is here, but a few didn't make it. Tanner City Kid and Derail are MIA still, and Texas Mad Man and Collinwood Kid are still in route. John John and I set a new (personal) hopping record--Cleveland, Ohio to Fulton, Kentucky in NINETEEN HOURS! Memphis is just the next Division, 5 or 6 hours where we had to walk 14 miles in the rain to the BNSF yard to catch a drag to Amory because of new cameras installed in the IC/CN Yard. That same evening, walked another 4 or 5 miles in the rain, hunting down a 10PM train that wasn't made up where it has always been for the last six years. For some reason they built it in the Intermodal Yard! (YES, A JUNK TRAIN IN THE IM YARD!) But we found it anyway. Then, looking at the train, I realized it didn't have any AGR boxcars on it, which had me concerned, but it did have lots of running reefer cars. She stopped on the north side of the Tom Bigbee River, about a mile and a half from the Yard, so we bailed off, in case it shot straight on through Amory, to Birmingham, in the rain. We had never bothered to look at the very last car in the string, because of the rain. We popped a a plug door boxcar and then shut the door most of the way shut until we got out of the Yard, then opened it up all the way. We walked 145 cars, both sides, but this was not the usual train. Must have been because it was Easter. Anyway, sure as shit, the very last car was an AGR boxcar! LOL! We saw it on the bridge as we waited for the train to cross so we could walk the bridge and cross the Tom Bigbee. And it terminated in Amory, too! Well, my boots are still wet, and probably will be for a couple more days, even nout in the sun. We made it, though. Other than the rain, we had a very good trip to Cleveland and back. Later, for now. Stretch and Burl Stretch and Burlington Dog K-9**** Grand Duke of the Hobos

I live in Houston But I used to ride in Montana a lot, and I really like the state. I like Idaho and Washington State a lot too. There's just not much work up there. Here's some book and video titles. "Hopping Freight Trains In America", by Duffy Littlejohn ($18.80) Zephyr Rhoades Press P.O. Box 1999 Silver City, New Mexico 88062-1999 (505)-534-2888 dlittlejohnZRP@zianet.com THIS IS THE NEW TRAINHOPPER'S SAFETY BIBLE. "The Milk and Honey Route" 1931 Hopping in the Great Depression. Vanguard Press, NY "A Freighthopper's Guide to North America" by Daniel Leen 1992 (out of print--you might find a copy from a rare books place) "Done and Been" by Gypsy Moon ($9.00) Indiana University Press "Rolling Nowhere" by Ted Conover. Pretty grim, but not inaccurate. "Northern Pacific University" (poetry) by Buzz Potter "The New Collected Works of Prose and Poetry of Iowa Blackie" by Iowa Blackie, General Delivery, New Hampton, Iowa 50659 Any copies of "The Hobo Times" magazine that you can find. Buzz Potter published it until his death. Indiana University Press

1HalfOfMe Are you asking for a list of videos and books about trainhopping? Or my favorites, or what? One of my biggest favorites is a video called "Riding the Rails." It's about young, teenaged trainhoppers during the Great Depression, and what happened to them later. Go down to the library and look up "hobos," "trainhopping," "tramps," and so forth.

305soul I am against stealing for a number of reasons, but the biggest one is that it makes me feel ashamed. It's foolishness for me to try to scold you for stealing, but the truth is that it's a fairly big risk for very little benefit. We justify things to ourselves that we know are wrong in an attempt to "make it okay," but taking something from somebody else that doesn't belong to you isn't ever going to be okay. Being in the wrong harms the way you feel about yourself. Even though you may be overtly saying "Hey, I ripped off this thing, I got over, I didn't have to pay, I'm so clever they won't ever catch me," secretly, inside every thief is thinking "What's wrong with me that I can't get what I need by earning it like everybody else does?" Or, even worse, they are thinking "I'm such a loser that I won't ever be able to have the things I want unless I steal them or take them by force. I can't compete on the same level playing field with everybody else." People with really low self esteem often steal to "get back" at a society that they see as mean, cruel, and rejecting. Kleptomaniacs (people who steal even when they don't need the things they steal) have a mental illness that is related to obsessive-compulsive-disorder (OCD.) And it often responds to the same meds that are used to treat OCD. And things like books--dude, what is the Public Library for? If you cannot afford to buy the books you need, then borrow them from the Library. If you are talking school books, or college textbooks, I'm not sure what to tell you. The price of college textbooks is a big rip-off, IMHO, but they are the intellectual property of the person that wrote them. Of course, publishers and colleges jack you up for the price of them in order to pay big bucks to the professors that wrote them. One may attend college without buying the latest textbooks (buy last year's book--whatever) because the information doesn't change all that much, but life is a lot easier if you just buy the right book. I am not saying "Look at me, I'm so perfect---I never stole anything." That's not true. But the things I did steal, I did not keep, and they brought me very little satisfaction in life. Worst of all, the times when somebody stole from me were very painful and I felt extremely angry and violated. No doubt, that is what the thief intended, so I try not to give him the satisfaction, but the truth is, being stolen from hurts bigtime. I've never made any secret of how I feel about it on here. I don't have much, but what I do have, I earned fair and square, and it BELONGS TO ME. Anybody tries to rip me off for it had better be ready for a serious ass fight, that's all. And since I hate being stolen from, I do not steal from others. It's wrong, and it hurts my pride to steal or to beg. I refrain from both as much as is possible. Life is too short to waste one second of it in jail. Just be honest. You'll like yourself a lot more.

LENS Okay, I hear you about the spot. Your description tells me what I want to know anyway. This camp does not sound like the FTRA at all. They may come through there, stay a little while and move on, but actual FTRA jungles are usually in remote places where there aren't many people, but close to a junction or a crew change so they can easily catch out. I covered the FTRA in earlier posts up the stack. These days, I don't think many of them wear any sort of colors, but in years past, the group up on the Hi-Line wore black bandanas, rolled up cowboy style, with real silver conchos closing at the neck. Those were the O.G.'s. When they moved down into the West Coast, they started wearing different colored bandanas. The FTRA group that rode the central line (the old Frisco Line) east from San Francisco wore blue bandanas closed with cheap conchos, and were called the Goon Squad, or Goonie Squad (a "goon bag" is one of those silver mylar bags that come inside of wine boxes.) The Southern California group (the Wrecking Crew) wore red bandanas with cheap conchos. They rode the old SP line east across the desert and through Texas and into the Deep South, all the way to Florida. All the FTRA guys I've met were "red bandana Wrecking Crew" guys. Nice guys, but pretty ruthless, sort of like the Hell's Angels MC or the Bandidos MC. One on one, they're easy going. Five or six FTRA's together, add alcohol, you are at serious risk to be present. Years of misbehavior and attention from law enforcement resulted in the FTRA "taking off their colors." But trust me, they are still connected.

LENS First of all, I'd kind of like to know what the surrounding area is like. Are we talking dead-ass urban ghetto or rural lay-ups or what? Do you live in/near the area? Are the jungles populated all the time with the same people? Or are there different people there every time? The reason I ask is that here in Houston we have numerous "homeless camps" and some of them have been there for years. Some of them are well-known to be havens for drug users (heroin, meth, etc.) and sometimes they will be all-homosexual, or all-heterosexual, or all-black or all-white. If it's an all-white hetero camp, they will be pretty hostile to black males. Keep in mind, in the homeless world, whites are usually in the minority, and they get pushed around in the usually black neighborhoods where they live. I have heard some unbelieveably racist statements from white people who were clearly clinging to the absolute last splinter of the bottom rung of the ladder. Not all, of course, but if a black writer were to stumble into one of these camps, he would probably be told to "move around" (i.e. "leave".) Of course, this same thing is also true, to a lesser degree, in all-black camps. I have been told to "keep yo' cracka ass away from our 'hood" more than once. But the hostility, while palpable, was of a different degree. I have also come upon a camp full of drug addicts, many of whom obviously had AIDS. These sorts of groups are fairly dangerous in the daytime, but seriously dangerous at night. The heroin addicts who are so deteriorated that they can no longer successfully turn tricks or steal to get dope money resort to more direct forms of crime. The AVERAGE hobo jungle has none of these hazards. Alcohol is the drug of choice. The tramps I rode with and are friends with are pretty much open-minded when it comes to race, and an odd sort of "don't-ask, don't-tell" situation exists with the gay tramps. As long as gay tramps don't make any overt sexual advances, they are generally tolerated well. But there are definately some sexually aggressive jockers riding the rails, whether they are ex-cons, or just mean-ass butthole bandits or what, I can't say. When I was younger (20) I had older tramps indicate a big, strong tramp and say "Don't ever get on a train with him--he tries to rape the young guys." If you're on a train with a rapo, there's no place to go. You either fight and win, or get fucked. A rolling boxcar at night has a lot of the same characteristics of being in a cell. I must admit, though, while I heard a few lurid stories to this effect, nobody ever tried this with me. The only thing about grafitti that tramps would be concerned about would be if you heated up the yard or the jungle. As long as you don't get arrested, and don't attract too much attention from the bulls, they wouldn't care. In fact, a lot of the younger tramps write grafitti too. (That's kind of how I got attracted to 12 Oz. to start with.) Etiquette exists everywhere, and it does in hobo jungles too. First of all, the jungle is where these guys live. It's their space, just like your living room or your bedroom is your space, so don't enter it without permission. I always stop well out from the edges of the camp and call out "Hel-LO the camp! Can I come in?" Usually people just wave you on in and don't care, but if they don't want company, they will definately tell you to beat it. 90% of the time, you'll be welcome, especially if you have alcohol or cigarettes to share. Or even just rolling tobacco. If anybody asks you if you want in on the Frisco, they are talking about raising money for alcohol, usually. Some of the old timers still throw down on a genuine frisco circle for a meal, but it's rarer now than it was in 1970, and it was very rare even then. If you hang out with tramps, you'll soon find out that many of them are generous to a fault. If they have two bucks, they'll give you one. And the flip side is true also. If you have money, they expect you to shoulder the majority of the economic burden. They live in a world where saving for the future is practically unknown. To them, obtaining a twelve-pack of beer or a few 40's is a necessity like paying the rent or the light bill. If you want to be their friend, don't be cheap. You have money. They need it. Up the stack is a story I heard a few times about the FTRA. If the jungle is an FTRA jungle, tread very lightly. If there are very many guys there, or if they are drinking or getting high, LEAVE. Just say "I gotta go," and do it. If there are any women around an FTRA jungle, STAY AWAY FROM THEM. The FTRA will seriously hurt anybody who messes with their women. If you absolutely must speak to one (like she asks you a question and you don't want to be rude) be polite, and don't get cute. NEVER insult a woman travelling with the FTRA, unless you just want to be in a fight for your life. The FTRA travels armed all the time, either with sticks, or knives, or both, and sometimes with pistols. If anybody tells you to move on, or if anybody gives you an old fashioned kitchen match, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THEIR CAMP IMMEDIATELY. Tramps see a passing train sort of like a handy way to get rid of stuff. If they have a bag of garbage or a shitter bucket, and a train is passing by, they'll just toss the bag or bucket into an open boxcar. Adios, trash sack. Most of the tramps I ever met were just decent, okay guys who drank too much. They're mostly alcoholics to one degree or another. But you got to figure, if they weren't a little screwed up, they wouldn't be living as tramps. You know? Never take a piss or a shit anywhere near camp. If you have to piss, take your gear with you, and do it well away from camp. If you know the tramps pretty well, your gear is probably safe, but keep all money and valuables ON YOUR PERSON, along with your knife. Never flash your money. "Keep your money in your shoe, and your knife in your pocket." That means don't tempt people to rob you, and don't go around provoking people or brandishing a weapon. Tramps have a lot of free time, and they often use that time to read, or practice a musical instrument, or carve stuff, or do needlework. I've met a few tramps that knitted stuff. Texas Mad Man does beautiful needlework. He has an entire quilt made of old blue jean material that he stitched by hand, in the National Hobo Museum. He has made many shirts and coats over the years. Tanner City Kid carves intricate items out of wood--things like a ball in a cage, or a chain of links with a carved wooden anchor on the end. If there is nobody in a camp, but their stuff is still there, don't go in. Going into someone's camp while they are not there is a serious breach of etiquette. NEVER touch anybody's pack or bedroll unless they direct you to do so. Most tramps do not shake hands. There's no place to wash, everybody's hands are dirty, and quite frankly, you have no way to know what they've been doing. If you extend your hand to them, they will often shake it, but they don't like it. Just tip your hat a little, or give a little mock salute instead--"Glad ta meetcha. My name's KaBar." Mind your own business. If they want you to know something about themselves, they'll tell you. Otherwise, asking questions is considered nosy and rude. "What, are you writin' a book?" Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut. This questions thing cuts both ways, but I have been grilled pretty hard a few times. Once, this guy said "Shit, you ain't no tramp! You're wearing a wedding ring! Tramps ain't got no family!" Another time a guy was convinced I was a cop because I was wearing a Marine Corps military watch with military time on it (1300, 1400, etc.). They were right--it was suspicious to them.

Extra Sense My wife is kind of an eccentric too. She was a hippie chick back in the '60s, then got a job as a commercial seamstress building fire-proof race suits for drag racers in California. She also built drag chutes, custom crash harnesses for female drivers, and custom suits for both male and female nationally-ranked racers. She raced motorcycles in the California desert, and twice rode in the Barstow-to-Vegas motocross race (didn't place either time, but she finished) and was a founding member of the Southern California Independent Driver's Association (SCIDA,) which sanctioned Volkswagen powered desert racers and dune buggy racing. When I met her, I was in the Marines. She was a scuba diver, and I was still surfing. So I took up diving too, and she took up body surfing and bellyboarding. We lived a block from the beach near Doheny State Beach in Dana Point, CA., and in San Clemente and San Juan Capistrano. When we were dating, she lost her job as a Household Finance loan office manager. She was very bummed out. Trying to be comforting, I said "Honey, look at this as an opportunity. If you could do anything for a living, what would it be?" And she said "I've always wanted to be a merchant seaman in the Merchant Marine." (Yeah, right , I was thinking.) "Well, if that's what you want, sweetheart, you go right down there and sign up." She went down and got a Z-Card from the Coast Guard, then joined the National Maritime Union AFL-CIO, and started hounding the NMU business agent for a job. She went to the NMU union hall in San Pedro every day for SEVEN MONTHS. She baked cookies for the staff. She played dominoes with all the old guys. She dogged all the shipping companies so much that the secretaries all knew her by her first name. Finally one of the old guys got sick a couple of hours before his tanker was going to sail and she was in the union hall, so she got shipped out as a second cook. (She kept her seabag packed all the time, in the back of her pick-up camper.) She was running gasoline up to Alaska and crude oil back to Martinez, CA., on board the second-largest oil tanker in the world, the "Atigun Pass." Then the cook (who only had one leg--the other was a prosthesis--true story) got so drunk during a bad storm that they had to tie him in his bunk for safety, and the captain asked my wife if she could somehow get sandwiches or something together to feed the crew (thirty men.) The seas were so bad that it was impossible to cook (the kettles slid right off the galley stove) but she drafted the two Puerto Rican scullery hands, and they made sandwiches and managed to make coffee. When the storm was over, the captain had the cook medevacked by chopper, and promoted my wife to Chief Cook right on the spot. The union raised hell, but the company backed the captain. The rest of the time she was shipping out, she shipped as a Chief Cook. When I started riding Harleys, she rode with me. When I joined a club, she became friends with the girlfriends and wives of the other members. When I got hurt pretty bad in a motorcycle wreck, and I was en route to the hospital, she rode my damaged scooter home, locked it up, then followed me to the hospital, because she knew I would be worried about the scoot being left on the street and not chained up. She's an excellent shot with a pistol, and once shot skeet on the men's team at her gun club. She started hunting deer at age 13 with her father in Washington State. She got her first whitetail at age thirteen, using her mother's .30-30 Winchester lever-action rifle. Her favorite rifle today is a Ruger .243 with a 3x9 scope. She once rode her Honda CB750 from Southern California to Washington State to visit her parents, then to Montana, down through the high desert states and returned through Arizona and Nevada. By herself. That's pretty much covers why she doesn't worry much about me riding trains, I guess.

My vote is "Crazy as fuck." And mind you, I hung around with the Texas Constitutional Militia, who are pretty wack when it comes to conspiracy theories and whatnot, but compared to Art Bell, they were pretty sane, LOL.

Stretch and Burlington Dog Caught out Saturday Stretch and Burl rode out on the KCS from Beaumont on Saturday, headed for Mississippi. We spent the night at the jungle Friday night, getting rid of trash, sorting through stuff, fixing the roof on the hooch so it wouldn't leak after Stretch removed his tarp and rolled it up over his bindle. Saturday morning I loaded up a bucket of tools we had in the jungle, we made the rounds saying goodbye, saw the guys at the beer store where Stretch had a job, went down to Bellaire Junction and said goodbye to John and Linda and the tramps down there in the Bellaire JCT jungle, then pulled stakes to Beaumont. Stretch caught out shortly before dark on the KCS, and I headed back to Houston. Spring is here, trees are budding out, it's beginning to get hot at night--time to go north. Stretch talked to a guy from SBC down near the jungle who says that within six weeks to two months that SBC will be laying a new fiber-optic cable right next to the RR right-of-way. This is bad news, because Union Pacific watches the work crews like hawks, and that means we are going to have UP officials right square in the middle of the jungle. Damn. They'll probably have the hooch torn down and sic the UP bulls on the jungle. Something tells me that at the first sign of the SBC fiber-optic crew it would be an excellent idea to not show up at the jungle for a month or so.

Macksimum Well, as much as I like to write about tramping, I worry that I'm going to put a spin on it that glamorizes it too much. Riding freight trains is fun, of course, otherwise people like me and you wouldn't be attracted to it, but if you don't know what you're doing, it can be dangerous as hell. I have set myself up here for a fall, by acting like a know-it-all about riding trains. Yes, I know quite a bit, but nobody knows everything, and most of my experience is pretty outdated. Some of the routes I rode thirty years ago don't even exist any more. The rules are a great deal different than they were. We rode out in the open a lot back then, carelessly exposing ourselves to the view of people at grade crossings and on highways. Cell phones didn't exist then, so the risk of somebody turning you in was small. Not so, today. TODAY, more than ever, the philosophy that Rufe taught me is valid. The idea is to "lowline"--get into the yard, on the train and ride it, get off the train, and never be seen. "Leave no trace, Do no damage, Make no disturbance." Other than streaking a few railcars, we tried to not be seen in any yard where we did not know for certain that the rail workers were friendly. We did not use railroad radio scanners, which are common now, and certainly did not use handheld HAM radios, which are becoming almost as common as scanners. (Tramps use the HH HAM radios to monitor RR radio transmissions, not to talk, at least, not on the same frequencies that the RR uses.) With the knowledge on this thread, a copy of a good RR atlas and a CCG, you could cross the U.S. and Canada tomorrow. Another subject dear to my heart is tramp life. Stretch is camped out down at my favorite jungle in a hooch we built out of dumpster-dived 2x4's, political signs and a few plastic RR plastic tarps and air bag liners. We hauled about 25 or 30 5-gallon buckets of gravel from where it was spilled on the RR ballast by gravel trains, to get rid of the mudhole that used to be in front of the hooch and the fire pit. Stretch got a little under-the-table job at a local ice house, sweeping up and emptying trash cans. I kick in some food and beer money once in a while, but he's pretty much living on his own. He rides the Houston METRO rapid transit like the experienced pro he is (he has memorized all the lines and the schedules, pretty much) and uses the computer at the downtown Houston Library to keep up with friends who are riding in other parts of the country. I'm going to try and scrounge up a bicycle for him, next time he hits Houston. For a hobo/tramp like Stretch, dumpster diving is a fine art. He goes "shopping" when he needs something. Need batteries? Radio Shack. Office supplies? OfficeMax. Camping gear? Academy and REI. He gets a lot of stuff as giveaways by generous people on the corner while flying a sign, too. Dog food for Burlington is a perennial favorite, along with toiletries, canned food, etc. This sort of life is only possible as long as it's only a few people trying to live it. Back in the '60s, with thousands of hippie kids trying to panhandle, you could starve to death looking for "spare change." and a lot of people were really offended by kids hitting them up for money. You're welcome to come down and live in our hooch if you want to, LOL. Stretch is going to Mississippi in a couple of weeks, and the hooch will be vacant. It's a tough life, for certain. Stretch might take you on as a prospect, if you're really serious about learning to hop--especially if you offer to pay him to instruct you. I never paid Rufe anything, but I did buy the bulk of the groceries, and all the tobacco and booze. Rufe had Food Stamps, but very little cash--you can't buy tobacco or alcohol with Food Stamps. Road knowledge is extremely valuable, if you are riding trains. You cannot buy experience, but if you have a mentor until you get your sea legs, you'll be a LOT safer.

Wordvirus I'm sitting here about to leave for work, rocking the shit out of Jug Fusion on my computer CD drive, in a nice warm house, after having had a nice shower and putting on nice clean clothes. When I was tramping, I never had any of this sort of stuff. The physical discomforts of living on the road weren't as bad as the emotional detachment from "regular" society and (worst of all) no girlfriend. I eventually joined a commune (Abraxas Collective, in Houston) and while living there, I met a young woman on the run from an abusive, redneck, KKK-sympathizing husband, and she and I left out straight for California. That solved the no-girlfriend problem, at least for a while. She and I married, then divorced, and I enlisted in the Marines, in 1976. The tramp culture is being continuously marginalized as "regular" citizens find themselves with more and more options. Virtually everyone owns a car in the U.S., or has access to one. Those who have no car can take the Greyhound pretty cheaply. In fact, a very high-milage tramp (and a great rock drummer) that I know, Grain Car George, has stopped riding trains pretty much altogether, and rides the Greyhound wherever he goes now. He does roofing in Helena, and pretty much lives a straight lifestyle. Fifty years ago, it was not unusual for regular citizens to have a relative or acquaintance who rode trains in the Great Depression. There WERE no cars for the genuine down-and-out workers. It was catch out, or walk. Most of those people have passed away now, and the number of people who have ever ridden a train or had to go on the bum is smaller and smaller. Pardoxically, the number of full-time, 24-7 tramps is probably as big as it ever was, but today "regular" citizens see their destitution as being a result of their own poor choices--dope, booze, choosing an "alternative" non-productive lifestyle. A guy flying a sign on a freeway on-ramp who lives to drink or smoke dope is not going to get much sympathy from people driving by his spot. There are always a few generous souls, but there are also about a million scam artists who just panhandle because it's easier than working. I never give a buck to a panhandler unless he has a full set of road gear. Streamliners don't get anything from me. Genuinely displaced workers usually are caught by the Unemployment Benefits safety net. Most middle-class people cannot imagine being so careless as to allow oneself to fall through the cracks. I've tried to talk to Stretch about saving for the future--he basically told me to forget it, he's not willing. Whatever--it's his life, you know? People are responsible for themselves. I came in off the road because in order to have a spouse, one must be able to support oneself and another person. Tramps cannot do that, their time is spent surviving and having adventures, not creating surplus wealth that they can count on in hard times. The day I went mainstream, I had like eight dollars in my pocket, and I just said "Enough is enough. I gotta get a job and a real place to live." I was 32, and recently discharged from the Marines. I got a job as a union janitor in San Francisco the very first day. It paid $9.24 an hour. So the very first hour on my new job, I doubled my net worth.

I don't really "write." I streak railcars if I'm bored--"KaBar." I am more an aficianado of grafitti than a practitioner. I accept that it takes a certain degree of talent to be a good writer, and realistically, my shit is weak. No reason to fuck up perfectly good railcars with poorly executed hollows--I admire the work, but refrain, these days.

Micro You can try to justify stealing all you want. I don't agree, and I don't really care whether the person getting robbed is rich or poor. Basically, if you rip somebody off for their property without compensating them for what you took you are wrong. Wal-Mart is a giant bloodsucking corporation. I dislike them and their policies, especially their attitude about full-time employment (or rather, the lack thereof) and the low wages they pay, and their lack of benefits. However, the way for me to deal with them is to refuse to work for them and to not shop there. Stealing from some corporation like Wal-Mart is almost certain to land you in prison eventually. An acquaintence I knew years ago was busted shoplifting record albums (this was a long time ago) and got FIVE YEARS in the penitentiary--one for each record he stole. (And this was not in Texas, it was in Michigan.) No way in this world is racking shit worth five years of my life. You want to steal? Be my guest. But if someone tries to steal from me, he better hope to Christ I don't catch him. I don't have much, but it BELONGS TO ME, and anybody that tries to rip me off for it had best be ready for a serious ass fight.

UP "Challenger" is in town Stretch was sitting in the jungle with Burl drinking a beer and the Union Pacific 3895 "Challenger" steam locomotive rolled through the wye, en route downtown to the Super Bowl festivities. She was pulling a few old vintage passenger cars loaded with big shots going to the Super Bowl. This weekend promises to be one big ass party in Houston. The downtown area has been transformed by the new rail line (Metro-car collision #10 happened a few days ago--it's like "YO, WAKE THE FUCK UP THERE'S A FUCKING TRAIN RUNNING ON FANNIN STREET YOU CLUELESS IDIOTS!") and all the new restaurants and bars. Thousands of football fans are in town for the SB, the joint is jumpin'. Y'all come.

Spent the weekend down in the jungle with Stretch Got a call Friday that Stretch and Burlington had arrived in the Houston area and were up in Humble (a town just north of Houston.) I drove up there where he was supposed to be, and drove all over Hell's Half Acre looking for them. No Stretch. I couldn't find him and I ran out of time and had to go to work. When he called, he told me he was near FM 1960 and Interstate-45. "Oops!" Turns out he was at FM 1960 and Interstate-59, about five miles to the east. He left me a voice mail, correcting the error, and told me they were camped out behind a closed Dairy Queen. I went up there when I got off work and picked them up about 0230 in the morning, and took them to the jungle. Saturday, we spent the day re-building the hooch. Some idiot had stayed in the jungle and tore the hooch down and scattered the stuff all over the place, left all the newspaper out to get soaked in the rain, drank up the water and never re-filled the jugs, etc. Dumbass. It took us a couple of hours to re-build the hooch. Then we went dumpster-diving and found a great pallet--very long, about 6 feet long--and scrounged six plastic 5-gallon buckets that are the same height, and built Stretch a bunk. We set the pallet on the buckets. The ground is a little soggy, so they sank into the soft earth a little, making it even more stable. This way, even if it rains hard enough to flood the jungle, Stretch and his stuff won't get wet. Today we just kicked back and enjoyed the day. It stopped raining, the sun came out and there was a good breeze, so the jungle is drying up fast. We walked down to the beer store, bought a couple of cold beverages, and cooked up macaroni-and-Ramen-and-chicken-mushroom-soup for lunch. It was a really laid-back, relaxing day. No stress, no hassle, no "schedule." Wish I could spend all my time like that.

Trainhopping videos There are some very good "amateur" independent videos about trainhopping out there. Two of the absolute best I've found are "Free Ride," shot on VHS-c by runaway 17-year-old David Murphy, a number of years ago (not sure exactly what year--might have been 2000) and "A Personal Documentary" shot on Hi-8 (I think) by David Eberhardt, who at that time was in his mid-20s. Both these films are excellent, and, given the difficult conditions under which they were shot, very well done. Murphy apparently ran away from home and took a video camera with him. My only complaint is that he fell in love with a young female trainhopper, and a large amount of the film is him focusing the camera on her with scenery rolling by trackside behind her, but it was still pretty damned good. A lot of the shots are "aftershots", like he goes to an anarchist festival, but for some reason doesn't shoot any footage of the festival itself, but just shoots tape of somebody elses' still shots, with the still photographer's voice-over to explain what the audience is looking at. Kind of odd. I mean, if you go to an anarchist festival and the cops beat people up, then what you want is TAPE of it, LOL. Still pretty good. Eberhardt has some great footage of interviews with tramps, including a great interview with New York Red as he is passing through a rail yard in Houston, the VERY SAME rail yard where he was arrested "bundling marijuana on the freight train" several years before. (Edit:3/05/04--Stretch and I walked the tracks in the near/north Downtown area, and this video was shot as Eberhardt and Red were rolling throughHouston's Hardy Yards and the westbound throat that crosses over Buffalo Bayou.) "So Red, have you ever been arrested?" "Oh, yeah." What for?" "Bundling marijuana on the freight train." "Where at?" "Right here in this yard." "No shit. How long did you get?" "Five years--served two and a half and got out for good behavior." "So I guess you love Texas, huh?" "Oh, yeaah--it's a state I dearly love." No idea where you could get copies. Stretch made me a copy of a bunch of Collinwood Kid's collection of trainhopping videos, but it's clear that it's a copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy and the quality is getting worse each time it gets duplicated.

Heard from Stretch and Burlington Dog My buddy Stretch is over in Mississippi working for Loco Larry scraping his house, in preparation for re-painting. Larry has a good job and he hires tramps to do work for him as a way of supporting the hobo community. Since it doesn't get too cold in Mississippi in the winter, people travel down to the South during the winter and one of their stops is Loco Larry's place, in Amory, Mississippi. Once Stretch is done there, he's heading to Houston, so I guess I'll have some more Stretch-and-Burlington stories to tell! Winter riding is pretty harsh. Northern tramps usually carry a whole lot of gear--called a "Montana bindle." Enough stuff to survive in freezing cold Montana winters.

Merry Christmas Hope you guys all have a good Christmas, those of you that celebrate Christmas, and a happy holiday if you celebrate something else. Holidays are both a bad time for people on the road, because they are usually far from home and family (sometimes deliberately so) and wind up celebrating Christmas in the jungle with a bottle of brandy, or eating turkey and all that in some mission or some "feed the homeless" program. If you see a tramp flying a sign at Christmas, give him a buck. It's a good time, economically, because all the citizens that ignore tramps and bums the rest of the year are motivated to give them a buck or two during Christmas, so the coldest part of the year often finds the hobo community with a few dollars to carry them to spring. My tramp buddies are holed up in East Cleveland at Collinwood Kid's house. Hope they're having a very Merry. You guys too.

Shotgun Wills I heard from Preacher Steve and Half Track that Shotgun Wills died a few days ago. He went east to visit with his family for the holidays, and passed away while there. I guess that's better than dying in a sleeping bag in some hobo jungle. As regards this CCG from New York Slim---You guys do what you need to do, but the RULE and CUSTOM says "Never put a CCG on the internet," and "Never give or sell a CCG to anyone that you do not PERSONALLY KNOW, and can be sure is trustworthy and who will protect it." The rule is "Either he raises his right hand and swears to protect it, or you don't give it to him." Do not take a casual, cynical, "don't-give-a-fuck" attitude about riding trains, tramp life and the CCG. A long time ago, Bob Dylan wrote a song that contained the line "To live outside the Law, you must be honest." This is absolutely true. The only penalty that exists for being careless with a CCG is that the information will be rendered useless if it falls into the possession of the authorities, both to you, and everybody else. KEEP A CLEAN CAMP. Take care of business. Don't shit where you eat.