brake wheel

In June 1978 I was waiting in Klamath Falls most of the afternoon for a southbound. I had just rolled out my gear to get some sleep when, as often happens, a southbound pulled in. By the time I packed up everything that I had just un-packed a few minutes earlier, the train had finished the crew change and started to pull out. Running like a madman so as not to end up permanently stuck in Klamath, I was able to catch a flatcar loaded with lumber before the train would leave me in the dust. With only a few feet in the back of the car to ride, I settled down and looked forward to a sleepless ride down to Dunsmuir, as there was just enough room for me to sit up and rest my legs on my pack. By now it was getting too dark to enjoy any scenery, but I had the golden glow of the brakewheel to keep me company for the next few hours.