A week or so ago, I left you in Chicago's Greyhound bus station, where I was staying the night. Greyhound Bus stations are extremely unpleasant places, and one should employ any means to avoid them. A large filthy noisy room, illuminated by strip lighting. There are never any free seats. Hundreds of desperate people and kids run around with heavy suitcases and awkward bags. These people are desperate because shortly they will have to board the Greyhound bus. Most destinations exceed 24 hours in travel time. The seats are small, old and uncomfortable. The drivers are overworked, angry and in a hurry. The passengers are rude, inconsiderate and desperate - for a cigarette, a joint, a beer, a piss, a crap, a burger, some sleep, or God permitting, the final destination. I hate Greyhound, and will choose ANY other means of travel first.
So, there I was, sitting on top of my backpack, reading my book, in the Greyhound station, waiting for dawn in 6 hours time, when I hear passengers being boarded for New York over the public address system. Ten minutes later, I am pulling out of the bus station. My seat is next to the toilet. Twenty hours later, I am in NY.
New York was cold. The thermometer hit -5F or -20C several times over the week I was there. Accordingly, I spent most of my time trying to keep warm. It was very nice to be relaxing by the fire with the folks, cut off from the world by a thick blanket of snow.
Back to the Greyhound station, this time the Port Authority in New York. I wandered around for an hour to try and find a dime bag of weed. 42nd street, Times Square, 8th Ave., nothing. It used to be so easy round there. But fuck it, I'd rather walk round and around NYC in freezing weather and treacherous pavements with a heavy pack on my back than wait in the bus station.
We left NY at 4:45pm, through Washington, Philly, Baltimore, and south. We arrived in Tennessee by 11am. I was so tired, and sick. Nose running and a cough. The bus was awful. I tried to think of the last time I had seen a hot girl on a Greyhound bus - probably back in 1999, and its a 1 in 49 chance that she sits next to you! The windows were filthy, and barely let light pass through, let alone afford a view.
You can kind of feel when you have reached the South-East. Somehow, the little towns feel very quiet and peaceful and green. Very cultured and respectful. And the beautiful countryside with gentle rolling hills... but I couldn't see shit because the windows were so dirty. And arriving in Nashville, I was struck by how clean and modern it looked, a dozen mirrored skyscrapers basking in that beautiful spring sunshine... but I couldn't see shit. And arriving in Nashville, the main street blocked off by police cars and ambulances and film crews. A ball of metal lying in the street, used to be an SUV, a police chase gone wrong, just happened, dirty windows.
Brad, Walker and Taco were my housemates during the 1999-2000 ski season in Telluride, Colorado. We had a ball back then, in the mountains and in the bars, but I hadn't seen them since. A Telluride reunion in Nashville, it was going to be awesome. It was awesome. Nashville is an incredible city, just oozing with live music, beautiful women, and neon lights. Brad has been busy since I last saw him, and now holds the key to Broadway, Nashville's 'strip'. He is the proprietor of four of the prominent country music bars on the street. Walker came up from Birmingham, and Matt, another very good ol' buddy from Telluride, already lives in Nashville. Charles came from Atlanta, but Taco couldn't make it. Kent and Shain were out too. Brad really took care of us all; drunk bowling, live music, and tonnes of drinking.
After five days in Nashville, I rode with Charles back to Atlanta, in order to catch up with Taco. Feeling highly refreshed, I was dropped off at the Marta station, Atlanta's subway. I was heading for the Inman yards to catch a Norfolk and Southern freight to Birmingham. The track was easy to find, and it was busy. There were freight trains all over the place. I wandered a couple of miles up the track and back again, to find a nice spot to jump on. Although this wasn't the yard, there were lots of trains parking here and then crawling away slowly. I found a perfect spot, hidden yet with a good veiw in both directions. There was already a train stopped here.
After a couple of minutes, I could hear them filling the air brakes, and the train began to roll. I strolled casually up to a ladder on a double stack (two containers on top of one another) and climbed on. I would be riding in a small little area, but it was well hidden and out of the wind. The floor had big triangles cut out, which was dangerous when jumping in. I had to be careful where I sat, and where I put my bags - pretty dodgy. Also, I was in front of the box, and I was worried that the box could slide forward and squash me in an emergency stop. There didn't appear to be any stoppers. We were only going slowly, which is perhaps the most dangerous situation, as the train can jolt violently. I jumped back out, lifted my bags, and crossed a coupling to the identical car in front. This was dangerous as I had nothing to hold on to, but I made it. We crept along, and emerged into an enormous classification yard. There were trains and tracks going everywhere.
I shouldn't have been, but I was peeping over the metal side to try and work out where we were going, if this was Inman, or if this was another railroad in another yard. Suddenly, another train went passed behind me, and when I turned around, the engineer was looking me square in the eye. I waved and then ducked, cursing. I kept low for nearly another hour while we moved slowly forward - had the engineer kept quiet? The I heard a couple of steps on the gravel, a couple of steps on steel, and when I turned around, there was a gun in my face.
Shit.
The author of this article can be reached at dysman103@yahoo.com