My first hop was in November, 1990. Klickety Klack and I decided we would hop from Cajon Summit. Eastbound Santa Fe trains using helpers to climb the Pass stop at the summit to release the helpers to return to San Bernardino. Hopping from the summit would keep us out of the yard and we hoped, away from the bulls (RR police). Kevin "Cajon Kev" Hopkins offered to "chase" for us on this trip, meaning he would follow in a vehicle and pick us up wherever we happened to "detrain". The plan was to ride to Barstow, and we had carefully scouted the sprawling Barstow yard several days prior.Many hoboes decry the use of scanners, etc., but this is the '90s and I earned my road name of "High Tech 'Bo". We were equipped with scanners, cellular phones, alphanumeric pagers, and transceivers. (The camcorder wouldn't become standard gear until the next trip.) Camped out in the hobo jungle (camp) at the summit, the scanner let us know what trains were heading up the pass. We would scout the trains as they made their way up the grade, stake out an open boxcar, and count how many cars from the front of the train it was, to give us a better idea of where to position ourselves at the summit. We would have only a couple of minutes to board before the train would head on out into the high desert.
We had been at the summit since dawn, and many trains, both eastbound and westbound, had passed without stopping. It was not until about 4PM that we thought we might get a ride. A Santa Fe "trash train" (low priority, mixed freight) snaked its way up the incline, nudged along by a couple of helpers. And there, toward the rear of the train, was a "side door pullman" (boxcar),with its doors wide open.
We positioned ourselves so as not to be seen by the engineer as the front of the train went by, or the helper crew. Soon the four units pulling the train sped past us and it seemed as if the train was not going to stop to release the helpers. But it slowed quickly and came to a stop, with the open boxcar almost directly in front of us. We crossed one set of tracks and quickly boarded, hearts pounding. Seconds later, a westbound passed by on the tracks we had just crossed. A few more seconds and we were on our way! Cajon Kev headed out toward Barstow.
We passed through Victorville at sunset. Standing back, and looking out the open boxcar door at fields of grazing cattle was like watching a gigantic big screen TV. You get views of America from a train that you can get nowhere else. Of course, we enjoyed the obligatory cigar along our route.
About an hour later we were entering the Barstow yard. Would the train stop? Would the bull spot us? The train slowed, but, this being our first hop, we could not judge its speed well, and getting on or off a train moving at ANY speed is especially dangerous. It was deep into the yard, and well illuminated, with several trains on either side before it slowed enough to allow us to disembark. We quickly made our way across several trains and scurried up an embankment and into the darkness. We walked about a half mile to National Trails Highway where Cajon Kev picked us up.
| |
