Riding the Rails

If you ride freight trains, you’re going to get dirty. The dirtier the better. If you want to stay clean, take Amtrak or run with the jet set.
Eddy Joe Cotton ~ Hobo

I’ve never ridden a freight train although I’ve often felt the yearning. It’s not something people really do in Britain where hitchhiking tends to be the cheap transportation of choice. Even if one was so inclined, British trains don’t tend to have the same haunting romance I find with American ones. But despite living here for thirteen years, I haven’t tried it yet. I’m told riding freight is a physically dangerous hobby. There’s the obvious hazard of being around thousands of tons of moving metal and impromptu amputations aren’t unheard of. Then there’s the less well-known but very real risk of physical violence from Railroad security, who tend to take a dim view of freeloaders and, in recent years, from other rail riders who are reputed to run in packs, seeking their kicks by attacking the less strong. Still, I commute every day along SR285 so I know all about danger.

Even so, when I had occasion to travel to Glenwood Springs, some 160 miles west of Denver, I chose not to hop a freight train, or even to drive, but to ride Amtrak’s service. I was meeting a client and in this instance, keeping my clothes clean was important. Although I routinely took the train when living in Britain, it was only the second time I’d done so here and I was as excited as all get out. I’ve often driven the scenic portion of I70 through Glenwood Canyon and thought to myself, “One day, I’m going to take the train through here”. The day had finally arrived.

I was also glad of the opportunity to solve a mystery which had plagued me since I first began working in an office across the street from Denver’s Union Station. Where do the Amtrak trains go? I knew they came into the station twice a day; westbound in the morning, eastbound in the evening and had regularly seen passengers arriving and leaving with their suitcases. Yet I had never once seen a train on the tracks running westbound past my office. How did the trains get out?

The same way they get in, apparently. Amtrak rides on other railroad’s lines and despite what I’d thought, the tracks running into Union Station, don’t run out of it. So, the trains turn around somewhere out in Burlington Northern’s rail yard east of downtown, reverse into the station then leave on the same tracks before heading north and west through the suburbs.

Not that I could see much of the suburbs as it happened, due to another late winter storm, which had blown in and reduced visibility to a few yards. Oh I could see the same small houses which line every railway track anywhere in the world, the same scrap yards and the same graffiti. But I couldn’t see my beloved Rocky Mountains so for the most part, I had no real clue where I was, my sense of direction completely shot. Still, there was plenty to see close up. Cars from all over the continent, in the rusted livery of their lines. Rio Grande, Southern Pacific, Burlington Northern and Santa Fe, Union Pacific – all names from my daydreams. I didn’t see any hobos stealing rides, but then, it wasn’t the weather for it.

In time scrap yards gave way to horse pastures, mud to grass and then to snow. Before long we were grinding our way up the 2% grade which led us from the plains and into the foothills. Having given up the idea of taking photographs I was attempting to read but even that became a challenge as we passed through a series of tunnels, 28 in all, which came every few yards as we climbed into the canyons. These culminated in the Moffat Tunnel, completed in 1923 and at 6 miles long, an engineering marvel of its age. The Moffat Tunnel took us officially from East to West as we crossed the continental divide somewhere in its innards. Maybe that was the point where I felt my ears pop.

The snow lay much heavier on the high ground and animal tracks were plain to see, although the critters themselves were apparently all indoors watching television. As we cleared Moffat tunnel we dropped down into the town of Fraser, set in a vast plain and looking for all the world like some Alaskan outpost. I looked to see if there was a moose walking down Main Street but there were no signs of life at all.

So, I contented myself with observing my fellow passengers. The majority seemed to be elderly; the demographic with the leisure time to enjoy multi-day journeys. But several were younger and there were a handful of families including one who obviously practiced the “It takes a village” school of non-parenting by letting their children run up and down the aisle while they drank in the observation car. Other kids were more appealing including a little boy in an engineer’s coveralls and cap. The college aged kid in the seat ahead strummed his guitar softly most of the way, except when he disappeared to the toilet every couple of hours and came back smelling of….exotic tobacco. There was also a Mennonite lady in traditional costume who spent most of the trip with her cell-phone glued to her ear.

The snow gradually cleared as we followed the Colorado River into the high desert country. We passed several isolated camp grounds which, as far as I could see, could only be reached via the river, obviously catering to the rafting excursions that will pack the waters in summer. Less obvious, was how the numerous anglers reached the river. In many cases I could see no sign of roads or vehicles, and it really didn’t appear to the type of terrain one would wish to hike over. Not carrying a bunch of fishing gear you wouldn’t. Finally we rolled through Glenwood Canyon, every bit as beautiful as I expected it to be. Through soaring cliffs, and past tumbling white water, Colorado in all its glory.

All too soon (although 2 hours late) we ground into Glenwood Springs, a toy town station nestled among the red rock hills across from the famous hot springs. Journey’s end. I’ve been on many business trips in my life and often arrived late. Never though, have I enjoyed the travel as I did this time.

If only I had time to take the train everywhere.

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