3 posts tagged “hobo”
After 20 hours of waiting it was here. The noise and fury from the locomotive was as intense as anything I had ever felt. I could feel the entire ground trembling underneath me. It was just pulling out, but I decided to stay put in my little hiding spot behind the weeds. I quietly donned my beat up army jacket and put on my pack still cautious that this could be a fluke and this wasn’t a northbound train at all. All it took was one goddamn Union Pacific bull to see me and this whole game was over. Hanging out in freightyards was odd, it was as if a bomb had gone off and all that was left was railroad tracks and these massive locomotives that were piloted by a shadowy figure behind dark glass. Maybe once in a while the bull would drive past in his explorer, oblivious to my presence.
The train stopped. Go time.
Looking both ways I ran across the tracks towards the train, hopped over it and onto the south side of the train where it seemed I was less likely to be seen by the bull. It was 11pm already, but the yard was lit well enough. I hadn’t waited 20 hours to get arrested as I got on the train. I sized up the train deciding which car I could ride in relative comfort. The brakes released in their cascading cacophony, the train was moving again. I started running and caught my car. Slowly but surely the train picked up speed, we cruised through Emeryville and slowly made our way into the night. I let out a triumphant yell as we hit 50 miles per hour, this was everything it was cracked up to be and more.
I passed fisherman by the tracks bathed in the glow of a lantern, homeless folks staring into a fire by their ramshackle cardboard and tarp houses which were built underneath bridges and far away from prying eyes. Soon I was enveloped in a canopy of eucalyptus trees, which had an odd synthetic smell to them when combined with the exhaust from the train. We cruised past oil refineries in Martinez and under the sugar factory at the Carquinez Bridge. We climbed slightly in elevation and were suddenly high above Suisin Bay. It was one of those old railroad bridges that were painted silver and stained black at the top from countless trains going past.
We made it into the night, and stopped occasionally to let other trains pass. Nothing but rolling hills, fences and the sound of crickets. I laid out my pad and sleeping bag and started to shut my eyes as the train rocked me to sleep. I wondered where exactly this train was going to take me, but for now I didn’t care.
A friend and I have finally set the date for our trainhopping trip to the northwest this may. This has been a lifelong dream. More to come.
Recently, I happened upon this place while surfing the interweb. I first learned of it through Jon Krakauer's Into the WIld. The tragic hero Alex McCandless ventures onto this place for several months during his trek to Alaska. Slab City is an former WWII era army training base that now exists only of a series of concrete slabs. Slab City is mostly a community of retirees, vagabonds and people with an anti-government (libertarian) bend who park their RVs and busses here during the winter months. Rent is free, there is no electricity (limited solar and generators), and no running water except for the community shower which utilizes the local hot spring.
The largest demographic of slab city is senior citizens, old folks that couldn't, wouldn't and can't fit the mold of the typical retiree. Many of the women here are single and according to the New York times :
"The majority of the society is women. They come to the Slabs because it is free and close to Mexico, where liquor and prescription medicine can be bought cheap. They are educated, savvy about life and competent mechanics."
However, as interesting as this alternative community is and as cuddly as senior citizens are, it does in fact have a dark side.
Again, the NYT :
The north side of Main Street is Poverty Flats. The south side, the suburbs, where the relatively well-to-do motorhomies have their dinner dances and clubhouse trailers.
Cole Robertson lives in the Flats
with his wife, Mabel. Mr. Robertson, 72, is a retired construction
worker from East Texas who cuts an intimidating figure, sitting
shirtless, with one rheumy eye, a watermelon physique and a cotton
fields vocabulary. An argument with a neighbor last year ended with one
of the Robertsons' trailers in flames. That is how law is dispensed in
the Flats, vigilante style. One man was dragged to death a few years
ago, another shot in the kneecap last year. Occasionally, the deputies
do come around, usually in the day to exercise a warrant or to remove
children who have not been seen in school for months. But normally,
justice comes at the end of a matchstick in the Flats.
It's not all sex, drugs, dragging deaths and arson though. Pictured below is Salvation Mountain. It was started in the 1980's by Leonard Knight. Salvation Mountain is just a stones throw away from the Slab and is embraced by the residents . This is a plaster and tempera paint encrusted mountain totalling over three stories in height, which proclaims god's love for mankind. Knight says that every California paint company has donated paint to this project, although he doe not accept any other type of donation. Senator Barbara Boxer entered this a National Treasure into the congressional record, so hopefully it won't be going away anytime soon. If anyone has been here or has an aquaintance that has give me a shout.
Sources: Wikipedia
NYT
Saltonseadoc.com
