At the Crossing

Taking yet another load of crap to the landfill last week, I was delayed by a southbound train at the crossing of Tangerine and I-10. The guy driving the thing was in no hurry, and the load was hundreds of cars in length; I was in for a long wait. My immediate reaction was perhaps normal – I was pissed off at the delay, and wanted to get home . But there was nothing I could do, so I turned off the engine, pushed my seat back, and closed my eyes to wait.   

I like trains. Their sheer size, the deafening blare of the horn, their incalculable weight and unstoppable power. If you look closely, you can see the railroad ties beneath the track flex under the load as the engine passes, as if even the earth itself must give way to the train’s unimaginable bulk.

I once took a school field-trip on The Milwaukee Road, departing from the depot at Washington and 3rd in downtown Minneapolis, right near Hennepin Island. I can still remember the tired red leather seats of the passenger car, the ticket taker in his uniform, the swaying of the car as we got underway.  As it turned out, I was one of the last to ride The Milwaukee Road, because it pulled out for the last time in 1971. Now there’s a water park, restaurants, and a skating rink there. I guess that’s progress.

When I was a boy, the track for the Union Pacific used to run near my house. Sometimes my buddies and I would walk down to the Pik-Qwik on Old Shakopee Road for nickel candy bars and ten-cent sodas, then hop the westbound freight as it rumbled past, our paper sacks filled with junk food tucked into the backs of our blue jeans as we climbed the metal ladder to the top. We’d ride on the sun-warmed metal roof of the freight car for four or five miles, before climbing down to make the dangerous leap to the ground rushing below.   

I opened my eyes as the last of the cars passed. They were covered with graffiti and gang tags. I was sorry to see the day the cost accountants got rid of  the caboose, with its lonely engineers sitting by the open window, playing cribbage or reading Zane Grey novels, but still not too busy to wave to me as they passed. I wondered if the caboose was still there with its vigilant engineers if anyone would dare to deface the brave metal sides of the freight cars.

As the intersection cleared, I continued my journey to the landfill, then drove south on the I-10 to Ina, so I could stop at the bookstore on my way home and maybe get a beer after. As I pulled up to the intersection, the crossing arm came down, the lights flashed red, and I settled in once again to wait. And think about the trains.