As soon as we pulled in, we asked where the next hotshot headed west was, and found a new empty car. I have to mention this backpack motif again, because we were as green at backpacking as we were at freight hopping. The result of that was that we had minimal food or water along for this part of the trip, in which you never know how long you'd be stooped and where you did stop you might be well out of town, which is the way I recall it was in Minot.

We had sort of pooled resources with the other young people, and it was agreed that a couple of us would go into town to a store, while the others would watch the backpacks, etc.

Memory is an interesting thing. I know what happened next, but I've never been sure if I was there, or only one of those who stayed at the train. But I think my friend set off with one of the others, and we sat waiting a considerable while for them to return. We began to discuss what we'd do if the train left before they'd get back, when they finally returned.

The story was that as they left the rail yard, they tried hitchhiking into town, and were picked up by the railway bull (detective), who told them they couldn't ride the train anymore.

The best I can remember is that they argued that their packs were still in the yard, so they'd have to go back to get them, and apparently the detective acquiesced. I know they brought some food, and we continued west.

It being August, the heat was considerable, and we had only small water bottles intended for frequent refill when backpacking. As I said, though, you never know where a freight will stop, so by the time we reached Havre, Montana, we were very thirsty.

possibly the bar in question in Havre...

Right across from the railyard was a bar, so several of us ran over with canteens and bottles and asked the bartender for water. He smiled at us and filled them up. When we got underway, we found he'd filled the largest canteen with beer. This was, of course, a magical experience, even though I personally don't like beer and would have preferred water. Still it lent a mythic quality to our trip, the rest of which went well. In the end, I think we decided to hitchhike home, as it's easier to be sure where you're headed when hitchhiking.

We arrived back at my friend's house, where he told his little brother of our freight hopping experience, and who then passed the information on to his parents, who were quite appalled. Although the trip was my friend's idea, I became persona non grata by association, and left soon thereafter.

But the seed was planted, and I made several more memorable freight hopping journeys.

 Feb. 6

    Back home, after an 1800 mile 36 hour train ride, that did indeed wear out my romantic enthusiasm for train travel.  5 or 6 hours is fine.  I spent the day removing part of the floor in the pottery workshop and shoring up the joists with bricks and wood cribbing, to fix the sunken floor detailed last month.  I've two kilnloads of bisque pots ready for glazing, so I'll be hard at it again tomorrow.   I got a few nice photos from my trip, which might spice up the rest of the month.  The pair of hooded mergansers, described as uncommon in my bird book, were in  a small lake on the Northwestern campus, the only standouts in an otherwise typical crowd of mallards and sea gulls, that form where ever people give them handouts.

Feb. 7