by Drew Burrage

Created on: January 27, 2009

Trained to Memory

The other day as I sat talking to a friend in the fireside room at Grays Harbor College, I noticed a smell. The aroma of diesel fumes wafted in the air, striking out at my senses, which caused me to be washed in the memory of days gone by. The smell was emanating from a friend who had just returned from a two month vacation. She had been out riding freight trains; I could not only smell the fumes but also see the train grease which was upon her clothing. After we talked, I was enveloped in the memories of my own stories of traveling and once again began to lust for that stench of the train and month old sweat upon my own clothes.

It is easy to remember how I ended up in that little town outside of Memphis, some suburb which consisted of three churches, two diners, and a K-Mart. The community was comprised of very hospitable townsfolk, who, I was sure, hadn't seen a hobo in decades. To tell the truth I can't remember ever feeling more welcomed in my life.

The journey to that dream-like town is still as fresh in my mind today as the moment it happened. I had been traveling for nearly two months at this time, because of running from the law, responsibility, and myself.

I got into some trouble in Washington and before I knew it I was doing the same thing that I had always done when times got tough: I left my home, my friends, and my family; and set off rambling to a new place where no one knew me, especially the law. I headed out east hoping to make it to Canada before the winter, but I never made it. In fact, I never made it past the Mississippi before I headed south; this was due to a string of fights across the northern states which ended in a brawl with the cops in St. Paul, Minnesota. Since I was court ordered to leave Ramsey County, Minnesota, by the judge, I decided that the quickest way out of town was south on I-35 to Austin Texas.

I stayed in Austin for nearly a month before realizing that, even though, Texas had been a lot of fun, I was getting tired of the constant heat, fire ants, the cheap women, and I needed something else. So I headed towards Texarkana where I would hop on a freight train for the first time since leaving Washington.

Texarkana was a dismal place. The dry heat and ticks caused me to hate the town more than any other place in America. The only saving factor of that blemish was it had a Union Pacific train yard. Even though it had taken nearly a week to gather supplies for the ride, I was ecstatic to be able to ride

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