Years and years ago, way back in the last Millennium, my mother let me ride the Harlem local from White Plains one stop to the next station, Hartsdale, all by myself. The ride lasted all of five minutes, but what a thrill!
Mom chased after the train in her red VW Beetle on the Bronx River Parkway. The parkway ran parallel to the tracks. She managed to meet me almost as soon as I got off the train. And I guess from that point on I was hooked!
Because of my interest in trains I never amounted to much in life. You know how that goes. I'm a resounding failure, and now, more than ever, I suspect I'm somewhat difficult to look at, too. Once I'm dead for about ten years I suppose I won't smell too good, either.
Anyway. Multiple head traumas may have something to do with my whole train deal, too. One time my dad wanted a picture of me sitting atop one of those big lion statues outside the main branch of the New York City Public Library. He placed me on one of the lions and stepped back to snap a photo. Meanwhile, I started turning my head this way and that, craning my neck to take in all the city sights from that unique, new perspective, and shucks, I guess I just went and lost my balance Toppled right off! My little head must've plonked down one way or another on about six or ten of those hard marble steps! And that was just the first of these types of incidents.
I also got put into a coma for two weeks when I got hit by a car on the way home from school. I scored higher on the IQ test than I did before the accident!
Another time, some kids from across town cracked open my scalp when they pelted me with stones from the top of a hill above the playground. Blood gushed everywhere!
Years later, I was in the lounge car of the westbound Lake Shore Limited. It was early morning. The orange sun was rising over the Indiana farm fields. I was sitting there, when this scruffy-looking guy wearing a down vest, flannel shirt, greasy faded jeans, and a John Deere baseball cap put his can of beer on the table and asked me if I wanted to see some pictures. I said sure. He pulled some photos out of his vest pocket pictures of a naked woman in what looked to be trailer home. He chuckled and explained that this was his wife. She had a lot of tattoos. I excused myself and decided to go back to my tiny slumbercoach room. I decided I liked it better. It's true though. You meet all kinds of interesting folks on a train! Years later, a conductor on the train from Malmo to Oslo had a similar collection of photos. He was very proud of his, too.
There's more to tell about myself and this whole train thing in my life, but right now I gotta get back to work. Take it easy, everyone!