Motorcycles, Trains and Nostalgia on Friday Morning
I went to scenic Bow, Washington this past Friday for a meeting. I got up early enough to get cleaned up and leave my house by 6:00am, so I could take a nice long ride before I had to be at the meeting 60 miles away by 8:00. I was going against traffic, so I could deviate from the most direct route with ease.
I fired up my black 2002 Triumph TT600, 'La Sombra Negra', and suited up for the ride. I almost always dress in a full set of leathers, not so much for the look (even though it is somewhat imposing) but mostly for the protection. Cows don't get rashes, after all. Anyway, the morning was dawning warm, with a light sheen of low clouds slightly obscuring the rays of sunlight. This was in spite of the weatherman speaking of rain showers being about all day. Here in Seattle, we're blessed with the catch-all weather prediction: 'Mostly cloudy with showers and sunbreaks'. I gotta ask: How the fuck can the bastard weathermen in this town sleep at night? I mean, really...I could fuck up the weather just as much as they can, and I can't get on TV. If I ever meet Jeff Renner I will find it very hard not to stomp him like a gnat...
I caught myself smiling in the reflection of my car window, and smiled back. I was looking forward to this ride. After setting out, I ran north on I-5, tunes cranked up in my helmet, barely any traffic, feeling fine. You can't pay money for feelings like that. I breathed deeply, the cool morning air tickling my nose with the sweet aroma of late spring and the liner of my helmet. 75mph is a wonderful thing in the morning.
Just before Everett, my low fuel warning light came on, so I exited on Pacific Street. To my good fortune, a BNSF freight train was leaving Delta Yard, so I pulled over to watch her cross the grade and head for Seattle. As I caught the glare of the SD40-2's headlight, I found myself flooded with memory of this area. I had lived in Lake Stevens until about 2 years ago, and loved to sneak out of the house after the wife and kid were asleep and cruise down to Delta and Bayside yards to watch the switching engines roll back & forth to sort the cars. Whatever it is about trains that I love so much I don't know. Maybe its the fascination that these little steel rails can take you to so may far-off places; or maybe its the juvenile urges of a little boy playing with trucks, cars & trains.
Whenever watching trains roll by slowly, I always thought of Sparta, New Jersey and the NYS&W tracks twisting through the Walkill Valley...when Greg Simmons and I would be at my house, and we'd hear the horn of the diesels making the crossing in Ogdensburg. Frantically we'd scurry to my 1978 Ford LTD Wagon like roaches running from the light and race off to the trestle at the old Sparta station, which lay about 2/3 of the way through a broad curve. The trains would have to slow down to about 10mph which was coincedently slow enough for one of two stupid--VERY STUPID--teenage kids to hop onto a running-board ladder and hang on while the other stupid teenage kid hopped back in his car and took off for West Mountain Road. Meanwhile the train would straighten out and head west through Woodruff's Gap and bent to the north towards North Church and Hamburg...gaining speed the entire time. Meanwhile the other kid is driving like he's taking his pregnant girlfriend to the hospital to reach the rendezvous in time.
Shortly after Lake Grinnell and before North Church, there was a section of track parallel to a large, wide dirt lot that was about 3/4 of a mile long. I think there was a rock quarry here at one time or another, as New Jersey limestone is second only to Indiana in its quantity. This vast patch of dirt is where the rendezvous occurred. The driver would line up the car next to the tracks at the end of the lot from which the train was to come....and then wait. When the train came by, all hell broke loose. Whichever one of us was in the car tried to time his acceleration to speed up enough to allow the other to HOP OFF THE TRAIN ONTO THE ROOF OF THE CAR WHILE DOING ABOUT 30 MPH!!!! This was about a 4-5 foot leap out and down, and we always used my wagon because of the roof rack. It gave us something to grab on to.
Frankly, this took skill---and practice---and seldom-exceeded levels of stupidity. We found out that you needed to pay very close attention to where your partner got on, or you were liable to run out of room before you could line up for the leap. Twice I took the ride to Hamburg...9 miles away...before the train slows down enough to hop off without breaking limbs. Once, while driving, I pushed it too far and drove off the end of the lot into a stand of reeds and had to call Luba out of a drunken stupor to pull my wagon out of the mud. Greg had a hell of a long wait in Hamburg that night.
Its a wonder we were not seriously hurt throughout this series of stupidity. Oh, we did suffer minor cuts, bruises, abrasions, contusions and blisters (from hanging onto that ladder). I am content to never know how seriously fucked up we could have been.
Wait a minute---Didn't this story start out with me taking a motorcycle ride? On, yeah...well after watching the freight train, I gassed up and headed for Arlington...a small town along the banks of the Stillagaumish River. Like a lot of towns in western Washington, Arlington was originally a logging and rail town, with mills and rail connections to Seattle. Both the Milwaukee Road and Northern Pacific served Arlington in its heyday, but now all but one of the the mills are long gone. A rusty, rough and weedy spur of the BNSF slithers through the valley to reach it from Marysville to the south. How long it will remain in service appears thoroughly dubious. The NP main no longer exists north and south of town. South of town, several on city and county councils are trying desperately to turn the train bed into a bike trail. Main Street is still much the same as it has been for 30 years, but that belies the real story. The town is changing for sure. Lots of money is flowing in as Seattle gets more and more expensive. Real estate has easily doubled in value here since 1980, if not more, and people are flocking to the suburbs. Arlington, while probably too far for most to commute to Seattle, is welll within reach of Everett and several communities of housing have stared springing up in and around the city limits. Here and there within the old town, signs of this new influx of money can be seen...the new traffic circle; new sidewalks along a few of the side streets; shiny new trash receptacles EVERYWHERE.
I headed through town and north along highway 530, towards Darrington. A dump truck I regretfully found myself behind turned off relatively quickly, and I was free to pace myself as I wished. Not too fast to get a nasty ticket, but fast enough to challenge the road.
Rolling into Darrington at just a few minutes past 7:00, I fueled up again just to be safe and headed off north after a smoke and a cup of coffee barely 10 minutes later. This is where I knew I could open up the Triumph. I had ridden this road several times before and, with the exception of conditions, could almost recall every corner in order. Frankly, I don't live for the speed, but I live for the corners. There's nothing like the feeling of a bike wrapping itself around the shifting of your weight to the inside of the curve, then having the little minx stand up and wheel off down the straightaway like a slot-car set on 220. I don't think I ever shifted out of 3rd gear more than twice in the stretch from Darrington to Marblemount, in spite of assuredly exceeding 100 mph more than once. My redline is 14000 rpm's and I hope these Limeys meant it.
Arriving in Marblemount I turned west and relatively complacently rode into Mount Vernon and on to my meeting at the Skagit Valley Casino. I arrived at 7:55, had a smoke and cruised inside for my complimentary continental breakfast.
What a great way to start a morning. :)
I fired up my black 2002 Triumph TT600, 'La Sombra Negra', and suited up for the ride. I almost always dress in a full set of leathers, not so much for the look (even though it is somewhat imposing) but mostly for the protection. Cows don't get rashes, after all. Anyway, the morning was dawning warm, with a light sheen of low clouds slightly obscuring the rays of sunlight. This was in spite of the weatherman speaking of rain showers being about all day. Here in Seattle, we're blessed with the catch-all weather prediction: 'Mostly cloudy with showers and sunbreaks'. I gotta ask: How the fuck can the bastard weathermen in this town sleep at night? I mean, really...I could fuck up the weather just as much as they can, and I can't get on TV. If I ever meet Jeff Renner I will find it very hard not to stomp him like a gnat...
I caught myself smiling in the reflection of my car window, and smiled back. I was looking forward to this ride. After setting out, I ran north on I-5, tunes cranked up in my helmet, barely any traffic, feeling fine. You can't pay money for feelings like that. I breathed deeply, the cool morning air tickling my nose with the sweet aroma of late spring and the liner of my helmet. 75mph is a wonderful thing in the morning.
Just before Everett, my low fuel warning light came on, so I exited on Pacific Street. To my good fortune, a BNSF freight train was leaving Delta Yard, so I pulled over to watch her cross the grade and head for Seattle. As I caught the glare of the SD40-2's headlight, I found myself flooded with memory of this area. I had lived in Lake Stevens until about 2 years ago, and loved to sneak out of the house after the wife and kid were asleep and cruise down to Delta and Bayside yards to watch the switching engines roll back & forth to sort the cars. Whatever it is about trains that I love so much I don't know. Maybe its the fascination that these little steel rails can take you to so may far-off places; or maybe its the juvenile urges of a little boy playing with trucks, cars & trains.
Whenever watching trains roll by slowly, I always thought of Sparta, New Jersey and the NYS&W tracks twisting through the Walkill Valley...when Greg Simmons and I would be at my house, and we'd hear the horn of the diesels making the crossing in Ogdensburg. Frantically we'd scurry to my 1978 Ford LTD Wagon like roaches running from the light and race off to the trestle at the old Sparta station, which lay about 2/3 of the way through a broad curve. The trains would have to slow down to about 10mph which was coincedently slow enough for one of two stupid--VERY STUPID--teenage kids to hop onto a running-board ladder and hang on while the other stupid teenage kid hopped back in his car and took off for West Mountain Road. Meanwhile the train would straighten out and head west through Woodruff's Gap and bent to the north towards North Church and Hamburg...gaining speed the entire time. Meanwhile the other kid is driving like he's taking his pregnant girlfriend to the hospital to reach the rendezvous in time.
Shortly after Lake Grinnell and before North Church, there was a section of track parallel to a large, wide dirt lot that was about 3/4 of a mile long. I think there was a rock quarry here at one time or another, as New Jersey limestone is second only to Indiana in its quantity. This vast patch of dirt is where the rendezvous occurred. The driver would line up the car next to the tracks at the end of the lot from which the train was to come....and then wait. When the train came by, all hell broke loose. Whichever one of us was in the car tried to time his acceleration to speed up enough to allow the other to HOP OFF THE TRAIN ONTO THE ROOF OF THE CAR WHILE DOING ABOUT 30 MPH!!!! This was about a 4-5 foot leap out and down, and we always used my wagon because of the roof rack. It gave us something to grab on to.
Frankly, this took skill---and practice---and seldom-exceeded levels of stupidity. We found out that you needed to pay very close attention to where your partner got on, or you were liable to run out of room before you could line up for the leap. Twice I took the ride to Hamburg...9 miles away...before the train slows down enough to hop off without breaking limbs. Once, while driving, I pushed it too far and drove off the end of the lot into a stand of reeds and had to call Luba out of a drunken stupor to pull my wagon out of the mud. Greg had a hell of a long wait in Hamburg that night.
Its a wonder we were not seriously hurt throughout this series of stupidity. Oh, we did suffer minor cuts, bruises, abrasions, contusions and blisters (from hanging onto that ladder). I am content to never know how seriously fucked up we could have been.
Wait a minute---Didn't this story start out with me taking a motorcycle ride? On, yeah...well after watching the freight train, I gassed up and headed for Arlington...a small town along the banks of the Stillagaumish River. Like a lot of towns in western Washington, Arlington was originally a logging and rail town, with mills and rail connections to Seattle. Both the Milwaukee Road and Northern Pacific served Arlington in its heyday, but now all but one of the the mills are long gone. A rusty, rough and weedy spur of the BNSF slithers through the valley to reach it from Marysville to the south. How long it will remain in service appears thoroughly dubious. The NP main no longer exists north and south of town. South of town, several on city and county councils are trying desperately to turn the train bed into a bike trail. Main Street is still much the same as it has been for 30 years, but that belies the real story. The town is changing for sure. Lots of money is flowing in as Seattle gets more and more expensive. Real estate has easily doubled in value here since 1980, if not more, and people are flocking to the suburbs. Arlington, while probably too far for most to commute to Seattle, is welll within reach of Everett and several communities of housing have stared springing up in and around the city limits. Here and there within the old town, signs of this new influx of money can be seen...the new traffic circle; new sidewalks along a few of the side streets; shiny new trash receptacles EVERYWHERE.
I headed through town and north along highway 530, towards Darrington. A dump truck I regretfully found myself behind turned off relatively quickly, and I was free to pace myself as I wished. Not too fast to get a nasty ticket, but fast enough to challenge the road.
Rolling into Darrington at just a few minutes past 7:00, I fueled up again just to be safe and headed off north after a smoke and a cup of coffee barely 10 minutes later. This is where I knew I could open up the Triumph. I had ridden this road several times before and, with the exception of conditions, could almost recall every corner in order. Frankly, I don't live for the speed, but I live for the corners. There's nothing like the feeling of a bike wrapping itself around the shifting of your weight to the inside of the curve, then having the little minx stand up and wheel off down the straightaway like a slot-car set on 220. I don't think I ever shifted out of 3rd gear more than twice in the stretch from Darrington to Marblemount, in spite of assuredly exceeding 100 mph more than once. My redline is 14000 rpm's and I hope these Limeys meant it.
Arriving in Marblemount I turned west and relatively complacently rode into Mount Vernon and on to my meeting at the Skagit Valley Casino. I arrived at 7:55, had a smoke and cruised inside for my complimentary continental breakfast.
What a great way to start a morning. :)
posted by oldman71 at 20:53
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