NAILED IN MONTUNA - PART FOUR
A Motorcycle Story
by C. C. Crow
Subject: Sweet Dreams
Date: 8/12/00 01:35:21 AM Pacific Daylight Time
From: Killerkrow
To: rooti@square.nut
As dusk slowly sets...
BNSF has been running an employee appreciation special train around
their territory this summer. It was pulled through the Northwest by the
classic Southern Pacific steam locomotive 4449 painted in black livery
for the occasion. As we had pulled into Whitefish I caught a glimpse of
this train parked on a siding. I missed sighting the locomotive though
as we passed so I decided to investigate- walking down the platform.
There were no signs other than common sense and reason that I shouldn't
continue beyond the end of the platform. It seemed safe enough. I'd
follow the gravel path parallel to the mainline track, slightly elevated
above the siding, but dark, very dark.
Soon I reached the train. The doors were open. It appeared almost
abandoned. I thought a bum could easily find his way on board and
stowaway for the night. Maybe even raid the kitchen. If he wanted to.
Mid-train in one of the fancier cars I could see some figures apparently
relaxing. I continued on towards the point of the train to investigate
the power.
By now it was very dark. Fortunately the path was level with no
obstacles. I could make out the silhouette of two large modern diesel
locomotives in the distance. There didn't appear to be any sign of a
steam locomotive though. Before I could be entirely sure a pair of
automobile headlights appeared. Not wanting to risk a confrontation with
any railroad employees, especially officials or the police, I turned
back. It turned out to be a van, I think likely a crew wagon going back
to the depot. Whitefish is a major crew change point. The van drove past
about the time I had returned to the end of the paved platform so I was
safe. I walked back to the depot which had quieted down for the night.
The faint sounds of rock and roll music drifted in from the bars across
the park square. I wasn't quite sleepy yet so I decided to take a walk
in that direction. This part of downtown, a couple of blocks worth, was
very lively. College kids and cowboys. Take your pick. The Bulldog
Saloon maybe. An open air courtyard looked interesting and the band,
playing classic rock, wasn't half bad so I decided to have a beer. Why
not, I'm on vacation. Three girls, actually women, were standing next to
me. I smiled and they returned the complement so I engage them in
conversation. Two were married and one, Veronica, was celebrating her
divorce. Marie swore she wanted to do the same thing. Joanne wouldn't
commit but both the others insisted her husband Rob was a worthless ass.
They enjoyed the fact that I was never married. I danced with each one
of them. It was Marie that danced rather personally. I figured it was
just the celebratory mood and let it go at that. Just some girls having
fun.
They were all about forty years old, though they certainly wouldn't
admit to passing that crossroads. Vee, as they called her, managed one
of the retail stores downtown. Marie was a part-time employee there and
Joanne, was just a friend I guess, a housewife with two teenage kids.
They were away at her sisters or something like that.
After a few drinks and another round of dances the music was getting
sloppy. Marie announced that we should go over to "the guest house". A
secretive conversation ensued. Vee was astonished but the other two were
pressing her for approval. I was mystified, suggesting that maybe I
should go on my way but they wouldn't hear of it. Finally, Vee agreed,
she said if we all went into it together. I had no idea what she meant.
It turned out the guest house was a very nice log cabin up near the
ski resort that Vee's uncle owned. It was smallish but nicely appointed.
There was a loft for the kids and the only separate room was the master
suite. Vee poured me a drink while the other two excused themselves and
disappeared into the bedroom. The details of their seduction are rather
blurry, but I remember being led into the candle lit bedroom where the
other two were waiting...
Suddenly, I'm getting pelted with water! Spat-spat-spat. What the
heck? I spring up, it's 3:20 in the morning. The automatic sprinklers
around the depot are doing their nightly routine. Quick, I'm getting
soaked, more importantly, my sleeping bag is getting wet. I have to find
something quick to place in over or in front of the sprinkler head. A
large rock, a board, a box, something. I spot a large buckle with rope
handles apparently being used to gather gardening waste. I grab it and
run over, placing it strategically in front of the sprinkler head thus
shielding my hideaway. I can go back to sleep now but the girls of my
dream are gone.
I drift back into a deep sleep. An nice peaceful much needed rest.
Suddenly, it's happening again, I'm getting nailed by another downpour.
Man, what's happening now? It's half an hour later and the zones have
changed on the sprinkler system. I spring back up, I know my mission, I
must run over and grab the bucket, turn around and run beck over to the
new sprinkler and place the bucket in front of the new water spout.
Blurry eyed, but I can do this. I run over and grab the bucket. Time is
of the essence. I sprint back the other way and spot my target. I can't
believe I am telling you this. As I'm calculating just where I need to
place the bucket I'm loosing my balance, falling forward to that point
at full speed. My momentum pulls me helplessly forward. I slam dunk the
bucket right on target as I fly by, skidding on the wet grass face
first. The guys watching the surveillance cameras up in the office must
be laughing their asses off by now. It was pretty silly. But at least I
had accomplished my mission. The bucket was shielding my camp site.
Though a little soggy, I once again drift back to sleep.
Trains arrive and depart at regular intervals throughout the night.
The vans drove by carrying the crews. Crew men and employees frequented
the depot with their offices above. Whether anyone saw me or not- no one
bothered me. Thought at one point, sometime after midnight, a drunk
wondered over from one of the bars and sat down on the picnic table
closest to me and started mumbling to himself about how worthless he
was. Oh great, I remained still praying that he didn't recognize my
figure here in the shadows. I didn't need or want any friends.
Fortunately he never noticed me and after some moaning (I was worried
he'd throw up), he got up, walked over to his car and drove away. Great.
Finally, with dawn rising it was time to get up. I had made it
through the night without too much hassle. I rolled my camp up and
placed it in the backpack decided to go for a walk. A roadway bridge
crosses the yard just to the west invited my exploration. I took my
camera along in case I found anything interesting. The bridge was an
interesting place. From that vantage point I could see the roundhouse
further west. Access appeared fenced so I didn't investigate it further.
It appeared to be a standard Great Northern design. Below me, several
yard tracks held a number of freights. Walking back to the depot the
morning light allowed a few shots of the depot and the old Great
Northern NW-3 No.181 diesel locomotive on static display.
The first passenger of the day had arrived. A lovely woman, short
blonde hair under a large straw colored hat, handsomely dressed and
adorned with silver jewelry. A little above my class. I greeted her with
a little smile which she quickly ignored. I swear she looked familiar,
yes, a lot like Vee.
I amused myself watching the growing activities. As more passengers
arrived I went inside to wash myself off. I called my brother and
confirmed our rendezvous at the bike shop. He hadn't found a Dunlop tire
but that was okay, I'd take this off brand IRC thing they'd set aside
for me. We'd meet sometime around noon at the shop. There'd be plenty of
time. The eastbound train finally arrived. With a similar bustle of the
westbound the night before the passengers, crew, food and trash were
exchanged. After its departure it was time for me to start heading
towards my destination. The plan was to walk towards the outskirts of
town with my thumb out, being very conspicuous with the flat tire. I
decided to leave my pack back at the station, in the hallway where I
noticed the train crews were leaving their grips. It seemed safe enough.
Better than outside or hauling it along. I'd be back in a little while
to pick it up anyway.
It didn't take long when a pickup truck pulled in next to me. A large
jolly man greeted me. He was the owner of the Bull Dog Saloon, on his
way into work but saw me and decided to turn around and give me a lift.
The tire had worked. He was intrigued with my story. While he didn't
have time to give me a ride all the way he took me a few miles up the
road and dropped me off at a corner he swore had lots of local traffic.
Anyone turning from the side street he assured me was headed to
Kalispell so it should be no trouble getting a ride.
I waved good-bye as he drove off. Highway 93 is four lanes, 55 or 60
mph. The cars flew by like jets in formation. I'm never going to get a
ride here I thought. Many more than my quota of ten had already gone by
and I had serious doubts about his reassurances. Several cars had turned
out of the side road and headed for Kalispell, but without me. Look
woeful Clint, droopy faced and honest. Awe, come on, please. I'm not an
ax murder or anything. Can't you see my tire is flat?
It wasn't really that long, when a compact pickup truck pulled up. I
wondered if she was really stopping for me, or to ask directions or
something. No, hop in, come on, its okay. She was from West Virginia,
had just moved here with her husband and was on her way to a job
interview in Kalispell, just beyond the motorcycle shop if fact, so she
took me all the way there. Dropped me off right in front of the place.
Penco. Cool.
Next time, what size tire was that? I knew I should have brought
along a spare. And fighting metal warriors.
Next Part - Five
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The Next Nail
