one else waiting.
“Are these woods behind your restaurant yours?”
“No. I’m not sure who owns them. It’s private property. One day the NO TRESPASSING signs just popped up.”
“Would anyone hassle me if I camped back there?”
“Doubt it. Every now and then, I’ll see someone crawl out of there in the morning. In fact, we had a fellow livedback there for more than a year. No one made a fuss about that. He wasn’t shy about it, either. He built himself a little shack. I don’t remember his name.” He turned back to the girl at the grill. “What was that guy’s name who lived in the woods back there?”
She said something, and he nodded, “Oh, yeah.” He turned back. “His name was Itch. His father was a big-wig politician in Seattle. Lived back there for more than a year. Don’t know why he chose that place. Just liked it, I guess. He’d walk up and down the highway and pick up people’s lost change and aluminum cans, and when he had enough money, he’d come by and get something to eat. One day he just up and left. Haven’t seen him since. So why do you ask?”
I’d forgotten what I’d asked. “Ask what?”
“About camping back there.”
“I’m looking for a place to spend the night.”
“Well, it’s gonna rain on you.” There was another
flare-up behind him. “Where you from?”
“Seattle.”
He looked me over a moment, then said, “You can sleep in the caboose.”
I looked at the big red caboose. “That one right here?” Another stupid question.
“Only one I got. The mattresses aren’t there anymore. But if you don’t mind sleeping on wood.”
“Thank you. The shelter would be appreciated.”
Someone behind him shouted, “Number thirty-four!”
He turned around and carefully put my food in a sack, then handed it to me with the shake. “When you’re doneeating, just come back up, and I’ll unlock the caboose for you.”
“Thank you.”
There was an enclosed dining area in a separate building behind the restaurant. The room was clean and held six picnic tables. The walls were covered with maps of area hiking trails, and there was an article about bear attacks. (The article was published by the local Chamber of Commerce, so it had a lot of good things to say about bears.)
I sat down at a table and unwrapped the wax paper from my ostrich burger. Ostrich meat may look like beef, but it isn’t as good. I just put more ketchup on it.
It felt good to be off my feet. I hadn’t changed my socks since the day before, and I felt as if my flesh was absorbing them. I looked forward to taking them off, though not yet. I was eating.
When I finished my meal, I cleaned up the table, then walked back out to the drive-in. Three cars were now parked out front, and a line had formed at the window. The man saw me and said, “Just hang tight for a minute. I’ll have to unlock it for you.” About twenty minutes later he emerged from a side door. “This way.”
I followed him around back, then up a short set of stairs to the caboose. He pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door. Both of us stepped inside, standing in the narrow aisle that ran the length of the car. The interior ofthe caboose had been painted submarine gray and smelled like wet paint. “Don’t use the head,” he said. “It doesn’t work, and you’d have a real mess on your hands. You can use the facilities behind the restaurant. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
I was surprised at how trusting he was of a complete stranger.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He walked out, shutting the door behind himself. I had never actually been inside a train (unless you count the Park train at Disneyland), let alone slept in one. The berth was a long wooden tray where I suppose a mattress once lay. I laid out my pad, then unzipped my sleeping bag and lay it across the space. I lay back to test it out. Not bad. Hard, but I was getting used to that. For the most part, the soft things of my life were
“Are these woods behind your restaurant yours?”
“No. I’m not sure who owns them. It’s private property. One day the NO TRESPASSING signs just popped up.”
“Would anyone hassle me if I camped back there?”
“Doubt it. Every now and then, I’ll see someone crawl out of there in the morning. In fact, we had a fellow livedback there for more than a year. No one made a fuss about that. He wasn’t shy about it, either. He built himself a little shack. I don’t remember his name.” He turned back to the girl at the grill. “What was that guy’s name who lived in the woods back there?”
She said something, and he nodded, “Oh, yeah.” He turned back. “His name was Itch. His father was a big-wig politician in Seattle. Lived back there for more than a year. Don’t know why he chose that place. Just liked it, I guess. He’d walk up and down the highway and pick up people’s lost change and aluminum cans, and when he had enough money, he’d come by and get something to eat. One day he just up and left. Haven’t seen him since. So why do you ask?”
I’d forgotten what I’d asked. “Ask what?”
“About camping back there.”
“I’m looking for a place to spend the night.”
“Well, it’s gonna rain on you.” There was another
flare-up behind him. “Where you from?”
“Seattle.”
He looked me over a moment, then said, “You can sleep in the caboose.”
I looked at the big red caboose. “That one right here?” Another stupid question.
“Only one I got. The mattresses aren’t there anymore. But if you don’t mind sleeping on wood.”
“Thank you. The shelter would be appreciated.”
Someone behind him shouted, “Number thirty-four!”
He turned around and carefully put my food in a sack, then handed it to me with the shake. “When you’re doneeating, just come back up, and I’ll unlock the caboose for you.”
“Thank you.”
There was an enclosed dining area in a separate building behind the restaurant. The room was clean and held six picnic tables. The walls were covered with maps of area hiking trails, and there was an article about bear attacks. (The article was published by the local Chamber of Commerce, so it had a lot of good things to say about bears.)
I sat down at a table and unwrapped the wax paper from my ostrich burger. Ostrich meat may look like beef, but it isn’t as good. I just put more ketchup on it.
It felt good to be off my feet. I hadn’t changed my socks since the day before, and I felt as if my flesh was absorbing them. I looked forward to taking them off, though not yet. I was eating.
When I finished my meal, I cleaned up the table, then walked back out to the drive-in. Three cars were now parked out front, and a line had formed at the window. The man saw me and said, “Just hang tight for a minute. I’ll have to unlock it for you.” About twenty minutes later he emerged from a side door. “This way.”
I followed him around back, then up a short set of stairs to the caboose. He pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door. Both of us stepped inside, standing in the narrow aisle that ran the length of the car. The interior ofthe caboose had been painted submarine gray and smelled like wet paint. “Don’t use the head,” he said. “It doesn’t work, and you’d have a real mess on your hands. You can use the facilities behind the restaurant. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
I was surprised at how trusting he was of a complete stranger.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He walked out, shutting the door behind himself. I had never actually been inside a train (unless you count the Park train at Disneyland), let alone slept in one. The berth was a long wooden tray where I suppose a mattress once lay. I laid out my pad, then unzipped my sleeping bag and lay it across the space. I lay back to test it out. Not bad. Hard, but I was getting used to that. For the most part, the soft things of my life were
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