Episode 5: Or Maybe I Will Be a Simple Drop of Rain

I first heard the term #bencher on the westbound Southwest Chief. We were in Kanas City, a big drop off and pick up point on that line. That gives passengers a chance to stretch their legs on the platform, smoke, get some fresh air. A few truly brave souls actually try and get food – from either the station or someplace they HOPE is close. Kansas City is one of those stops where I’ve seen people run after the train, their Big Burp of pop and plastic bag of food flung and abandoned on the platform, because they didn’t heed the conductor’s warning to not stray. The train doesn’t wait and it doesn’t care if you’d rather have a whopper. While I was stretching my legs, smoking my pipe, and doing the sort of make-up-as-you-go tai chi that travelers do and old Chinese men practice on Venice beach every morning,  I noticed some commercial rail cars on the eastbound track and decided to check if they were tagged.



No, I didn’t hop off the platform. But I did get some nice shots anyway. And in the process I garnered the attention of another tag – that’s graffiti, for some of you listening at home – aficionado. He asked if I was a BENCHER. And since my first image of the term had something to do with the position I played the most in Pee Wee Football, I assumed that wasn’t what he meant. That’s when he told me it was an Instagram hashtag used by people who follow trains and car tags, take pictures, and post them. After hearing that, I confessed that I was – but clearly not as dedicated as my new friend, who I noticed HAD jumped off the platform to get a closer look.



And that’s when I found out that while he was, at the time, a passenger on the SW Chief, he also caught out – that is, he rode the trains the way hobos do.  And while I haven’t ever – not saying I wouldn’t, but conditions haven’t been… let’s say FAVORABLE… I DO know a few people who have. We traded a few names by way of establishing credibility, talked a little train geography,  and chatted a bit until the conductor hollered ALL ABOARD.  Then we nodded at each other and re-embarked because neither one of us felt like being stuck in Kansas City when we’d paid good money to ride.



Sometimes I think about the number of lives I’ve lived in the span of this 46 years. I’ve been a teacher. I’ve been a journalist. I’m married to the love of my life, a woman who has lived nearly as many lives as me and has drawn the marrow out of all of them much better than I ever could.  I’ve been married twice before and am a father to one amazingly talented, mostly more or less grown daughter. I’ve been a janitor, a dishwasher. I worked 3^rd shift in Winchester, Kentucky manufacturing 3D Styrofoam deer targets. I’ve traveled across the country multiple times by train, plane, bus, and car, and have  been through every state except Alaska and Hawaii. I’ve lived in my car. I’ve slept on the side of the road on Route 66. I cried at Mother Jones’ grave. And no, I haven’t hopped trains; but that doesn’t mean I consider it off the table, just because I’m 46 and there’s some notion that I should be more grown up and sedentary by now.  Life is a choose your own adventure book, not a script. Live big or die anyway.



Thanks for listening to Episode 5 of A Record of Well Worn Travel Boots. Be sure to find me and subscribe on Podbean, Google Play, or Spotify. Also be sure to check out the Spotify playlist, Well Worn Boots, which are songs that I listened out on my most recent trip out to Los Angeles. Look me up on Twitter and Instagram, @dirtysacred. You can find me on Facebook as well.
Thanks again for listening. May the road forever rise to meet your feet.