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whooshing and clanging like a hail storm concentrated onto one unfortunate soul’s vehicle.
    As the last boxcar was tended to by the forklift, the large woman made her way from the front to the rear, securing doors on cars that bore them. As the woman went to close the last boxcar, the engineer intervened. Leroy couldn’t hear what they said from the distance he sat, but the woman stomped away without closing the door, the the engineer held a whistle to his lips and blew, a short, shrill note. Time to go already? A shudder flowed through him.
    The bustle of the rail yard was unlike anything he’d experienced, and he was caught off-guard by how fulfilled he felt amidst it. He almost wanted to stay and hang around, but he had plenty to do, and not much time to do it. He approached the engineer.
    “Your ride.” The driver motioned to the boxcar. Inside, large upturned rolls of paper created a platform four feet off the floor, halving the total space.
    Leroy looked to the engineer, eyebrows raised.
    “You won’t hurt nothing. It’s rolled up too tight.”
    He grasped the edge of a paper roll and pulled himself atop it.
    The man stepped back and slid one of the doors closed. “I’ll leave one side open for air. Too small to lose cargo, but big enough to lose you. So please, don’t make me regret helping you out, son.”
    Leroy settled onto a roll in the corner, shifting until he was somewhat comfortable. “No sir, I won’t. Thank you.”
    With another tip of his hat, the man strode off toward the cab.
    He had done it. Just yesterday, his current situation would’ve seemed impossible. Leroy thought back on the day, one of the strangest he’d ever lived. And he almost didn’t live through it. Now he was on a train, ready to make tracks. Leroy let an uneasy smile shine through. He’d never left California, but was eager to do so, and a little bit scared.
    A cacophony of clicks, clacks, and beeps echoed from the engine unit, followed by a mechanical whirring sound. For a moment, Leroy thought something had gone wrong, until the engine finally caught, and roared to life. All at once, the cars expelled a rush of air, pressurizing the brake system. The noise reminded Leroy of the school bus in the morning, mercifully whisking him away from home for a brief eight hours. Just like the bus, the train jerked forward and accelerated slowly. But this time, his wish had come true—he wouldn’t be returning. Better late than never, he supposed.
    * * *
    As the train pulled out of the station, Leroy found himself back in the forest. No spiderwebs to worry about, though; he was riding in luxury, tramp style.
    The train-hopping nomad definition of tramp was new to him. The version his mother had used was a bit more blue. She had been, on the whole, a coarse person. He’d often questioned how she could speak and act in the manner she had, yet never reflect on it, never realize how she rubbed people the wrong way. Maybe she had, and she just didn’t care. Either way, she’d served as a walking, talking lesson in how not to act, and he sponged it up.
    Neat rows of lean evergreens stretched back as far as he could see, yet close enough for him to discern the individual pine needles. He wondered if the trees had grown in a row naturally or were planted that way.
    As they traveled further from the station, the reach of the floodlights faded, and darkness returned. The train lurched along at a much slower speed than Leroy had hoped, leveling off around what he estimated at near forty miles per hour. Seemed sort of inefficient for a cross-country means of transportation, but he figured it was an issue of safety. He was embarking on an adventure. Safety be damned. He wanted speed and suspense and thrills, not that he’d been lacking in the latter so far.
    Folsom was a decent distance away on the map—five-hundred miles or so. At the current speed, it’d take nearly half a day to make it there, shattering his hopes of a brisk joyride.