THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

A freight train came along on some tracks that ran parallel to the highway.  At first it was a distant light and short bursts of horn, and then it was rolling past me, slow and stately, on its nightly procession through Livingstone.  It was enormous – American trains are twice the size of European ones – and at least a mile long.  I counted sixty freight cars on it before I lost track, all of them with names on them like Burlington Northern, Rock Island, Santa Fe.  Towards the end of the train one car went by with its door open and I could see three shadowy figures inside: hobos.  I was amazed to find that such people still existed, that it was still possible to ride the rails.  In the dusk it looked a very romantic way to spend your life.  It was all I could do to keep from sprinting along and climbing aboard and just disappearing with them into the night.

Bryson/Continent