Loftwings and Demons

Still Riding The Rails: Life as a Modern Hobo

Connecticut Shorty's father is buried in the National Hobo Cemetery in Britt, Iowa. When a hobo dies, they say he's “caught the Westbound.” Shorty's father, Connecticut Slim, rode the rails for 44 years before catching the Westbound in 1990 to the hobo jungle in the skies. Shorty didn't fully understand the lure of the hobo lifestyle until she began hopping trains herself in 1993.

Shorty was in her mid-40s when she caught out on her first train from Dunsmuir, California to the legendary Roseville rail yard outside of Sacramento. A veteran hobo called Road Hog USA showed her the ropes — where to hide from the “bulls” (train yard cops), where the train stops or slows enough to hop on, what type of train cars to look for, and what to bring in your pack.

A look into a nomadic subculture.  I've often contemplated this kind of lifestyle and similar for myself, but have never seriously considered it because I like my creature comforts too much and I suspect I'm too antisocial to mesh with a culture like this.  I do consider myself to live in a sort of guilded cage, though.  Anyone who sees how much I complain about 'society' knows I don't much care for living the way we're expected to in order to receive those comforts.