Momentum

By Kristy Athens

Written en plein air at Pebble Beach, Stevenson, Washington

The safety rails, flashing red and chiming loudly, drop over the roadway to no end—the three-engined Burlington Northern Santa Fe lumbers to a stop just shy of the crossing. The train rests on the hot railroad bed, growling quietly and occasionally belching a sharp steam release. It is yielding to an eastbound train, which must carry a more valuable payload. The other train blasts through Stevenson like a belligerent mariachi—pushing diesel-laced air against the sun-soaked asphalt and gravel.

There is a period of relative silence as the eastbound train disappears and the roadway is restored. As that train’s screaming horn and rumbling cars fade, the westbound train’s engines seem to palpate in anticipation. Finally, an internal all-clear is given. The engines rev slightly and pull forward gently, coaxing the first car forward a few inches until it pulls taut against its connection with the second car, then the third and fourth and on down the line … fifty cars, sixty.

Once the slack has been drained, the engines roar in earnest. Black smoke begins to billow from the stacks. The train moves far enough to trigger the safety gates to once again fall and ring their alarm. The horn blares and the engines rage like crazed oxen trying to pull a brick schoolhouse. They strain and pull, and, slowly, the cars follow. Horn blasts seem more a voicing of struggle than a warning—everyone in the vicinity is well aware of the train, and could still outrun it at this point. The cars protest and squeal, metal torquing against metal, axles vibrating, rails compressing.

Almost imperceptibly, the cars have picked up speed. They pass, a chain of white-gray, brick red, green-gray, yellow-gray. Many are marked with the mysterious “DO NOT HAMMER ON CAR.” Some are tagged with graffiti. The rhythm of front and back wheels hitting a joint in the rails finally develops. The last car’s ladder retreats, seeming like an invitation.

A few minutes later, from the dock, the train is visible a few miles away, rounding the point near the Bridge of the Gods. It is a dotted line moving between the water and the bluff. Momentum restored, the train blares its triumph.