By Jim Hagarty
2012
In the early ’70s a group of young guys from my hometown in Canada discovered a way to get a few thrills that still has me scratching my head. They would drive a friend’s convertible onto the railroad tracks in town, let some air out of the tires and go for a happy little ride. The wheel rims would hug the rails so they didn’t have to worry about steering. Just keep a little pressure on the gas pedal and they were good to go.
This band of merry misfits would sit in the car and on the car trunk and hood, have a beer or two, and, on occasion, use a gun to scare a few groundhogs and rabbits. They knew when the trains normally ran on that line so they weren’t concerned about a sudden shock. When they got to another town a few miles up the line, they would all jump out, lift the front end of the vehicle so the car could be driven off the tracks, re-inflate the tires just enough to get them to a gas station, and off they’d go.
I don’t know how many times they did this but they came to get me one night to go along. Fortunately I was sleeping (at a table in the pub) so they let me be. As remarkable as this might sound, the craziest part of the whole adventure was when the car had to go over a railroad bridge which crossed a river. It was a long way from the bridge to the water. Now this wouldn’t have mattered if the car always stayed on the tracks. But once in a while, when they were putting along, it would get a bit dislodged and the guys would all have to jump out and lift it back on the rails. This was fine when they were going along on solid ground but if it had happened on the bridge, who knows what the result might have been as there was no place for them to jump except into the river. It freaked out the guys enough that some of them would scream as they went over the bridge.
Apparently, at the incredible sight of this carload of caterwauling young bucks crossing a railroad bridge in an old convertible, motorists would pull their cars over to the side of the road to watch in wonder. No cellphones in those days so the police didn’t get any tips in time to respond. I don’t know, in fact, if the guys ever got into trouble with the law, though they surely would have if caught. What I do know is that if I had been in that car, the loudest screamer would have been me and no cellphones would have been needed to alert the authorities.
But the chances of my being in that scary railroad car were very low. When I was a kid, I heard a very wise slogan that helps to explain why I am still walking around at 61: I’d rather be a live chicken than a dead duck!
