"The Last Free Spirit"

Dale Stenseth's Freight Train Adventures

First fright train ride, Spring 1997.

I grew up on the railroad, even living on the second floor of a depot for a while. My dad was a depot agent in a series of small towns for most of the 43 years he worked for the SooLine. While I rode many passenger trains as a child, climbing on or riding freight trains was strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, I always wanted to ride a freight train. I still remember the haunting call of the long, low whistle of the old steam locomotives, calling me to far-away places, and promising escape from the bounds of a small town. Angry diesel locomotive horns just do not evoke the same memories. Today, I am still drawn to trains, just as my ancestral heritage draws me to the oceans and the mountains and foreign lands.

I was 51 when an easy opportunity finally presented itself. I was a new employee for a local consulting company. Our client was Centron Corporation in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. I was a member of a team assigned to implement SAP software for this company. Our work area was part of a warehouse in Hopkins, Minnesota, abutting the Twin Cities & Western Railroad tracks.

One May morning before work, the client's attorney, also a team member, and I were standing next to the tracks, looking at a stopped train. He admitted to being a 'train buff'. He remarked that 'It would be easy to hop on and go for a ride.'

My reflexive response was 'Yeah, you want to do it now?'

He said 'Let's wait until it starts moving.'

We went back into our work space, got our daily coffee, and asked another team member with a window view of the train to let us know when it started moving.
After about 10 minutes, she called, 'The train is moving.'
I got up from my laptop, ran for the door and yelled, 'Come on Doug, it's show time'.

I ran for the train, leaped onto a boxcar step, grabbing the hand rail. I swung myself up and on to the back of the car so that I would not be visible from the engine. Doug apparently was in the rest room and didn't make it. The train was eastbound. I rode the train into the next suburb, St. Louis Park, where it stopped. I got off, disappeared into the brush, undetected, and hiked back to work. My action caused a stir, within both the consulting company and the client company. I think that was when we all knew this would be a memorable project.

Second fright train ride, October 2, 1997.

About a month after the project implementation date, we were working in the Eden Prairie location doing post-implementation support. One day the power went out. We discovered that the Hopkins warehouse still had power, so several of us packed up and moved to the warehouse, next to the track.

As luck would have it, there was a stopped westbound train. I immediately recognized this as an even greater opportunity. I knew the track went as far as Appleton, Minnesota, where my mother-in-law lived. Perhaps I would pay her an unexpected visit.

It was an unseasonably warm October day. The temperature was pleasant. It was sunny and warm, even hot. This time, I had a more comfortable and protected riding space. I was riding on the front side of a covered grain car. The construction was such that I could climb through an 18 inch hole into a small, weather-proof compartment. If I had stayed in there, out of sight, there would have been no problems.

Unbeknownst to me, a man had escaped from one of the neighboring county jails, and there was a manhunt in progress. Because it was boring and hot and cramped in my little compartment, I had crawled out onto the 'back porch' of the car and was enjoying the view and the air movement. At one point, I called home on my cell phone and asked my youngest son to let his mom know that I would probably be late for supper. At Plato, a railroad signal maintainer spotted me and reported me to the railroad dispatcher, who called the police.

When the train arrived in Glencoe, there was a reception committee of 6 waiting for me. I was invited, at gunpoint, to leave the train. When I stuck my head out of the riding compartment, all the pistols aimed at me evoked the image of the last scene in 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid'. I was mighty proud that I did not mess my shorts. Must have been a mighty slow day in Glencoe.

I was ordered 'to climb out and climb down with your hands where we can see 'em.' As I was being frisked, I was asked if I had any drugs or needles. Then I was hand cuffed behind my back. After a dispute over whether the city or the county had jurisdiction, I was taken to the McLeod county jail. After a lot of questions and paperwork, I got a nice hot shower and a nice green jumpsuit with orange socks. I stayed in a holding area for people awaiting arraignment. We had a day-room with a shower and 4 attached private bedroom-cells. Each cell had a stainless steel toilet-sink combo and a big-brother viewing port. My fellow guests said they were there for drugs, drugs, and an unspecified domestic incident. They were all astonished and amazed that I was there for riding a train.

We had a telephone. I called home. It was an interesting call.

During my stay, I had a warm bed, 3 meals, books from the library, access to exercise equipment, television, and 2 first-run movies in the library area. The meals were plentiful and mostly balanced, although a little heavy on the carbs and fat.

My arraignment hearing was early the next afternoon. We were led out in cuffs to the court area. My wife was waiting. I was allowed to walk past her, but we were not allowed to speak.

The judge was an older gentleman, and reminisced about a time when hopping freight trains was how a lot of people got around. He called me 'The last free spirit.' He offered me 'time served, no fine', if I plead. After exit processing, I was out of there.

The first part of the ride home was very quiet. After about 15 minutes, my wife asked, 'Well, have you finally got that out of your system?'

I knew the only acceptable answer. I lied. As it was, we were almost back to Chaska before she finally wound down. We stopped at the warehouse in Hopkins to pick up my laptop on the way home.

In retrospect, it was just like being in the Navy. The quarters were the same, the food was the same. The library and exercise equipment and movies differed a little. Most similar were the officers. Some were very decent men. Some were jerks. I use a different word in the spoken version of this story, which I am often asked to tell. Like navy sea stories and red wine, I am sure this story will continue to improve with time.

Warning: I do not advocate jumping freight trains. It is not glamorous. It is extremely dangerous. People have died or been dismembered from attempting to ride freight trains. If I were to try it again, I would wear at least a bike helmet. The starting and stopping is very abrupt and jerky. I think the word 'brutal' is descriptive. I have heard that since 9/11, security is tighter and there is more hassle. Still, I brake for trains, and I will always be drawn to them like a moth to the flame.

I have a few pictures, which I will add later.

Description	Picture
Twin Cities & Western Railroad Route. Glencoe is 43 miles WSW from Hopkins.
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