Puget Sound and Pacific
Destination Unknown
Puget Sound and Pacific
Admiral Biscuit
Centralia was arranged in a long line nestled in a junction of river valleys. Sweetsong’s first order of business was to do a quick aerial exploration of her surroundings and get an idea where she might be able to sing, if she wanted to, or where the best spot to catch a train might be. To find a grocery store so she could restock, a restaurant for dinner, and a place to sleep.
She flew over the railyard first, studying the variety of cars she might choose from. The bulk of cars weren’t good for riding, center-beam flat cars and tank cars, but there was also a good collection of grain cars and box cars. She also noticed a side track leading off almost due west, paralleling a city street.
Curious, she followed the spur track through town until it curved northwest and began to run parallel with another track. There was a river and clusters of trees; either of those would be good locations to catch out.
She followed the tracks back to the railyard, curving to the south to follow a busy road nearly parallel to the yard. Every town was laid out differently, and it was always a guess where to find the nearest food, but busy roads or highway exits were always a safe bet. It would also give her a chance to check out the south end of the yard, in case she wanted to take a train out that way. For all she knew, the track she’d been following was an industrial spur, leading to a lumberyard or big cement plant or something else a few more miles along. That was a mistake she’d made before, and as she’d flown out of her unintended destination to find a different train, she’d discovered that some industrial parks fenced the trains in.
Not really a problem for her, but that could get an earthbound hobo in trouble.
Her first stop was the B&D market, which had less of a selection of food than she’d hoped, but still more than enough to fill her saddlebags and keep her fed for a few days.
Further down the street, she found the Tiki Taphouse, which seemed popular, and she’d never had Tiki food before.
When she asked where Tiki was, her waiter informed her that Tiki was a theme, not a location or specific style of food, but their food was Hawaiian and Pacific Island inspired. The pizza was San Francisco style, which was something she’d never tried.
They also had a large collection of beers, including a barleywine—something she hadn’t ever seen in America before.
She could still fly straight after one or two of them, so she ordered one while she studied the pizza menu. Most of the pizzas had strange names, and she finally settled on the Spamango Bay, which was topped with Spam, mangos, onions, and potato chips. It seemed like an insane combination, but she was willing to give it a try. Other diners were enjoying their pizzas, at least when they weren’t glancing over at her.
Mostly she didn’t notice the stares she often got. Sometimes it worked to her advantage; when she was singing or playing her guitar, that got people’s attention, and they were more likely to stick around as soon as they saw that she was a pony. When she wasn’t performing, though, sometimes she just wanted to blend in, to be unseen, to not be an object of interest. Usually, she could tune that out, but as she looked around the restaurant and studied the strange totem poles and the decorative thatched roof on the bar she noticed people staring at her while pretending not to. She shifted around in her seat and then focused on her beer when it arrived, paying attention to that instead.
It wasn’t quite like a proper barleywine, but it was pretty good. Good enough that when the waiter brought her pizza, she ordered a second, then bit into the pizza.
Not only was it delicious, but the potato chips made it crunchy.
•••
On the east side of town, there was a tree-covered ridge which was a good place for her to overnight. A few blocks from the railroad yard, and a quick overflight showed it was uninhabited save for a few trails.
There were plenty of trees to choose from. She flew down to a promising cluster of pines and started sorting them by degree of softness and sappiness until she found a fir that she liked.
Tomorrow she’d have leftover pizza for breakfast, a proper bath, and then decide which train line was her best bet. For now, she settled into her tree-nest and watched the lights of Centralia below her, the spreading stars above her, and the yard locomotive shifting its final string of cars before tying up at the yard office for the night.
•••
She was up with the sun, and her first order of business was chasing off a squirrel who also wanted her Spamango pizza. He’d gnawed a hole in the box and already eaten part of a slice.
His smug look before he ran away tempted her to kick him off the branch, but instead she took out the partially-chewed slice and set it on the branch for him to enjoy after she’d left, ate another, then took flight again. She should have waited until today to shop for food; that way she could have carried the box in her saddlebags instead of in her mouth. It was too late now, not unless she wanted to cache her grocery store bounty in favor of the pizza.
The idea was tempting, but if she had to leave something behind to catch a train, better the pizza. That wouldn’t keep long anyway.
•••
The Amtrak station didn’t offer any passenger trains to the Pacific, not unless she wanted to ride down to California. That at least told her that going south out of town wouldn’t get her where she wanted to go anytime soon.
The tracks she’d seen heading west might, or at least get her closer. How far was she willing to fly to actually get to the Pacific? She could head west right now and be there in a few days; she had enough food in her saddlebags that even if she didn’t see a single restaurant or grocery store, she could make it.
But were there really no more convenient ports for ships than Seattle? Nothing along the actual coastline where they could load and unload? Ships meant trains; ships carried too much cargo for trucks to deliver and take away.
She walked back to the street and took flight, following the road until she was above the buildings. She’d find a train—she always did—and it wasn’t worth worrying about. For now, she needed a bath. Once she was clean she could go back to thinking about trains.
•••
She’d intended to go to the river, but once she’d picked up some altitude, she’d spotted a pond almost due west of her, the water clear and inviting. As she got closer, she discovered that it had its own little private bay, almost completely hidden from the view of the houses and hotels that crowded around the edge of the lake. Normally, she didn’t worry about that, but she was still thinking about the patrons at the Tiki Taphouse staring at her. Not rudely, they were just curious, probably none of them had seen a pony up close before. Was it wrong to want some time to herself? She had plenty of time to herself when she wasn’t trying to earn bits, maybe too much free time.
Sweetsong stripped off her saddlebags and hung them over a tree limb, rummaged around for her bottle of Dr. Bronner’s soap, and then waded into the water.
One disadvantage of a natural bathing spot was the lack of places to dry off—sometimes there were sun-warmed rocks or a sandy beach; here there were just bushes and grasses all the way up to the water.
She shook off and strapped her saddlebags back on, grabbed the pizza box, and flew across the lake to land on the flat roof of a hotel. She spread out her army blanket—she’d learned shingles would shed grit into her fur—and got out her curry comb.
•••
Brushed and sun-warmed, and with one more slice of pizza in her belly, Sweetsong took to the air. She’d left the rest of the pizza behind on the hotel roof for birds to enjoy—or adventurous squirrels. She’d deposited the cardboard box in a wastebasket by the front door before flying off again.
The easiest way back to the western tracks was along the highway, and that would give her a chance to study the road bridge that crossed the tracks, as well. It had the typical wide girders and concrete abutments which made it a decent hiding place, although the area around it was more open than she liked—not a good spot to catch a train. Still, it gave her good information: one of the rail lines she’d seen stopped, and the other split off into both a northbound line and a westbound line.
The pair of bridges across the river she’d spotted yesterday were her best bet for boarding a train; there was thick tree cover and no houses, and it was close enough to the yard that the trains wouldn’t be going too fast. Plus, the two bridges were only a few hundred feet apart, which gave her the opportunity to pick from trains on either of the two lines.
•••
She’d mostly dozed off in a leafy oak that overhung the river when she heard a train horn off in the distance. It sounded like it was coming more from the east than the south, so she dropped out of her tree and skimmed the river, arriving at the truss bridge as the first locomotive rumbled across.
It was an older locomotive with a narrow front hood, lettered for a railroad she’d never heard of: the Puget Sound and Pacific. The second half of the road name was promising.
There were too many trees to get a good look at much of the consist; she was going to have to make a quick decision and hop the first car she could ride.
Seven cars back from the locomotive, she spotted the first good grainer to ride. Tempting though it was to board it before it reached the bridge, it was safer to fly across the river and pick it up after it returned to solid ground. There weren’t as many trees to act as obstacles.
Tucking her wings to clear the ladder and bracing was familiar, and she only realized as she set her hooves on the floor of the car that she hadn’t even noticed its road name.
There wasn’t time for that now; she knew the highway bridge was coming up and at least some running alongside a road. Sweetsong grabbed the army blanket out of her saddlebags and draped it over her back, disguising her shape, and settled into place as the car rocked across a switch.
•••
The train skirted the edge of town and a reservoir bounded by her tracks on one side, with I-5 and tank car storage tracks on the other.
As it headed into the countryside, it passed through an industrial park, a few scattered neighborhoods, and a trailer park that backed up nearly to the tracks.
The train was now also heading almost north . . . maybe it had come from the Pacific and was going back to Puget Sound.
That would be frustrating, but she could deal with that if it happened. She instead focused on the gentle rocking of the grainer, and the normal train noises.
There was a road inconveniently close to the tracks, and while it got rural to the east, there was a nearly continuous collection of houses and businesses behind her, close enough to spot her if she were to stand up and look around.
It wasn’t until the train turned back towards the northwest that she finally got to do some cautious sightseeing; the buildings thinned out and the track got obscured by trees and underbrush.
Unfortunately, there were roads on both sides, and that meant she might be spotted by cars going either direction.
•••
Sweetsong decided she would have had a better view if she’d picked a grainer with a hiding-hole in it, she could have seen more of the passing terrain than just treetops and the occasional risky glance over the side sill when she didn’t hear any traffic. On the plus side, the tracks were now curving steadily west.
•••
She finally got her chance to lean on the ladder and be queen of the grainer when the train left Rochester and curved into woods and fields along the undulating course of the Black River. It briefly paralleled an untrafficked rural road, then went back into the forest.
Her car was close enough to the locomotive that they might spot her in its mirrors if she leaned out too far, at least on straightaways. On curves, she could stick her head out and not be seen.
Parallel roads were mostly obscured by trees and underbrush, although occasionally the trees would thin out and she had to duck back down.
Sweetsong rocked on her hooves as the train went across a switch, a passing siding with no train waiting for them. Maybe they were going to stop. She kept her ears perked and didn’t hear the hiss of the air brakes. Maybe the train would run all the way to the Pacific without stopping.
All of a sudden, the side track rejoined hers. For some reason, it hurt her head to watch a parallel track merge into hers, and every time she stepped back as the rails crossed, as if the track itself was going to hit her car.
Through a hole in the trees, she caught a glimpse of an abandoned store, nothing left of it but windowless cement walls and peeling white paint.
When there was no tree cover, she kept her eyes on the road. Southbound traffic was no concern; they’d be past before they could get a look at her. Northbound had a chance to spot her, a few seconds where she’d be in view if they looked. They’d approach from behind and pass the train, which gave her an opportunity to duck down as the car caught up and passed.
Sweetsong played cat-and-mouse with passing traffic to all the way to the outskirts of Elma. The highway curved away for good, then she heard the hiss of the airbrakes and the train began to slow.
There were too many trees for her to see what was coming. A passing siding? A yard? The end of the line?
The train ran down in a shallow gully with a highway and city streets passing above it, and as it slowed to a trot, she heard wheels screech around a tight turn. A yard or industry, it couldn’t be anything else.
She had only seconds to decide to bail or stay on. There was still plenty of underbrush to hide her if she went straight over the side. If the train stopped in the yard, she might be stuck until nightfall. . . .
Sometimes her choices were a gut feeling. She had a good feeling about this train, about this car she was riding, even if she still didn’t know which railroad owned it.
Her gut wasn’t always right, but it had a good track record so far. She tucked down into the shadows under the slope sheet as her car bent into the curve of the wye and waited to see what the train would do next.
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I'm having a hard time reconciling San Francisco style pizza, which is all about the fresh, local, sustainable, farm-to-table philosophy, with Spam.
Must be a difference between countries. Ive only ridden a few lines in the northern half of England, UK and there are regular squeals on the main lines as trains flex to get round corners.
And then there were the rigid frame, rigid axel Pacers.
11177338
Yeah, that’s a fair point. If I remember right, the restaurant says it’s a San Francisco style crust (sourdough) and doesn’t make any further claims about the pizza’s style.
11177700
We have those here in the US, too, but there’s the mainline sharp turns and then the yard sharp turns. Heck, where I used to live there was an aluminum plant that had a rail line serving it which had a 90 degree curve in about a city block, which is ungodly tight for a modern train.
Still better than most equipment Amtrak had back in the day.
Hmm...
I love the journey, but I wonder if Sweetsong's luck can continue, considering the risks she takes with sneaking onto trains.
"It sounded like it was coming more from the west than the south, so she dropped out of her tree and skimmed the river"
...Isn't it trains coming from the south and east, and heading northwest, she's looking for, though?
11177343
[checks Google Earth]
Huh. How did I miss...
Oh!
But wouldn't she have already passed that before the chapter started?
From the end of the previous chapter:
"She could see the Amtrak station from the wrong side as they went by"
So I was only looking for golf courses south of the Tukwila Amtrak station.
"In Ruston, south of the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium, the BNSF tracks run under the city, coming out on the other side of the peninsula."
[checks Google Earth]
Ah, okay, I think I did pick up around there, then, IIRC! Thanks!
But yeah, that'd have the water on the right-hand side the whole time.
"I’d actually find that peaceful. Dunno why but I don’t mind the sound of idling diesels."
I didn't say I was complaining about it. :)
:)
...Okay, we appear to be using some significantly different software. ...Ah, yes, I think Google Earth has a browser version? Are you using that? I don't know much about it.
Thanks for the information, though!
11177353
You're welcome, and thank you. :)
11181039
It is, yes, I screwed up my compass directions
Fixed, thank you!.
Uhh . . . yes. I must have messed up the order of things when I edited the chapters.
I don’t know how I messed that up.
Yeah, I’m on the browser version. It’s got a few more features the mobile version doesn’t.
11178811
One advantage she’s got that most hobos don’t have is she can just fly away if police are there to try and arrest her. Obviously, she’d have to find a different train if that happened. She’s unlikely to be chased, especially if she’s airborne.
11182090
Octopi are so fascinating because they not only show intelligence but some kind of sapient personality.
Some say if they lived enough, they would be capable of collective learning.
11182087
If the police tried to go after her, newspapers would call her "the most adorable national security threat."
11182096
I wonder how they would feel about parasailing?
11182081
Ah, you're welcome.
Ah, thanks. Sorry about that.
[shrugs] Sorry.
:)
There's a mobile version too? Huh. I'm on the desktop version.
Anyway, thanks!
11182087
Yeah, I think I recall her mentioning helicopters, which would be possible... but they'd be much more expensive to operate, and unlike one or more officers and probably a car, they wouldn't already be on site and ready to go. So the officers would have to call it in, the helicopter would have to be scrambled, if the department has one at all and isn't using it for something more important, then it would have to get out to the site, then it would have to find her even with her head start and ability to go to ground, and it'd be burning fuel and maintenance and pilot pay the whole time. Once she's already off the train, what police department is going to be that determined to catch her?
11182121
I think that in that sense, there are a number of animals who would qualify; besides octopi I’d think that dolphins would be on that list and perhaps crows or some of the great apes and honestly probably some others I’m not thinking of.
I wouldn’t be surprised. Crows are capable of vocal social learning, at least. And of course many species learn visually, including horses.
Heh, yeah, they probably would.
I think that would be okay, too. And maybe a powered parachute . . . while some pegasi would be traditionalists about it (gotta fly with your own wings, no cheating), others would be interested in technology and how they could use it, so long as they could be outside in the air and not in some pressurized tube.
11182941
Yeah, the mobile versions for cell phones and tablets.
I also use the desktop version on Google Chrome (on a PC) . . . browser might make a difference, I dunno.
No normal police department would; as you say, even if they had a helicopter and it was fueled and ready to go, if the only law she broke was riding a train, they wouldn’t bother. Well, not unless the police chief really hates ponies or something.
No specifics on the helicopter that chased her were given in story, but in that case it was after she got discovered crossing from Mexico to the US on a train, and that’s something that Border Patrol takes seriously.
Sweetsong: "This is where the fun begins!"
Had the cat ever catched on to you?
11193755
Aye, a full belly and a train to catch.
Sometimes it does.
Is people calling the rail line to report people illegally hitching rides such a common thing or is Sweetsong a bit too paranoid about the possibility?
If I saw somebody, (or somepony) doing that I wouldn't even know who to call, let alone what their number was.
Even if I did know those things, I doubt I'd have the inclination to report them in the first place.
11363477
I don't know how common it is, but there are people who will.
Most rail crossings in the US have the railroad's phone number on them, so you can call and report a blocked crossing. Most people apparently don't know this. If you report the crossing is blocked in a timely manner, the train will probably stop. I assume that somebody at this number would know who to report a hobo to, although I have no idea if that's true or not.
Yeah, I feel the same way about it.
I'd wonder how an Equestrian cop is going to test how drunk a pegasus is?
If it's a unicorn or earth pony cop then the pegasus is drunk, simply because it can't get off the ground. If it's a pegasus cop then I guess it's working out how badly the flying pattern is.
The Monty Python skit would have hit a dead stop there.
Server: "Well, we do have a spam pizza. That only has a bit of spam."
Customer: *reading the menu* "Oh that sounds interesting. I'll have that please."
Of course, I remember reading that in a live performance of the Dead Parrot skit the pet store employee immediately accepted the return because the Monty Python team didn't want things getting predictable.
YES.
I love that crunch. I'm the type who'll add dried onions to their stir-fry.
11394540
"Okay, I need you to fly to that cloud, do a wing roll, then back to the first."
I could see some pegaus cop looking at a drunk pegasus and wondering just what the f
k she's doing. Also now that I think about it, human laws tend to be more lenient about drunk walking (depending on your jurisdiction), so is drunk flying a similar infraction for pegasi? Like if they don't do anything else but stagger their way home, is it even illegal?
11498913
I'm reminded of their election night special skit where the audience started singing, and one of the actors lost it. Bet they never saw that coming.
I don't know how I'd feel about crunchy pizza, but I do understand. There are places where I do want that crunch. And maybe if I had a pizza with potato chips on it, I'd get it. Maybe I'll have to try that sometime.