During one cold Saturday night walk, we decided to escape from the cold and sought shelter. Seeing that no trains ran on Saturday nights, we climbed inside the unlocked idling locomotive that was parked in the freight yard on the outskirts of town and defrosted. The two of us chatted while also keeping our eyes on car traffic traveling through the rural roads near the rail yard. Any car that turned off the main road and onto the side road made my heart speed up a bit because the side road connected to a rock road that led to the rail yard where we were currently trespassing. After nearly a dozen cars turned onto the side road, our worst fears came true. A car slowed after turning onto the side road and then made the dreaded right turn onto the road toward the rail yard where John and I sat in a locomotive. Without hesitation, the two of us bolted out of the locomotive cab and started running down the railroad tracks. Neither of us looked back as we both ran for nearly five minutes.
Once the two of us made it out of the yard and onto the old mainline track, we stopped to catch our breath and voiced our wonder if the car that pulled into the lot was a railroad employee or just someone taking a random shortcut. After getting to a safe distance far enough away but within eye shot of the rail yard office, we both noticed a car parked outside the office. It was definitely a railroad employee. We believed we were in the clear and headed for home.
About ten minutes or so later, a nagging feeling kept making me feel like the two of us were being followed. I briefly turned my head and, over my shoulder, saw two headlights approaching us. The railroad police! (Yes, there is such a thing as the railroad police.) After years of walking these rails (also known as trespassing), we finally were suspects of the railroad police and, worse yet, they were on our tails. John and I again started sprinting toward home (a good mile in the distance)...but first, we had to cross the railroad tower that sat in our way.
Underneath the busy Route 41 bridge sat a tower where an operator worked to keep trains from running into one another by throwing switches and tracking the numerous local trains that passed through the area. As John and I approached this tower, we noticed the operator turned on every exterior light. Passing the tower was the only way to outrun the police, and our only route home. We both zipped up our coats and lowered our baseball caps as we entered the brightness of the tower. I expected to see a police cruiser parked at the tower as I sprinted past the tower. Thankfully, there was no police car, but the tower operator stood tall in the upstairs window keeping watch as John and I continued our mad dash home. We managed to outrun the approaching railroad police car and the tower operator, and were almost home.
Before finally reaching the park where an hour ago we casually entered these railroad tracks, we knew one final obstacle could potentially block us. Another road paralleled the tracks and we feared another police cruiser would be waiting for us. Before reaching the park, we detoured through a neighboring forest and snaked our way to a small creek where we turned and ended up in the backyard of another friend's home. With no sign of the police, we quickly returned to the streets and made it to our respective homes. We both had a difficult time sleeping that night.