You’ve waited at the railroad crossing while the train is in the process of coupling: it goes forward, endlessly, then “no way!” backs up forever, then “you’ve got to be kidding me!” forward again as time stands still.
That ain’t nothing.
This time, in a wait so long it ensures that by the time you’re free and across the bridge, riders are already streaming from the bar, the long line of rail cars does the coupling dance, then waits as a massive freight train rumble roars past laden with mind-bogglingly huge shipping containers groaning with machinery that makes you feel like a little kid playing with Thomas the Tank Engine and dispels the annoyance of being stuck for a little while, anyway.
Afterwards, to your utter amazement and consternation and the surprising acquiescence of a cab driver who sits through the entire twenty minute—I kid you not—ordeal, the original train goes through the full coupling cycle again, which by now simply fascinates by contrast to the weather, which hasn’t repeated anything all day long.
Light rain in Bothell, clear by Kenmore, winter at Matthews Beach, hailstones like frozen peas.
I geared up under the park’s cedars and then, peddling towards the U, chuckled at shivering squids who’d dived right into the gale, heading north.
Spring break begins just like March: in a like a lion, out like a lamb? We shall see.
Currently, this is what we do know: there are trains and there are trains but all of them seemed especially busy on this, the first full night of the season. I was even stopped by a six car locomotive I’d never seen in action before, chugging right up the street (it seemed to me) in front of the entrance to the low level West Seattle bridge.
Rendezvousing with the ride, rumors of a far north route quickly thinned the herd. But, as it turned out, the evening’s theme prevailed.
Of course: the Boxcar!
That ain’t nothing.
This time, in a wait so long it ensures that by the time you’re free and across the bridge, riders are already streaming from the bar, the long line of rail cars does the coupling dance, then waits as a massive freight train rumble roars past laden with mind-bogglingly huge shipping containers groaning with machinery that makes you feel like a little kid playing with Thomas the Tank Engine and dispels the annoyance of being stuck for a little while, anyway.
Afterwards, to your utter amazement and consternation and the surprising acquiescence of a cab driver who sits through the entire twenty minute—I kid you not—ordeal, the original train goes through the full coupling cycle again, which by now simply fascinates by contrast to the weather, which hasn’t repeated anything all day long.
Light rain in Bothell, clear by Kenmore, winter at Matthews Beach, hailstones like frozen peas.
I geared up under the park’s cedars and then, peddling towards the U, chuckled at shivering squids who’d dived right into the gale, heading north.
Spring break begins just like March: in a like a lion, out like a lamb? We shall see.
Currently, this is what we do know: there are trains and there are trains but all of them seemed especially busy on this, the first full night of the season. I was even stopped by a six car locomotive I’d never seen in action before, chugging right up the street (it seemed to me) in front of the entrance to the low level West Seattle bridge.
Rendezvousing with the ride, rumors of a far north route quickly thinned the herd. But, as it turned out, the evening’s theme prevailed.
Of course: the Boxcar!
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