I literally cannot physically work forty hours a week. It feels like I got hit by a truck. I don’t think the human body is built for it.
—  white woman, in Boulder, at Boxcar Coffee

Caught out the wrong train from town, riding dangerously low in the well teetering on a thin metal ledge, feet resting on crossbars inches above the blurry ground track rails, veering. East along unfamiliar miles of off-white and grey buff slabbed trackside freeway walls containing commuted interstates and in-service lightrails, under too many overpasses, too many bridges, past half-lit buildings, stadiums, offices, residences, until street numbered highway signs grew past one hundred, two hundred and light pollution decreased for stars to appear through the thinning fog, yet too much velocity, too momentous a ride to jump from while barreling past grandiose monolithic mountain edges holding scenic fifty foot cascadian waterfalls that poured down heavily on rocks in creeks running to the vast river northern boundary spanning across to reach Washington where trains,sizing like toys, mirrored our own path, leading with bright headlights that shone through the healthy coniferous green rising steep up enormous rock structures, until finally we slowed to a halt where the was blankets of snow laying on the desert ground, where drought tolerant cacti stabbed thorns into my hands upon landing, where the air was cold and thin and the sky, now crisp and clear, displayed unbelievable planetary arced magnificent perspectives of the universe full of ancient and far stars that seemed to pass with precise calculations discerning space and time, and as the tracks curved, rotated brilliantly above my eyes, and the earth there smelled of pungent manure, but there was nothing around except for the lone paralleling highway and a rattled cattle fence built from logs containing a rustic pueblo-like house- using a wood burning stove for heat, the smoke escaping idyllically through the stumpy chimney- that looked borrowed from a Nowhere, New Mexico landscape painting.

There are no mistakes when riding trains, only adventures.