The RV park that marks my winter bivouac in Tucson
Many folks would consider this a deficit. I count it a perk. There are few sounds that thrill me more than the wail of a diesel’s road horn. To me, it’s a siren song of distant places yet to be seen. If I could park my rig right next to the track, I would.
In fact, many times, I have. When dry camping—also called boon-docking—I have often parked near rail lines just to watch the trains go by. I have made it a habit, when parking my motorhome or travel trailer in one of those impromptu camp sites, to watch every passing train, even if it meant rousing myself from sleep to peek out the window. I suppose I belong to that informal fraternity known as railfans. I’ve been a member ever since I can remember. I have always found trains, railroads and railroading fascinating. I took my affinity as far as working as a main line brakeman during summers when I was in college. I’ve also enjoyed a number of long distance passenger train trips.
Uh-oh. I can feel the verbiage building up. Telling train stories is a favorite pastime—well, next to grandchildren stories, that is.
I’ll spare you from either.
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