The Overland Tales
Chapter 12: Leroy Road
Mike, Jimmy and I have been friends for many decades. Our mutual interest in railroading, winter sports and infinite other things have bound us together. As our passions change and our lives evolve, we always find common ground. Sure, we can expertly push each others buttons, but we’re old enough to know only to use those skills for maximum comedic effect. If that’s not maturity, I don’t know what is.
So, how is it that a friendship bound on slopes and in rail yards all over North America, had one of its most memorable moments on a lonely dirt path in God’s country? I can tell you this; we didn’t see it coming. Well, that’s not entirely true.
First, let’s talk about maps.
Look up LeRoy, Wyoming on any map service and you will find Leroy Road, a train chaser’s dream: 10 miles of nirvana following the Union Pacific Railroad and Muddy Creek through the kind of expansive western views that have been burned into the American psyche. Our friends who had followed the Big Boy on its westbound run raved about the photographic opportunities presented along Leroy Road.
We found that Leroy Road truly is a pathway to railroad photography heaven, just one with many obstructions that make it somewhat less than a ribbon of contiguous fun. Ranch boundaries and gates have a limiting effect, but so do slides and washouts. 10 miles of expectant joy condensed into about 2.5 miles of real pretty fast.
About those washouts. Back east, I am used to driving across minor areas on where water has eaten away a few inches of a dirt road. Rarely are these spots more than a few inches wide and 6 inches deep. Anything bigger than that is usually a no-go as the eastern climate tends to keep the ground soggy.
Out west, washouts are a different story - at least when the land around them is dry and solid. The bigger your tire diameter, the less minor washouts matter. Unfortunately, our vehicle had wheels barely big enough to step across the sidewalk cracks that broke mothers’ backs in school yard games.
Despite that we made out way across a few dry ditches on Leroy Road, albeit slowly. Given the presence of the steam train, even at times when it wasn’t running there were rail buffs out scouting locations and photographing freight trains. All weekend we had seen a gent in a pick- up truck camper doing just that. The difference being while we were out carousing at the Lincoln Highway Tavern, this guy was parked along a desolate section of railroad in position for his first shot the next morning. Now he was in my rearview mirror and clearly wants to go faster than we are.
I pulled over at the next wide spot, which happened to be right at a washout which was easily 10-24 inches wide and 5 feet deep. CamperMan pulled right past us and crossed the gap like Wilt Chamberlin stepping over a single LEGO. Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeet! If he can do it...
I looked for my inner Bo and Luke Duke. All I found was a guy whose greatest automotive feat to date was burning donut tracks into local parking lots with a ’72 Dodge Dart Swinger. A badass, all original, 318 powered penis extension. That Dart was like a Boeing 757: way more power than it needed, but one fun machine.
There were some metal and wood scraps lying around which I assumed must have been used as temporary bridges. I wasn’t too keen on that. Mike noted that the gap was significantly narrower in one area. All I had to do was drive across there. What happened on my way to the narrow section is debatable. The result is not. I managed to get one front wheel across while leaving the other hanging in the air. In the middle of nowhere. With no phone reception. And no other way out.
I can imagine many folks in our position (like me twenty years ago before age, wisdom and therapy kicked in) freaking the fuck out. I think Mike and Jimmy were waiting for me to snap, but it wasn’t going to happen. What would have sent me into a tailspin in my twenties now just made the story all the better. Remember transcendental IDGAF? Try it over a washout with (almost) three wheels touching the ground.
I am not bragging about this situation. It was stupid and avoidable. I own that. In fact, had it not all worked out OK I’d likely never share any of this story, But it turns out that a couple of great friends, a stack of rocks and some elbow grease pushing on the bumper can get you out of a tight jams you never should have gotten into in the first place.
I don’t know how long it took before Jimmy had enough rocks and Mike had enough leverage to get the hanging wheel some traction. We took a break after popping it out, tired and dirty on the downhill side of an adrenaline burst. And then came CamperMan, returning — I suppose — after finding a washout even he wouldn’t try. His pick-up bounced across the gap that almost ate us, and with a tip of his hat he jostled his way south. I wonder if he knew what we’d been through. I bet he did. Fucker.
Oh, and that picture at the top of the page? After our recovery, I drove back to where Leroy Road crosses the UP mainline. All this effort and we hadn’t seen a train. Not content to walk away empty handed, we parked along the tracks and took a nap until we heard the next westbound coming. It’s not an award-winner, but we got something for our troubles.
Jimmy’s dad taught me long ago that as long as you come away with a story, everything is OK. I’ve lived by that though now I value coming away with your health, mind and body intact, plus the story. Regardless, we got a story on Leroy Road.
A story we will tell for years to come.
You think you’re sick of hearing it now? Just wait...
Finis
Read the entire ebook version with many additional photographs
Copyright © 2024 Rob Davis: Digital Innovation Leadership &... - All Rights Reserved.
Powered by GoDaddy Website Builder