THE RAILROAD TRACK YET TRAVELLED

  As the eldest son in a military family, I found myself changing residence frequently. Born in South Carolina, I resided in states like New Mexico or North and South Carolina. I spent some of my teenage years in Tripoli, Libya, with frequent trips to Rome, Italy. You would think the early travels would slow my rabbit motor down and accept a more peaceful climate. Not really. I spent the next fifty years in far-off places like Vietnam, Granada, Kuwait, Iraq, Israel, Norway, Denmark, Japan, Okinawa, to name a few. I am not sure where this nomadic urge came from, but I decided to write this book with over fifty vignettes describing these travels.

 I recall playing with my friends on the railroad tracks next to my house at an early age. We did the usual stupid kid stuff—played chicken with the oncoming locomotive or threw rocks at the Co-Co axle box. We also exercised less brutish delinquency, waving at the train engineer to get him to blow his air horn. Almost always, we’d get a fist shake from the brakeman hanging out of his cab. We even had boyish discussions on hopping a flat car and riding to wherever the train was going. Fortunately, we never took that ride. We couldn’t figure out how to get back home after our journey.  

  As my co-conspirators talked trash about becoming railroad cowboys when they grew up, I was pulled in another direction. After our railway games ended, I stared, sometimes for more than a few minutes, down the parallel irons and wondered where this metal sojourn would take me. What would be the completion of the travels? I needed to find out what was at the end of the railroad tracks.  

 My quest to find the end of the tracks, the top of the mountain, or what lies over the ocean horizon is where I sit today—an old fat white guy with a cornucopia of memories from those explorations. I’ve lived beyond any normal expectations, outlasted my shelf life, and had enough passion and love to last ten lifetimes. I am thankful for all I have, all I’ve done, and where the winds have taken me. I now find myself in a reflective period of what was, what is, and what awaits me at the end of the railroad tracks. 

  This writing was a journey that took me down those parallel tracks again. It triggered flashbacks of war’s angry horror, life’s ball busting humor, and the passionate love that has lasted a lifetime. Putting one’s life journey into eleven chapters and over fifty vignettes was heavy. Seeing faces gone was often a struggle. Reliving significant events of a nation’s sixty-year history with the luxury of hindsight was complicated. 

This literary voyage has been cathartic, pleasant, and palpable to my psyche. At times, I would find myself surfing the waves and hitting the pocket on a Kookapinto Longboard at San Clemente Beach. Then I’d do a quick transition to the jungles of Vietnam or the desert of Iraq. The mind travels were quick and real. 

Thanks to all travelers, friends, and family that have made the commute with me.