((train coming in ambi))

Joshua Nathaniel Price is standing on the train tracks where he once slept. Looking out over the rail yard in Eugene, he sees graffiti he tagged years ago. The place he’d hang out when he had no place to stay. The bridge he used to sit under when his life of train hopping began. 

Sitting in a boxcar for the first time at the age of 19, he hoped to go from Florida to the West Coast. With no plan and no money, Price just knew he needed to get out.

“I had a flip phone that had a very archaic GPS system on it, and I kind of would just follow what I could see was train tracks on that map for as long as I could to get an idea of where it was going and just hope for the best.” 

Once he hopped off that train for the first time, Price spent the next 20 years of his life in a never-ending transition, never staying in the same place for too long, always ready for the next train. 

-

For some, train hopping scratches that itch of adventure. For Price, it was a matter of survival. He either hopped a train or walked for days. 

The years of instability are over for Price. His house is now just a short walk from the same tracks he used to sleep on. He works as a bike mechanic in Eugene and lives with his eleven-year-old white shepherd-husky named Bowie.

Markings and imperfections scattered across his body tell a story. Price smiles through cracked teeth. His left arm is covered in tattoos he did himself. He has one plate to repair his fractured skull, another for a broken jaw. His scars are remnants of who he was.  

Price’s life was never consistent. His family moved to Guam, he spent his 17th birthday in jail, moved to Hawaii and eventually came back to Florida to go to community college. But that wasn’t working out. 

“So I gave up on school, moved out of the apartment that I had and moved in with a friend,” 

“I just like, pack up all my shit and I hop on a freight train heading west out of Pensacola, and just rode that fucker.” 

He rode until its last stop.. in New Orleans. Then he caught a ride to Texas. 

He didn’t know where he was or how long he would be there. And his situation was becoming precarious.

“trying to figure something out because of desperation, like I was, I was sick, you know, my stomach was fucked up from dehydration. I was dehydrated, like I was loopy, I was malnourished, I was running out of food. I was like, not in a good place.”    

By day six, Price had ridden through Texas, been detained in Mexico and hitched a ride back to San Antonio before finally making it to the West Coast. 

-

Despite the bad experiences, Price's options were limited. If he wanted to get anywhere, he had to hop a train. 

So he did. Anytime he felt stuck.

Years of train hopping taught Price how to do it right: how to keep himself safe, who to talk to and most importantly, what to pack.

“Powdered peanut butter, honey, tortilla wraps, a gallon of water and then, like a secondary bottle, socks. Shitload of socks. I always had, like, two weeks' worth of clean socks.”  “Lieutenant Dan, you take care of your feet.”

It wasn’t just food and clothes, though. Price had to bring his whole life onto every train, including his bike and 70-pound Bowie.  

For Price, staying out of trouble meant keeping to himself. But at times, tense interactions were unavoidable. 

A week after his first ride, Price learned what a life of hopping freight really meant.

“At some point, I fell asleep, and I woke up to, like, movement, and it was dark, you know what I mean, but it was obvious there was a tussle happening between those two, and one guy threw the other dude into the knuckle and, like, there's no chance that dude's alive. He fucking died, like, right in front of my eyes. And I have no idea who these people are. They just jumped onto my train, and now I'm like, on the porch with this dude that just killed somebody.” 

“So of course, I'm like, in this little corner space, like hugging my bag, pull my big ass, you know, Army Vietnam, knife out, and I'm just like, look, homie. I don't know what that was about. I'm gonna take my shit. I'm gonna climb over that way. I don't want to see you.”

[[PAUSE]]

That moment grounded him in reality.

A lifestyle that, for him, was once synonymous with adventure and adrenaline now could mean the end of his life.

To cope with the intensity of his environment, Price turned to drugs. To survive, he took odd jobs and couch surfed.

—

But that wasn’t his whole story. 

Some of his most valuable moments were on the tracks, in the years of not knowing his next move.

“Probably the most decent humans I've ever met are houseless, transient, destitute, you know, labeled as criminal,” 

Moments of humanity, generosity, and love shone through the darkness. 

They helped Price realize that people who pursue this life – like him – come from different places and perspectives … but usually, they want one thing.

“People want to get away from the city. They want to get away from being a bum on a street corner. They want to get away from their college life. They want to get away from their suburban, cookie-cutter neighborhood. They want to, you know, get away from the military. They want to get away from their trauma shit.” 

Price knows train hopping isn’t for everyone. But for a long time, it was the only consistent thing he had. 

“I am at the will of this thing and that, that I feel like, is what train riding is at its core” 

Back on the tracks today, with Bowie by his side, Price reminisces on the good and the bad. 

Every lesson, every stop, every pair of socks brought him to where he is today. 

As a train rolls by, he sees it, smiles through those cracked teeth and quips a joke about just how easy it would be for him to jump on – if he wanted to.

For FLUX Magazine, I’m Henry Perrine.