The Oil Train and other sounds of happiness

True story.

A preteen Northeast city kid is sent to visit an aunt who runs a ranch in Montana. He is introduced to the wonders of the mountains and tons of free space and riding on horses. Said ranch has tons of Canadian geese. They are mean sons of bitches. The kid is scared of the neighborhood poodle, never mind a flock/school/whatever of geese (kid didn’t have pets).

One August morning, the knucklehead wakes up around 6 or 7 a.m. to see something or other. He walks outside and is immediately surrounded by several geese. His only escape route involves running into an old pickup’s cab, which he does while screaming his head off.

There were about 15 people, all New Jerseyites, staying in the lodging house. They all scurried out, as did the aunt, partially annoyed at the early wakeup call and also laughing their asses off.

He also fell off on a ride one night and one of the New Jersey guys asked him for a week straight every morning, “does your ass hurt you today”?

 

I will attest that geese can be mean.

 

If you got a problem with Canada gooses, you got a problem with me, and I suggest you let that one marinate!

 

a minnesota turkey will fuck you up

 

I also love the sound of batting practice. Great background for reading.

 

For all the train talk here, the reason you hear the horns more at night is twofold: one, there’s less ambient noise so you’re able to hear it better. The other reason is that sound travels better at night due to changes in the atmosphere.

Only Hearing Trains at Night? No, You're not Crazy | Acoustical Engineer

 

The combined mosh of sticks, pucks, blades and ice getting carved.

From many moons ago during post-deadline smokeouts ... volume turned up, lights turned low ... ball in movement .... and singing and chanting and buzz of a Premier League crowd.

The screech and scratch and clickity clack of wheels and steel and rail while standing between swaying cars on a train.

 

I miss morning games at summer baseball tournaments, leaning on the fence with a coffee talking baseball with one of the coaches or other parents while the kids warm up tossing in the outfield, the ball hitting the glove, the constant chatter, the convenors raking and lining the field for the game.

 

I hear you, that's my happy place. As long as there aren't assholes around.