The Last Train Trip

A few weeks ago, I took the train to Ottawa to visit family. It was a sunny spring day, but unbeknownst to me, there was a massive thunder storm that happened ahead of us. It wasn’t just a storm, but a severe weather system called a derecho - a rare widespread windstorm associated with a line of thunderstorms.

As we travelled, I kept hearing crunching sounds coming from below the train car. What I learned later was that this was fallen debris that we were hitting and running over. Still, the whole ride was nothing but sun.

We almost made it to Ottawa. The train stopped at a station on the outskirts. We sat at the station, still. Since this wasn’t an official stop, no one got off and no one got on.

Eventually, a representation from VIA came on the loudspeaker to inform us that the storm brought down some power lines and they had fallen on to the tracks ahead. We would be staying here until the power lines were cleared. They didn’t bother to estimate how long this would take.

We all sat for a few minutes until one person broke the stillness, grabbed their bag and stormed off the train. Pretty much everyone followed except for a few holdouts, the ones who still had some hope.

But then what? Now we were just outside on the platform. Phones were useless as there was no reception out here. The hospitality people from the train walked around with bottles of water and granola bars.

After an hour, those some VIA representatives came around and told us that we should probably figure out some alternative plans if we wanted to reach Ottawa. They also informed us that the power was out in the entire region, so it might be difficult to reach people.

Slowly, the former passengers started disappearing - they either started walking or did actually figure out an alternative route. As night fell, I slept inside the train car across two seats. When I woke in the morning, I was alone. No people anywhere. The train was abandoned.

I hiked all around the train and the surrounding area. This wasn’t a station, just a platform. There was a small building, but it was locked.

For the next few days, I survived on the left behind granola bars and bottled water. I started rationing. After a couple of weeks I hiked in an ever-widening circle around the train and found what I was looking for: a fresh water stream.

When I reached down and cupped my hands to capture some water, I hadn’t realized the earth below me was soft. It crumbled under my wait and I slipped into the water. The water was moving quicker than it looked and it caught me in off guard. I was pulled under and slammed against an underwater rock, which knocked the wind out of me. I went under, swept away by the tide. I woke up a short while later, bursting through the surface and gasping to get air into my lungs. My body was spent and it took everything I had left inside to slowly make my way to the shore. I managed to grab on to a tree branch that was hanging over the water. I just held on for a while, as I didn’t have the strength to pull myself out. Then I realized something that was going to serve me well over the next few months and years: I was on my own now. I needed to learn how to help myself. And so I slowly moved up the branch one hand grip at a time. It took a while, but finally I crawled out of the water. Rolled over on my back, trying to slow my breathing. And I remembered: I am on my own now.

Over the next months I learned about the land around me. Found things I could eat and things to grow. I slept on a different seat in a different train car every night. The change of months brought new seasons. I was prepared for it all.

Whatever was happening in the rest of the world didn’t matter to me anymore. The power could have came back on after a few days, or civilization as I recognized it could be over. All I knew was that I could live without bothering anyone, leaving no footprint behind, like I had never even been there.

I am on my own now.