Every time I go to jump on a steam train as it chugs its way through Rowlesburg -- Every time I throw out my hands to grab the rusty metal rungs and haul myself up onto the side of one of them black coal cars, hoisting my knees up over its churning, screeching wheels -- Every single time I jump on a train -- my heart thumps even noisier in my ears than the clanking of the old iron horse I'm hopping up onto. I love steam trains. I love living in a town that's chock full of 'em. I love being on 'em, being anywhere near 'em. They're as much a part of my life around here as the mountains. Or breathing. But it's a dangerous business, hopping a ride onto a moving train. First off, there's always a right decent chance of getting killed. Second, and about ten thousand times worse, my father might find out. But I'm not like Dad -- I don't mind breaking the rules now and again. Continue reading