Here's the second in a series of writings by the participants of the Baysville Writers' Circle, facilitated by
Melody Richardson, and held at the Baysville Library the last Wednesday of every month at 9:30am.
Riding the Freight Train & Hitchhiking
by Bruce Liddle
Hitching a ride was very common when I was a lad in 1950. Soldiers on leave used this method of travel to get home. This was an inexpensive, convenient method of travel. Almost all drivers would stop to give a service man a ride. Long after the war, hitching a ride was still a safe, convenient way of travel.
My summer job as a Junior Forest Ranger in the Chapleau Game Reserve had come to an end. Twelve of us Junior Rangers were ready to come home. Most of my friends were anxious to get back to their home in Toronto. Some of the lads were returning to attend university. Due to the train strike of the Canadian National and Canadian Pacific Railroads, getting home was to be a major challenge. We were only earning three dollars per day, so saving money was on our agenda. Riding on a flat car of logs south on an Algoma Central railway freight train would take us a very long way out of our way. We had no choice.
The only way out of the Chapleau Game Preserve was the Algoma Central Railway to Sault Ste. Marie. From there we could hitchhike back to Toronto. Riding a freight train to Sault was a harrowing experience. While the train was stopped in Franz, we climbed aboard a flat car loaded with logs. The logs were sixteen feet long and piled across the flat car to a height of eight feet. Four wooden posts at each end of the car held the logs in place. Just climbing aboard was a challenge. Riding on the top of a load of pulp logs was soon becoming hard on the backside. The car had a tendency to sway back and forth as the train wound its way around corners. We noticed that some logs on our car were starting to hang out over the side. We decided to get off if the train came to a stop. Any boxcar would be better than this. The train continued to pick up speed and we became quite concerned. There were a dozen or more cars carrying pulp logs ahead of the car we were on and, as the train came into the rail town of Sand Lake, we could see logs on cars ahead of ours had vibrated far enough over the side to slam into stationary boxcars on a siding then swing around and fall to the side of the tracks.
Our car had a log that was also going to hit. We were about to get wiped off! Quick thinking saved our lives. We managed to roll a big log forward and lie down in the hollow. The log on our car hit a boxcar on the siding and swung safely over our heads and dropped to the side of the tracks.
Thankfully our train soon came to a stop on a siding at Sand Lake. Soon another train pulled up alongside. The fireman in the engine called out to us and asked us where we were going.
“Down to the Sault,” was the reply.
“You won’t get far on that train. It won’t be moved until next week.”
We were only about one third of our way to Sault Ste. Marie and had still to go through the Agawa Canyon. We hurriedly scrambled down in just enough time to climb on a flat car carrying railroad ties. This car was just behind the engine and as the steam engine gathered speed, thick black smoke from the engine billowed down on top of us. We could barely breathe! The acrid smoke was so thick that we dared not open our eyes. Handkerchiefs over our mouth and eyes were of little help. When the train got up to speed, the smoke eased off but fumes from the creosoted rail ties were very unpleasant.
After about an hour the train came to a stop to pick up some empty gravel cars. We climbed down part way then jumped to the ground and ran back to the gravel cars. This was fine now, we thought, as the train gathered speed. We started to enjoy the ride. That was short lived. Our train soon came to a stop and started to back up.
“What’s happening now?” Mark yelled.
The time was now nearly 9:30 in the evening and after backing up for a few minutes we soon realized that we were being shunted into a gravel pit. The main train was starting to pull away. We had to jump off the moving gravel cars and run as hard as we could to get on the train before it got too fast for us to climb aboard.
By this time it was almost dark. We stumbled over sticks, stones and brambles in our mad dash to catch the train before it was too late. Mark and I just managed to get on an empty car as it picked up speed. It was now quite dark. We found ourselves now riding in an empty coal car. We received information later that the other lads managed to get into an empty boxcar that had carried newsprint.
We arrived in Sault St. Marie at three o’clock in the morning, tired and very dirty! We washed up at a fountain in a park and then managed to find an all night restaurant where we were able to get somewhat cleaner and order something to eat. Mark and I managed to stay together. Hitchhiking was about to begin!
Our first ride took us to Sudbury. The second ride went as far as North Bay. Our third ride would take us all the way to Toronto, but we were so tired we decided to stop at my parents place in Powassan. We could get a good meal and stay for the night. I wanted my parents to meet my friend Mark so they would not feel concerned that I wanted to go to Toronto to look for work.
I had applied to attend Ryerson College to become a TV technician but was too late to be accepted. While at Ryerson I was advised to work for a year at a factory that made electronic equipment. The person at Ryerson got me a job at Philco Radio on Dupont St. Weekends were free to hitch rides to and from my home in Powassan.
A street car ride to Richmond Hill was the starting point to thumb my rides. Highway 400 was not built yet. On one occasion I got a ride with a chap who was on his way to Mattawa. At Bradford we stopped for coffee at an all night diner. The proprietor was an elderly man. Both cups were filthy. We left ten cents each on the table and left in disgust. There was no way we would drink that coffee!
“I’ll have that place closed by tomorrow!” my driver said.
“How can you do that?” I asked.
“That’s easy, my brother is a restaurant Inspector!”
When I returned that Sunday afternoon I noticed the door of the restaurant was barred with criss-crossed boards. A large sign with the information “Closed by the Board of Health” could be plainly seen tacked to the boards.
Getting a ride was no trouble. Transportation was free and I met a lot of very nice people. Most weekends I would leave my job in Toronto at 4:00pm and be home in Powassan by early evening.
One time I was picked up by two ladies. They were driving a big flashy bright yellow Buick with New York licence plates. I was sure glad to get out at Powassan. They both smoked cigars. Their conversation was beginning to get a bit too raunchy for my taste. I guess that I was just a green kid at the time.
My face must have been beet red by the time we reached Powassan. “Pull over at the next street. This is my stop.” Thankfully the driver pulled over and I managed a quick “thanks for the ride” as I opened the door. I often wondered if they were having fun at my expense or whether they really meant what was said.
Another memorable trip to Powassan was a ride with a chap on a motorcycle. A bit scary at times as the speed was faster than my liking.
By Christmas the move to a rooming house on Gladstone Ave put me closer to a new job. Disliking my job at the radio factory, a chap who lived in the same rooming house got me a job in a printing plant where he worked.
When summer arrived, I was allowed to take a week off for a holiday. Deciding to see more of the north, I hitched rides to Sault Ste. Marie where I took the Algoma Central passenger train back to the Chapleau Game Reserve to a rail junction settlement called Franz. This was where I had worked the previous summer. I wanted to see the Agawa Canyon in the daylight. I spent one day fishing with a friend who lived in Franz and continued my way north the following afternoon to the railway terminal at Hearst Ontario.
It was 4:00 in the afternoon when the train came to a stop at Hearst. Deciding to see how far I could get before dark, I hurried out to the highway and stuck up my thumb. To my surprise the first car that came by stopped.
“Where are you going?”
“To Toronto,” I politely replied.
“You won’t get there this way,” he laughed. He told me I was headed for Winnipeg.
“Thanks for the information.”
I crossed the road and stuck up my thumb as the next car came along. The car stopped. It was a beat up old jalopy. I got in the back anyway and we started down the road. I was getting apprehensive as I became aware of the condition of this old beat up car. I could see pavement through holes in the floor. I was sure glad that we were not going too fast. The driver stopped about five miles out of town and informed me in broken English that this was as far as he was going. Apparently he and his helper, who only spoke French, were to cut grass along the side of the road at this spot.
It was almost dark when the next car stopped. This couple was traveling to Cochrane. I was now well on my way home. After a good night sleep in a motel and breakfast in a nearby diner I was ready to hit the road again. Within a few minutes I was picked up by a traveling salesman who was returning to Toronto. During our conversation I informed him that I was working in Toronto but would appreciate it if he would let me out in Powassan to spend the weekend with my parents. My holiday round trip from Toronto to Sault St. Marie, to Hearst and return to Toronto was over 2500 kilometres.
I never had trouble hitchhiking. Motorists were quite obliging. Most drivers on long trips wanted someone to talk to. I experienced the good old days of travel. If you dressed nice and carried a small suitcase, getting a ride was no trouble.
