We stand abreast in a cramped tiny steel three by eight foot box at 11,000 feet carving through dark cumulonimbus clouds high above the vast enemy territory below. We are separated in suspension by two 90 foot rail cars, each populated with seventy-two empty seats . . .
The noise is deafening. Our boots vibrate atop the corrugated metal and the wind is both ferocious in its pitch as it is all immediately cold encompassing.
I scream through my mouth guard, while instinctively securing the shovel strapped to my chest, at the three before me . . . huddled; nervous but acutely focused on their task.
“‘ALL RIGHT HERE WE GO… T- MINUS 30, LIGHT IS AMBER, WE JUMP ON GREEN…FREE FALL 180 SECONDS . .WIND: 095 AT 33. .. NO ONE OPENS UNTILL 400’AGL ……GOT IT . . . GOT IT ?!?”
The sound is so loud as the Northeast regional hurdles through the country side at well north of 132 mph, that I briefly suspect the engineer may have dozed off and they before me . . . . have heard nothing.
Now they momentarily stare to one another, looking up from their smart phones . . . and the slight pimple faced high school kid nods towards my direction, as the doors open and the train slides into the station.
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Tales From The Rail 