Hobo Jungle
Sounds logical to me, Andre!!! I've got the next round!!!! 
Happy thousandth, DaaAzZzie1!11
Yeah! Kinda like Donny Osmond and Rod Stewert singing a duet or something!
Happy thousandth, DaaAzZzie1!11
My Gog the world's gone nuts: a timed math test for me on the jungle, Jon in a fuzzy pink loin cloth, Hev with no blood in some machine on every narcotic in his med chest -
Yeah! Kinda like Donny Osmond and Rod Stewert singing a duet or something!
Running that red block Charlie.
Round 3 is done. They done the body scan and I survived. Now I won't know what's goin' on till Jan 2. 2008. Gotta be back in the hospital at 7:15 am.
I know one thing I need me a couple of Captains to take the edge off.............................................
BTW Daisy nice picture...............but we need one without all the #K%#K% stuff...........................
hev
I know one thing I need me a couple of Captains to take the edge off.............................................
BTW Daisy nice picture...............but we need one without all the #K%#K% stuff...........................
hev
If you want to find history, follow the train man..................
Hopped a train this morning and made it up to Los Angeles Union Station. I was met by none other than Wayne and his lovely wife Mary.
We sauntered through the old, classic Union Station, up Alemeda Street, and headed into Philippe's for some serious French Dip sandwiches.
The place was jumping and the counters were packed. A beef French dip with cheese, coleslaw, the soup du jour, and a lemonade later, we headed upstairs to dine.
The room where you see Wayne and Mary is upstairs from the main floor with the packed counters. We virtually had the room to ourselves despite the action downstairs. The bricks are scribed with the names of countless hobos from 1908 onward. There was a sunny window shining into the room and a view over a fairly historic area of downtown L.A. I had a lot of memories from when I would ride the train up and have lunch with my dad at the very same place. He worked in City Hall and liked the prices. 9 cents for coffee. 60 cents for lemonade. Those are still the prices.
There is a small nod to trains in the form of an O-gauge display case. Sorry, but I had a bit of bounce and reflection on the case from the picture windows facing out to Alemeda Street.
Wayne is exactly what you see here in the forum; the real deal. A warm guy with a winning smile, lots of history and knowledge, curiosity, and a very loving and attentive husband to Mary. Like Tamp on motorcycles, and myself on bicycles, he prefers two wheels to four, but likes many wheels on trains.
Mary has a heart of gold and was looking forward to a visit with an adopted grandchild. She had a rich career in nursing and a few stories of her own to relate, especially of the Nurse Rachet's ward variety. By the way, she drives a 'vette back in her home ground of Arizona.
After lunch found us wandering through Olvera Street. OK. It's a tourist trap, but even Wayne and I, who both grew up in L.A. and probably visited the place on very boring grade school trips, and Mary enjoyed it. Must have been the good company.
It was a real pleasure to connect with some real hobos from the lounge.
The trip back was the classic San Diegan run. Killed 100 pages in my current quest to read everything from Raymond Chandler on Phillip Marlowe this holiday season. From Capistrano on down, you just can't help but enjoy the view. Catalina out in the distance, San Clemente Island also visible, the bad surf in Orange County, getting better and better as you head south on the train to San Diego.
A darn fine day. Thank you, Wayne and Mary for your company.
San
We sauntered through the old, classic Union Station, up Alemeda Street, and headed into Philippe's for some serious French Dip sandwiches.
The place was jumping and the counters were packed. A beef French dip with cheese, coleslaw, the soup du jour, and a lemonade later, we headed upstairs to dine.
The room where you see Wayne and Mary is upstairs from the main floor with the packed counters. We virtually had the room to ourselves despite the action downstairs. The bricks are scribed with the names of countless hobos from 1908 onward. There was a sunny window shining into the room and a view over a fairly historic area of downtown L.A. I had a lot of memories from when I would ride the train up and have lunch with my dad at the very same place. He worked in City Hall and liked the prices. 9 cents for coffee. 60 cents for lemonade. Those are still the prices.
There is a small nod to trains in the form of an O-gauge display case. Sorry, but I had a bit of bounce and reflection on the case from the picture windows facing out to Alemeda Street.
Wayne is exactly what you see here in the forum; the real deal. A warm guy with a winning smile, lots of history and knowledge, curiosity, and a very loving and attentive husband to Mary. Like Tamp on motorcycles, and myself on bicycles, he prefers two wheels to four, but likes many wheels on trains.
Mary has a heart of gold and was looking forward to a visit with an adopted grandchild. She had a rich career in nursing and a few stories of her own to relate, especially of the Nurse Rachet's ward variety. By the way, she drives a 'vette back in her home ground of Arizona.
After lunch found us wandering through Olvera Street. OK. It's a tourist trap, but even Wayne and I, who both grew up in L.A. and probably visited the place on very boring grade school trips, and Mary enjoyed it. Must have been the good company.
It was a real pleasure to connect with some real hobos from the lounge.
The trip back was the classic San Diegan run. Killed 100 pages in my current quest to read everything from Raymond Chandler on Phillip Marlowe this holiday season. From Capistrano on down, you just can't help but enjoy the view. Catalina out in the distance, San Clemente Island also visible, the bad surf in Orange County, getting better and better as you head south on the train to San Diego.
A darn fine day. Thank you, Wayne and Mary for your company.
San
San, The Long Goodbye is one of my favorite novels. I just reread it for about the sixth time.
Nice to see the photo of Wayne and Mary. They do exist. Where's Wayne's write up on San with pictures?
I want a French dipped sandwich!
Nice to see the photo of Wayne and Mary. They do exist. Where's Wayne's write up on San with pictures?
I want a French dipped sandwich!
That a life will be spent gaining inches,
When this distance is read in miles.
When this distance is read in miles.
San, nice write-up!
Did Philippe's not mind the boxcar dust, or did you bring a change of clothes?
And Wayne, where's the hat? You look naked without it!
Me and the redhead being 'mental'-nurses, , it would be fun to spend some time with Mary. One of those 'you-would-have-had-to-have-been-there' kind of deals. And if Mary had worked on a forensic-unit, she'd have had a new best friend in Kim!
A 'Vette, huh? Must get boring, compared to my Kia Sportage, which makes it from 0 to 60 in... uh... well, never mind.
Wayne, tell Mary that I'd be willing, and this is a one-time-offer, mind you, to swap her 'Vette for my Sportage, even up.
Unless it's pink.
Well, got to go out and finish swapping ANOTHER set of brakes on the redhead's car.
God smiled on the hobo and begat me some 46 degree weather yesterday and today.
Then a got ME a story to read myself, when the time is opportune. A story about pussies, I believe, sent by another hobo.
Ditto, San, about meeting fellow Jungle-hobos. I've met 4, and walked away safely, if not a bit the better for the experience. Crazy b*stards all, but therein lies the kindred sprit!
Did Philippe's not mind the boxcar dust, or did you bring a change of clothes?
And Wayne, where's the hat? You look naked without it!
Me and the redhead being 'mental'-nurses,
, it would be fun to spend some time with Mary. One of those 'you-would-have-had-to-have-been-there' kind of deals. And if Mary had worked on a forensic-unit, she'd have had a new best friend in Kim!
A 'Vette, huh? Must get boring, compared to my Kia Sportage, which makes it from 0 to 60 in... uh... well, never mind.
Wayne, tell Mary that I'd be willing, and this is a one-time-offer, mind you, to swap her 'Vette for my Sportage, even up.
Unless it's pink.
Well, got to go out and finish swapping ANOTHER set of brakes on the redhead's car.
God smiled on the hobo and begat me some 46 degree weather yesterday and today.
Then a got ME a story to read myself, when the time is opportune. A story about pussies, I believe, sent by another hobo.
Ditto, San, about meeting fellow Jungle-hobos. I've met 4, and walked away safely, if not a bit the better for the experience. Crazy b*stards all, but therein lies the kindred sprit!
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penncentral8885
- Posts: 3012
- Joined: Wed Aug 17, 2005 10:09 pm
- Location: Indiana
Hey Mitch! I'm in!!!
Have tractor,,,will travel!!!!!!!!
by the way,,,,don't forget to "give Blood",,,Hev may need it!
Have tractor,,,will travel!!!!!!!!
by the way,,,,don't forget to "give Blood",,,Hev may need it!
http://www.indianarailwaymuseum.org/
Turn to the dark side!,,,,Penn Central 1968-1976
"from there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere.",,,,,Dr. Seuss
Turn to the dark side!,,,,Penn Central 1968-1976
"from there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere.",,,,,Dr. Seuss
Pete, I believe it when I see it. 
I will make it out that way, maybe this spring. Really nice Labatts Glass, where'ja get it? Is your woman as hard on brakes as mine? My wife doesn't know the meaning of the word-COAST-; it's either hammer down, or brakes on.
Penn, I used to donate regular, but now I'm scared they'll find somethin' on me. I'd rather be surprised. Tractor's lookin' good, but I'm lookin' real hard and I don't see no shiny new bolt in that exhaust manifold.
Looks like San and Wayne had a memorable and enjoyable experience. Good for them, we'll call them Hobo West.
I will make it out that way, maybe this spring. Really nice Labatts Glass, where'ja get it? Is your woman as hard on brakes as mine? My wife doesn't know the meaning of the word-COAST-; it's either hammer down, or brakes on.
Penn, I used to donate regular, but now I'm scared they'll find somethin' on me. I'd rather be surprised. Tractor's lookin' good, but I'm lookin' real hard and I don't see no shiny new bolt in that exhaust manifold.
Looks like San and Wayne had a memorable and enjoyable experience. Good for them, we'll call them Hobo West.
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