A train is stretching around a bend, stopped, silent, serene, peaceful… The cars are linked together in what feels like an endless train. The caboose is nowhere in sight; neither is the locomotive. It’s a hot summer day in the middle of the Mojave Desert. The ancient sand is fine, and the sun is beating down…. relentlessly…. The sand eager to re-radiate heat back up towards me. I have just parked my 4-Runner here off the beaten path, next to this 5,000,000 pound train. The boxcars are closed and locked, signifying that precious cargo is hidden inside, anxiously awaiting its destination. I deliberately parked the car at an angle allowing the northerly wind to blow inside the car, with it’s engine off and windows open. The dry desert breeze wicks away the sweat on my body, making the summer weather borderline tolerable. Then, I hear …. The clicking sound. I stick my head out the driver’s side window, and it’s coming from the right, from so far away. Click…. Click…. Click…. Click…. Aside from the light sound of the breeze, the otherwise dead silence made this clicking seem deafening. I heard the clicking sound, at a rate of one click per second, approaching me. Then, I realized what was happening. The out-of-sight locomotive had started pulling this 5,000,000 pound mechanical worm forward, and the slack between cars was slowly being erased, sending out that deafening “click.” Hearing the click approach me from the right, then hearing the click right in front of me while simultaneously seeing the ever so slight movement of the boxcar to the right confirmed without a doubt that this train is moving. I freeze for another ten seconds, mentally absorbing every detail. The increasing movement. The Doppler shift in the clicking sounds as the clicking whizzed by. The Without thinking, my body went into full-automatic mode. I turned the ignition key to the ‘on’ position, pushed the button to roll up all the power windows, leaving just a crack open to vent the summer heat. I put on my sneakers, threw open the door, and took the keys out of the ignition. I put my left foot out onto the coarse gravel next to the train tracks, and my head instinctively turned back at the center console of the car, eyes spying my peacefully charging mobile phone… My muscle memory instructed my right hand to reach for the red colored Nokia 8250, but instead of grabbing it and putting it in my pocket like I have a thousand other times, instead I hide it in the glove box as to avoid tempting any thieves. I grab a liter bottle of water instead. At least 20 more metronome clicks have occurred since I made this split-second decision… I am completely out of the car now, and the train is visibly moving forward. I wait for a ladder to pass in front of me so I can make my jump onto the train, which is now moving at the speed of a brisk walk. I swallow, and jump on the train, scramble up a few steps so I am on firm footing. I turn and look back at my silver Toyota, slowly moving away into the background. The headlight and grille shape call out to me “Where are you going?” The clicking is distant now, but still mechanical and at an increasing pace. Someone seems to have sped up that metronome. The keys are in my outstretched hand which presses the “door lock” button on my key fob. The low thud of four solenoids simultaneously locking the doors followed by a “chirp-chirp” were the car’s way of saying “Are you really leaving me here alone?” I looked away from the car, and looked forward in the direction the train was headed. We were going way too fast for me to jump off now. I am committed, no turning back. Scenes from "Box-Car Bertha" flash through the back of my mind as I absorb the air of classic western Americana.