The first time Swampy hopped a freight train, he was 18. He was traveling north of his native California when he ran into a train-hopping friend in Portland, Oregon, who suggested they hitch a ride back down south. He was broke, so the idea was appealing. “It was pouring, and we were hiding under the bridge from the rain, and this train was rolling through, and it wasn’t stopping. My friend told me, ‘You know, this train’s not gonna stop. We have to catch it on the fly as it’s rolling.’”

For someone like me, who balks at jaywalking and No Trespassing signs, this is absolutely terrifying. And this would make me the polar opposite of Swampy, the twentysomething counter-cultural