Into the night on a cold bed of steel,

Clouds float on through the dark sky like icebergs at sea,

Stars wink under a crisp half moon;

My mind is as clear as glass.

All heard is the sound of surging wheels, running rampant through the wild,

when all are asleep.

I climb the ladder, gripping with stone hands,

the wind piercing my bare skin.

My pack hits the ground, tumbling over ballast and snow.

I watch the blur beneath my feet in threads of gray and white.

Dancing beside her wheels, I break free with running strides.

She thrums along the main, whistling and chugging past Eagle Bridge.

Miles and miles my feet wander, walking the tracks through the stifling cold feeling blood burgeon through my veins, warming my fingers and toes and I smile…

After a few days work,

I’m goin’ home…

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Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.