I used to hop freight trains for kicks back in the 70’s, so this book was vivid and nostalgic to me. The author captured the experience very well. The philosophical musings left me puzzled at times.
This was a detour for me--a book handed to me by my dad who got it from one of his buddies who got from... Who knows how a book like this arrives in the lives of its readers? Signed with affection by the author himself, its cover is torn and not that gripping, frankly. But inside is the unexpected discovery of a story that moves you and shines the light of a clear mountain dawn coming into the mortgage-bound and commodified world. This is the memoir of a hobo. A vagabond. A bum. All those words we used so long ago to describe men who lived on the margins during the Great Depression, riding the rails and surviving on apples tossed to them for sport. Or maybe compassion. It is a tale of brutal deprivations, necessary, deep and spontaneous friendships and enormous Spirit. It's about freedom to go where your feet take you. It's about living in the world as a miserable outcast. It's about our longing for our place in the world. For our people who love us. Rice gives a very moving account of his return home after a winter in the mountains of Northern California. His language crackles with energy, humor, anger, philosophical discussions that help even those of us mired in to our material lives of yoke and job, understand what is to be alive and free. I'm glad my dad lent it to me. The book is now off again in the wide world to find its next reader.
I admired this book. It should be made into a play. The author tells of his ride with hobos on a freight from northern California back to his home, wife and child near San Francisco during the Great Depression. Beautifully written. It caused me to read his other two memoirs, A Heaven in the Eye and Nordi's Gift. Highly recommended.