Railways are Mysterious and Romantic
Ever since I was a little Canadian kid watching “The Littlest Hobo” (a Canadian television series about a German Shepherd who helped people and traveled around Canada via the railway lines) I have wanted to ride the rails. There seems to something very idyllic about traveling slowly through my country while someone else is in control. Railways make me think of “From Russia With Love” and “Murder on the Orient Express.” Or “O Brother, Where Art Thou” or “Polar Express” or “Strangers on a Train” or “Trainspotting.”
Come to think of it, I don’t understand my romantic feelings about railways at all. Hercule Poirot solves a murder on a train. James Bond is nearly murdered on a train. Ulysses Everett McGill is trying to escape prison and is tossed off the train because his fellow prisoners can’t run fast enough. Alfred Hitchcock’s strangers meet and plan the murder of each other’s problems (a problem wife and a father). “Trainspotting” with Ewan McGregor, as Mark Renton, is a film about a bunch of strung-out heroin addicts. “Polar Express” and “The Littlest Hobo” are really the only positive inclusions and both of them are obvious fictions meant for younger audiences.
I take it all back. Railways suck.
Pentax K20D; Pentax M SMC 50mm; f2.8; ISO 100; 1/2500 sec.