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The strange thing was, that when I stopped my truck and got out, the previous human activity all seemed to have stopped and everybody was indoors; like I was Dorothy in Oz with the Munchkins in hiding. Seemed mighty weird to me. And then I heard the squealing noise reverberating through the mountains and canyons, something I came to learn was called harmonics, which was the high pitched screeching of the rail-road car wheels on the tracks up above, as the steel wheels negotiated sharp curves. It was quite something a sound and I loved it.
I drove out of there and found a camp-site on a river. It was a tiered affair with camp-sites right on the river bank that looked to be all permanent campers for the summer. I guessed they were there to work in Quincy, which was not too far, and I heard that property values had increased such in these sorts of places, that certain of the original inhabitants, as lower paid workers, could nor afford to live there anymore, chased to outlying distances, and so camped for the summer's long business season.
I camped on a higher elevation with a very many other campers, accept I slept in the bed of my pick-up under the open sky. Mosquitoes were infrequent here. I was awoken any number of times by the squealing harmonics overhead in the steep mountains, as the trains were weaving in and out tunnels and trestles. But I didn't mind and loved listening to the reverberations, echoing through the canyons. Besides I would fall immediately back to sleep, and in these cases lots of dreams.
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