Iron Goat Trail
Sometimes Time Runs Out of Kilter.
I don’t know if the hands on the clock turn around and actually run backwards, or if time really does occasionally run in reverse.
But I do know that once in a while memories become as real as Mama’s apple wood switch and the sting is as sharp as new open heel blisters from wearing hand-me-down boots.
I also know that deja vu is just another name for those Awakened memories.
But I don’t know what goes on when a boy remembers things that happened before he was ever born.
I don’t know why I remember what happened at the site of the original cascade tunnel in 1910.
Sometimes I still walk east on highway 2 for about five and a half miles and then turn left onto an unmarked road.
I keep walking through the thick vegetation until I reach a sign that says Iron Goat Trail.
From there I visit a place I know, where I can see the Old Cascade Tunnel.
But I never go there at night.
Not because of the ghosts.
But because of the bears and the cougars.
I really don’t like visiting the place.
It’s a place of death.
In 1910 three trains were stuck here in the snow.
They were swept into the creek by a massive avalanche.
One hundred people were killed.
Because there has never been a memorial erected for them they say the ghosts of all those people still haunt the mountain.
It’s the eeriest place I’ve ever been. Not because of the ghosts, but because I remember.
I don’t really believe in ghosts.
But sometimes I still walk east on highway 2 and I still haunt the mountain.