Art Garfunkel and I ride freight trains in the early Seventies

This time of confinement due to COVID-19 prompts memories and musing on the nature of things. This is also fostered by contact with many long-time friends in thoughtful moods as well, courtesy of the internet. At the moment it occurs to me I should tell the story of me and Art Garfunkel riding the rails in 1971. First, however, I need to finally read Charley Sweet's version in his book, Going Home. I not only owe him this but look forward to it - his letters from afar, when he lived in Kyoto, were a highlight of the Eighties. He was kind enough to provide a MS-Word version so I could add comments based on my own memory of those events. I still vividly remember the headlights of the police car stabbing through the cloud of marijuana smoke. Ah, the good fortune all of us shared with that cop. I always wondered how Art avoided shitting his pants.