ECSTASY AND PERIL ON RAILS
by Elvio Anderson
Train-Hopper and Dog
Tucson 2025
Wheels of the Lost
Train-hopping has long been woven into the American spirit, a restless dance of freedom, adventure, and risk that has endlessly fascinated me. This subculture is often met with a complicated mix of loathing and admiration, each reaction rooted in its raw, untamed nature. Yet such judgments frequently come from those who have never paused to understand why this way of life has quietly endured, passing from one generation to the next, for better or worse.
I spent several months immersing myself in various train-hopping communities to uncover who these self-proclaimed “Dirty Kids” really are, witnessing their highs and lows firsthand. I shared drinks, songs, philosophies, and jokes, traveled for hours across the city to camp beneath bridges and parking lots, and even fled from police after life-threatening encounters with hostile strangers.
According to many personal accounts, the average life expectancy among train-hoppers is just twenty-five. One young woman I met, only nineteen, told me she hoped to die on the railroad tracks, a grim comfort in the near certainty that this lifestyle would be her end. Yet despite this, countless people continue to abandon conventional lives and ride the rails across the United States.
My time with these nomads left me with a mix of envy, fear, respect, and a deep, raw human connection. Through photographs, stories, personal anecdotes, and reflections, I aim to offer an honest and nuanced portrayal of the individuals within this complex subculture.
Sid and Keagan
Tucson 2025
Suit and Harmonica
After years of drifting through trailer parks, friends’ couches, ranches, and park benches, I found myself in Tucson, Arizona. I began wandering the city with my camera, often meeting and photographing strangers along the way. I made it a point to stop and connect with each person I photographed, whether for a few minutes, several hours, or even days. These connections, however brief or lasting, always made the images deeply personal. Through this process of street photography, I stumbled upon tight-knit communities of train-hoppers who, though wary of outsiders, invited me into their lives.
I first met Trav in an underpass downtown on New Year’s Eve. He was passionately busking, playing his harmonica for drunk partiers as they stumbled past. For some reason I can’t quite remember, I had decided to wear a black suit and tie that night. Trav noticed and called out to me with a compliment. I offered him one of my cigarettes, and we started talking. I told him he looked like someone who hopped trains, and he confirmed it with a grin. Trav began sharing stories from his life, and I shared mine in return.
Trav Busking With a Crooner
Tucson, 2025
Trav fondly told me about his mentor,
"He taught me to have a purpose when he gave me my first harmonica. I owe everything to that man," he reflected. I showed him a photograph I had taken earlier of someone playing the harmonica in a hat, and we were both shocked to realize it was the same person. Trav explained that he hadn’t been to Tucson in years, and this was his first night back. He had briefly reunited with his mentor, who was happy to hear that Trav was still alive and playing music.
Trav’s Mentor
Tucson 2025
Whiskey and Bright Eyes
We met up with Trav’s friend Vinny, a fellow train-hopper I had met just a few months earlier. Together, we made our way to a fenced-off parking lot, a kind of safe haven for nomads where they could camp for a few dollars and spare change. It was there that I met a traveling couple, Ellie and James, who had been crisscrossing the country in a black van.
Ellie was the first to greet us when we arrived. The first thing I noticed about her was her bright eyes and infectious smile. James stumbled out of the van wearing nothing but white underwear. He looked me up and down, took a shot of whiskey, and shook my hand with a firm but loose grip. Then he wrapped his arm around me like I was an old friend and handed me a shot of his whiskey.
Ellie, Vinny, and Trav,
Tucson 2025
I asked the group what drew them to this nomadic lifestyle.
"I always loved to sleep outdoors and under the moon, it was just a part of me. I think you're born with it. You're either one that wants to play on the computer or you're one that wants to talk and experience the world." Trav and Vinny responded.
Ellie took a moment to think while she chewed her burger. Her dogs wrestled and played furiously in the background.
"Have you ever felt drawn to a 9-5? Can you really feel drawn to that?" she replied.
"Or happy doing it?" Vinny added.
A common misconception is that train-hopping is simply a last resort or a survival mechanism when all else fails. That is not always the case. For Trav, Vinny, Ellie, and James, it was a deliberate choice. Trading the pleasures, safety, and comforts of modern society for a life of freedom, adventure, risk, and reward was a clear decision for each of them.
"I've travelled to every single state except Hawaii and Alaska, which are my next to cross off. That's more of our country than most people will ever see in their lifetime!" Trav reflected. The others shared similar sentiments.
Ellie
Tucson, 2025
Ghost Stories, Gunshots, and the FTRA
Like stated earlier, train-hopping is not without its risks. Trav confided in me about the dangers and countless near-death experiences he had endured. One subject that particularly fascinated me was the existence of train-hopping gangs. Not every "Dirty Kid" is as friendly as the ones I was fortunate enough to meet. Some are drawn purely to the recklessness, the lack of consequences, and the constant danger.
One of the most notable gangs, long believed to be an urban myth, is the Freight Train Riders of America (FTRA). This decentralized group is believed to have been formed by veterans after the Vietnam War. While it was originally said to have started as a collective of like-minded individuals simply looking out for each other on the rails, the FTRA has since been linked to numerous criminal investigations, including murder. The authenticity of their existence is still debated to this day, though many police investigations have found traces suggesting they are real. Due to the nature of their lifestyle, prosecuting train-hoppers is exceptionally difficult. By the time police arrive, the rider could already be far down the line or even out of the state entirely.
On one particular occasion, Trav found himself camping under a bridge with a friend. All was peaceful until he was violently awoken by close-proximity gunfire. A young kid had run up to Trav’s friend and unloaded a clip from a handgun into him before scrambling away into the night. Trav rushed his friend — who had plugged the multiple gunshot wounds with his fingers — to a hospital for emergency care.
When I asked what possible reason the shooter might have had, Trav explained that it was most likely an initiation by a gang of hostile train-hoppers. It was unclear if the shooter was in fact a member of the FTRA, although Trav suspects he was.
Trav and the Dirty T
Tucson 2025
DO NOT FEED
Tucson 2025
Rain Songs in the Tunnel
A few months after my nights with Trav, Vinny, Ellie, and James, I met a larger group of much younger train-hoppers who were singing, playing guitar, and drinking under a bridge to stay dry from the cold evening rain. Their various belongings were strewn across the tunnel, and their laughter echoed off the walls.
One of the nomads, Titan, invited me to sit with them. I introduced myself to each Dirty Kid and played guitar with them throughout the evening. Titan and the others agreed to meet me again the next day so I could get to know them better. All they asked was that I bring them alcohol, which I was more than happy to oblige.
Titan
Tucson 2025
Melt ICE, Burn Bridges
The next evening, I filled my backpack with moonshine, cigarettes, snacks, and two cameras. When I met the group again, now gathered outside a closed shop downtown, their numbers had grown. They were busking with banjos, guitars, makeshift drums, and raspy voices singing folk tunes that carried into the night.
Titan recognized me immediately and pulled me into a hug. I sat with the group and got to know each member of their makeshift family. The diversity among them and the strength of their camaraderie were striking.
One girl, with dark hair and layers of jewelry, played an original song on her guitar for me. It was raw and beautiful. She told me she had been a political science major in New York but, after becoming disillusioned with the system, decided to leave it all behind and hop a train. She hasn’t looked back since.
Another individual, wearing a hoodie with a makeshift "MELT ICE" slogan, explained to me that they were transgender. After coming out, their family rejected them and kicked them out onto the streets. Although relatively new to train-hopping, they had found instant acceptance and a sense of belonging among the Dirty Kids.
Titan remarked that they were family, even if only for that night before they all headed in separate directions.
"People look at us and think we're here to fuck up the culture. No, we want to be part of it and contribute to it," Titan exclaimed in protest. He explained how he and his friends often take jobs in various counties that others refuse to do. He drew a connection between Dirty Kids, undocumented immigrants, and sex workers, both groups stepping into labor roles that would otherwise go unfilled. He urged me to make sure this point was clear.
"One time I went out with some friends, hopping trains, and we ended up working at a carnival for a week," he added. While busking on the street usually supplies enough cash for food, drinks, and cigarettes, sometimes it isn’t enough. Many train-hoppers rely on day labor and other odd jobs to get by.
Tucson 2025
For Floozie
"I'm flying this sign in memory of Floozie. She was an amazing artist and person," Titan commented while holding up a makeshift busking sign that Floozie had created. Titan had met her briefly while train-hopping, and they formed an instant bond. She left later that day to hop a train, where she would tragically lose her life.
"How old was she?" I asked.
"She was about my age, and I'm twenty-three," Titan responded.
For Floozie
Tucson 2025
"BORN TO KILL"
Tucson 2025
Born to Kill, Made to Drift
A young girl with dirty blonde hair and an army green cap with the words "JUNK JESUS" and "BORN TO KILL" inscribed caught my immediate attention. She introduced herself as Ghost. When I asked how long she had been with this group, she told me she had only met them that night and she most likely would depart from them the next day. Ghost hailed from Las Vegas, which she spitefully referred to as "the most urbanized degenerate shithole."
She told me how, growing up, her parents were neglectful and gave her unlimited personal freedom which was both a blessing and a curse in Ghost’s eyes. At seventeen, she left Las Vegas to hop trains and has been living nomadically ever since.
"Do any parts of modern society give you the urge to return?" I asked. She shook her head. I expected such an answer.
"It's nice to have a warm bed, I guess... I don't think I'll ever return to it." she replied bluntly, almost emotionless. I asked her about how she dealt with the dangers of the lifestyle since she travelled entirely alone most the time. She removed a comically large bowie knife from her belt in response.
Ghost quietly said she hoped to die on the train tracks.
"Hobo Buccaneer"
Tucson 2025
The Freestyle That Nearly Killed Us
A strong sense of community was everywhere among the Dirty Kids. You would have thought they had been lifelong friends, even though some had only known each other for weeks at best. That bond was put to the test toward the end of the evening.
A car had been parked behind us for a couple of hours. Earlier, they had offered a bottle of alcohol which Titan gladly accepted. The many occupants watched us quietly for the next few hours. Later, the passenger seat window rolled down and the man inside invited Titan and me over. We walked up carrying guitars and played music for them for a moment.
"You know how to freestyle, man? Let me give you a beat on my guitar!" Titan exclaimed excitedly as he strummed a rhythm.
"Back up or I'll kill you," came a threat from the backseat.
"Did you just say you're gonna kill me?" Titan yelled, setting his guitar down, ready for violence. The other Dirty Kids noticed the tension and stood up, ready to defend us.
The backseat door opened. A shirtless young man stepped out and pulled down the waistband of his pants to reveal a small silver handgun. Before we could react, Ghost pushed past Titan, bowie knife drawn. I tried to de-escalate with no success. The train-hoppers gathered around in anger. Titan grabbed the empty moonshine bottle and smashed it on the concrete, sending shards flying.
Rather than letting the conflict escalate, the Dirty Kids pulled Titan away and we started marching down the street. Local police, parked just down the block, stirred up their sirens and began moving toward us. We hurried through back alleys for what felt like an eternity before regrouping as a whole. Titan hugged his friends and gathered himself. Together, we set off away from downtown toward a camping spot beneath an underpass.
In the blink of an eye, life as a train-hopper can flip from freedom and thrill to chaos and danger. One moment you’re riding the wind, chasing the horizon, feeling alive in a way few ever do. The next, everything can spiral — a wrong move, a sudden threat, or a stranger’s aggression can turn that wild joy into a fight for survival. It’s a life balanced on the edge, where ecstasy and peril are two sides of the same coin...
"Buddha"
Tucson 2025
Ashes and Feathers
I met Buddha on the edge of a freeway, slouched outside the charred skeleton of a collapsed restaurant. A feather stuck out of his cap. A faded prison jacket hung from his shoulders. In his lap rested a rapier sword, which he sharpened with the calm precision of someone who’d done it a thousand times.
“I like your terrorist get-up,” he said to my friend, who wore a camouflage jacket and a shemagh wrapped around her face.
Buddha had ridden the rails back in the ’90s—a vastly different time for train-hoppers. He’d survived it, which alone set him apart. Most don’t live long enough to tell the tale.
We walked with him to his motel and sat outside, lazily strumming guitars. A police cruiser circled the lot. Stray dogs barked and scattered in the distance.
“This place is crazy too,” Buddha muttered, looking around. “This place has history too.”
His girlfriend—a soft-spoken bohemian woman in a beanie—sat beside him with a kind smile. Buddha crossed his feet at the ankles. I asked about his time on the rails.
His girlfriend—a soft-spoken bohemian woman in a beanie—sat beside him with a kind smile. Buddha crossed his feet at the ankles. I asked about his time on the rails.
“I liked to sit in the back and watch the world go by. You roll your cigarettes ahead of time so they don’t fly away while you’re riding. And you don’t walk on the roof like in the movies. That shit’ll kill you, ya know?” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Why’d you stop?” I asked.
He exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Ah, you get older. Things start to hurt more.”
He flicked the ash off his cigarette, then added: “It’s different now anyway. You got the FTRA runnin’ around with badges like they own everything. My crew never messed with them. Didn’t like their vibe.”
I asked what drew him to the lifestyle, what kept him riding. He paused.
“People do it to actually live,” he said. “You can’t just roll over and die…I know. I’ve tried, many times.”
We sat in silence, watching the squad car circle again.
Budda and the Guitar
Tucson 2025
My time with these train-hoppers gave me more than photographs. It gave me a deeper understanding of resilience, rebellion, and what it means to live outside the margins. From chaotic nights beneath bridges to quiet moments outside a burned-out motel, each encounter revealed something raw and human. These are not just stories of survival, but of intention and meaning found in movement. You can view my documentary projects on the Train Hoppers and on Buddha at the links below.
