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CHAPTER THREE

This worked well for us, given that we were traveling at around a 2-3 mile per hour pace. Roughly every 20-30 minutes we would arrive at a roadway crossing, pause and listen for activity. We heard nothing until around 3 hours into our trek. We were approaching Sugarbush, and the farmland was beginning to be dotted with greater frequency by homesteads. Our railroad was tracking the main road to Collegedale, and still a distance to the west. Uncommonly for this part of the country, the breeze was coming from the east, and it brought the smell of cigarette smoke. We stopped.

We were a couple of dozen meters from the road we had been paralleling. Creeping, we edged closer to the intersection of the railroad and the roadway, and soon could hear snippets of conversation. We had nearly crunched past a roadblock. The folks manning the post did not seem well briefed on noise discipline, as well as light and smells. Breathing quietly, we could hear them conversing about the power loss, bitching about night guard duty, particularly irritated at being assigned the 0200-0600 tour. I was surprised that this little town had things this organized, so soon after the lights went out. I wasn't altogether certain what these guys were doing, manning a roadblock on a state highway in the middle of the night, so we settled in for a listen.

New Ham Radio operators are, or ought to be, introduced to the utility ...

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