Stuckey. David Stuckey.

Today's adventure. Liesel is flying down from Vienna to spend a couple days with me in Podgorica and Kotor Bay, so I needed to get to the airport to pick her up. Sure, I could take a taxi, but that's more expensive, and I have the time, and I like seeing new parts of the city, so I decided to take the train from the main station to the "Aerodrom" stop, eight whole minutes away.

There was some confusion at the train station — the man who sold me the ticket told me to ask the woman at the "Information" window about which platform it would be on, and she smiled indulgently and insisted that it would be on the "first platform" — even though they weren't numbered — and "we will make an announcement." When I asked if that announcement would include the word "airport" or "aerodrom," she smiled as if I was being silly and shook her head no, but indicated it would all become clear.

It didn't. At some point people got up and started moving onto the train closest to the station — which I assumed was No. 1 — so I headed towards it as well. A Russian woman asked me if this was the "первый" train (the first), and I was delighted to say, in Russian, "I don't know -- I really have no idea." We all got on, but three minutes later a conductor walked through insisting this wasn't the train to Bar — good to know, but was it the train to the airport? — and she sort of looked confused and shook her head and pointed at another train, on the third platform.

I leapt off and switched trains — as did the Russian woman, among others — and finally got settled on what I hoped was the right train. (It was).

About six minutes into the trip the conductor came by to check my ticket, and he confirmed I was only going to the "Aerodrop" stop, then said it was coming up. I had been tracking on my phone, so I was ready (I thought).

Indeed, a minute later we slowed to a stop, and I quickly got up and walked to the door. This stop is ... nothing. A hut on the side of some train tracks. I knew the stop would be ... brief, at best.

As I was exiting my compartment, another guy ahead of me opened the door to the train and exited (is that called "detraining"?) allowing the heavy iron door on the very old and graffiti-covered train to swing shut. With a mechanism I didn't understand, and my hands full of a Pepsi Max (that'll teach me!) and a phone. I tried to open it with one hand — no success. Now panicking, because I had the (correct) sense that this stop would be for far less than a minute, total, I tucked the Pepsi can in my pocked and tried awkwardly with two hands. Nothing.

At this point, one of the young men whose presence had earlier made me roll my eyes — loud, smoking, joking (all the things young 17-year-old men will do in a group with their friends — saw me and moved quickly to the door. As he opened it easily, the train had already started to move, and was quickly picking up steam. 

Amazing how many things can actually go through your mind in a micro-second. I thought about how I would tell Liesel, and what she would have to do. I wondered where the next stop on the train would be — five minutes away? three hours? I wondered whether I would get in trouble for not having purchased a ticket for that subsequent destination, and even if they believed my story, how embarrassed I would be to explain I couldn't figure out how to get the door open. 

And, of course, I worried about whether I should jump or not, while recognizing that in the 1/4th of a second it took me to consider these things, the train had already picked up speed. 

Recognizing that even another second of delay would make the entire process moot — I leapt onto the platform.

And made it! 

Indeed, I offer to you a Chat-GPT rendering of my adventure (white hair, 57 years old, anglo, black jeans, blue sweatshirt, blue backpack, jumping from a rural and graffiti-covered train on the Eastern European country-side).

Pretty accurate

Now, a few things. First, we really were picking up speed. I made the leap, and was knocked sideways a step or two, but managed to stay relatively balanced. I'm proud of that 57-year old agility. I mean, just look at that image! Second, all that really did go through my mind quickly — to that young man I'm sure it looked like I leapt out in one instant, the second he opened the door!

And ... of course, third, I'm sure this happens all over the place, all the time, usually at much higher speed, and that that young man didn't even think about it, because it was all so obvious, safe, and mundane.

Well, not to this guy. I'm ready for the next Bourne movie if they need me!

From Google Images — doesn't actually capture the speed we were going!

Anyway, once off the train, slightly disappointed that nobody else had seen my studly move, I turned and walked along the highway to the airport, making it without any further adventure.

I think we'll probably take a taxi home.

(Written two hours later: Ok, ok, this is a hell of a long way to say, "I barely got off the train in time on my way to pick up Liesel at the airport." But somehow it seemed daredevil-ish and exciting to me, and worth a story. It really was moving!)