It’s Tuesday, and work-weary commuters huddle close together under the overhang at the Palo Alto Caltrain station as the rain shifts from a light mist to heavy drops. Now, 6:11 p.m., the northbound baby-bullet train is five minutes late, and the disgruntled few who are stranded without shelter show no indication of knowing Ramon, as I try to track him down with an airport-valet-like sign.

As I move my search to the train, the familiar image of red party cups catches my eye and a bottle of Knob Creek emerges from a commuter’s messenger bag. Across the row another rider fills cups with ice from his bag, which tonight, is doubling as a cooler. A can of ginger ale is passed across the aisle. I haven’t found Ramon, but I found what I was ultimately looking for: The “Erik Moves Drink Train.”

I introduce myself to the group as they begin to pour and ask if I can join the festivities. They’re a welcoming bunch and offer me a cup. I tell them about my quest to find any surviving beer trains along the Peninsula, and at the risk of having my cup revoked, I tell them I’m writer. After I explain that Ramon the owner of DrinkTrain.com, invited me to ride along and observe, the seemingly eminent mutiny is quelled. I came armed with the rules of Drink Train and a six-pack of beer, just in case the group turned hostile.

Due to questions about company affiliations, to maintain anonymity and to assure that the Drink Train keeps rolling, this group has laid down some strict rules and regulations.

Rule number one of Drink Train is to never talk about Drink Train. I’m afraid my inner Tyler Durden will punch me in the face for revealing my identity and asking them to talk aboutDrink Train, but I figure honesty is the best policy. And maybe after a couple of drinks they’ll open up a bit.

Rule number two is whatever happens on Drink Train stays on Drink Train. Thus, the members of Drink Train have a very strong policy against speaking with the press. By nature, I’m breaking rule two, but
one member reminds me, “It’s a free country,” and there’s no way for them to prevent me from writing this story if I want. I allow myself to stay, but I’m careful not to ask too many questions, as rule number
four is no work or mention of work on Drink Train. Two sips into my highball and I am already breaking another rule, but hopefully the drink in my hand will disguise any actual reporting that is occurring. Look natural.

Conversation soon takes off with more important issues, such as the definition of a highball, the history of Drink Train (join the group to find out…I’m sworn to secrecy) and other fun Drink Trains the group has hosted, including a Mardi Gras train and 7 a.m. trains with Mimosas. The conductor announces the Millbrae stop—Drink Train’s last call—and the cups fill up for one last hurrah. Neighboring commuters are offered
a drink as well (See rule six: it’s a virus, it wants to spread), but they politely
decline. I feel sorry for the single rider pigeonholed into his corner across from me, busy at work on his laptop and probably in need of a little bourbon in his life. Apparently the virus doesn’t want to spread too far tonight. The alcohol and good company have made quick work of what can be a miserable commute, and it looks like the mission of Drink Train has been accomplished.

The Drink Trainers have yet to be eighty-sixed, and while the conductors are not allowed to imbibe, they are often in good spirits with the Drink Train members. “I’m often ridiculed for not having alcohol when I ride the train alone,” says Erik B. as he explains rule number five: pack it in, pack it out. This handy park mantra keeps the conductors happy and Drink Train on the tracks.

Getting home is often the most painful part of the workday, because you still aren’t home, you are not having any fun, and you sure as hell are not getting paid for something that seems like an awful lot like work. “This is our happy hour,” says the sole female member of tonight’s Drink Train. “By the time we get home from work, happy hour is over, so why not have it on the train?” I’ll drink to that.