Report from the mighty Curve

Seems every trip we make to the Mighty Curve reveals some insanity that has to be reported.
E.g.:

350-pound Aunt Ginny stroking her little boy (boyfriend/lover/significant other/whatever) because he couldn't get chicken-wings at the spaghetti-joint.

Two angry retired Pennsylvania Railroad employees bellyaching Norfolk Southern has no clue how to operate a railroad up north.

A tree fallen across the road in the infamous four-lane downhill section of Route 15 south of Steam Valley, a curvy section I hate driving because it's not up to Interstate standards (this time was with a pack of barreling semis — "I made it," I sighed).

Granny asking where the hill is, when the locomotives ascend the Curve in Run-Eight.

No lights in the windowless men's room at the Foy Ave. Sunoco in Williamsport.
This time's adventure was at the infamous widdle-stop on I-390 just north of Campbell ("CAMP-bell;" not the soup).
A trip to the Mighty Curve is comprised of four legs:
1) Home to widdle-stop;
2) Widdle-stop to Williamsport Sunoco, off Foy Ave. west of town, just north of the ramp to 220;
3) Sunoco to the mighty Sheetz, just south of the road to Milesburg, also just south of the storied Milesburg exit (subject of numerous noisy outbursts from West Bridgewater);
4) Sheetz to Altoony.
Often I can pass the mighty Sheetz — this time I did.
Jack had guzzled a 'Dew in Williamsport, so we had to stop at the mighty Sheetz.
We pulled into the widdle-stop, and I was using a stall; when all-of-a-sudden:
ROAR — BLAST!
"What in the wide, wide world is that?" I was tempted to say. "It sounds like someone has a jet-engine in here."
Apparently the state highway department had installed new hand blow-driers.
Our central-vac is quite loud too (I bought it because it sounded like a 454-Chevy), but it's nothing compared to these things.
They sounded powerful enough to lift a 747 clear into the sky.
Somebody pushed the button, but dared not dry their hands under it for fear of being dismembered.

The spaghetti-joint.

The trees have started turning at the Mighty Curve, but not as much as at home.
The hillside viewed by the web-cam is still pretty green, but the web-cam is aimed too high — too high to wave at; getting the top of the housing.
(I called Jack, but he was at a Randi- (doesn't matter) game; i.e. not in front of a 'pyooter.)
We hung around over an hour, but saw no trains. First time we've ever struck out at the mighty Curve — no scanner-chatter either.
Our entertainment was doddering geezers bellering at the funicular-operator below.
"Attention visitors. Those wishing to go to trackside or the visitors' center please enter the funicular now."
A doddering geezer staggered quickly across the wide viewing-area, waving his cane frantically at the funicular.
But the door and gate began closing as he approached.
"Wait a minute!" he yelled.
Unlike an elevator, the door doesn't retract if impeded. He almost caught his hand.
"Please stand clear of the closing gate."
"Don't you tell me to stand clear," he bellowed.
The gate closed, so he waddled over to the parapet and shook his fist at the operator far below.
Everything reopened, and snarling geezer got on.
Then it closed, and more geezers lined up.
"We're ready to get on," they yelled.
The funicular descended without them, so they angrily waddled down the stairs, fussing and fuming and sputtering — one step at a time.
We went to Brickyard Crossing in Altoony; milepost 238.2. There is a detector there (down only), and a signal-bridge. (The Curve is 242.)
We saw two trains; one a long stacker down Track 2, and Amtrak up on Track 3. (The stacker had GM power.)
Another was climbing as we left, but it may have only been helpers. It was hidden by trees.

The refrigerator-dump.

We did not have accommodations at Tunnel Inn (Tunnel Inn) this time. Actually we could have, but it would have been the Juniata suite, which punishes with two twin beds.
All the other suites (except the handicap-suite downstairs which we've never used) have a single king. We're used to sharing a bed. Juniata is shades of the mighty De Land water-tower.
Juniata is also trackside; although I don't think it makes much difference. Passing trains shake the entire building, but are gone in 2-3 minutes.
In St. Albans, West Virginny, you could hear C&O coal-drags hammering up the grade 15-20 minutes.
So we camped out at Holiday Inn Express (Holiday Inn Express Altoona), previously the Daze Inn Jack and I stayed at.
The picture of a B24 was not there (previously misidentified as a B52); but the newspaper-clipping of the guy that opened the place, previously a WWII B24 pilot, was there; as was the painting of Pennsy K4 1361.
Harley also waddled out, but wasn't on the counter, and didn't have his macho studded Harley neckerchief. Harley, a white poodle, greeted Jack and I, and helped Jack right his dumped GeezerGlide.

The glider-port.

Tuesday, our full day in Altoony, was a complete and utter washout. The rain was coming down in sheets — not windy in town, but windy at the Mighty Curve.
But we diehard railfans aren't about to let no torrential downpour scotch a visit to the Mighty Curve.
Horseshoe Curve is the grand daddy of them all — the best trainwatching spot on the entire planet.
So we drove up to the Curve, and took the funicular up to the viewing-area.
No one was there, of course; and we couldn't leave the funicular pagoda.
We hung around about 15 minutes, and then the funicular door magically opened.
"Do you wanna stand inside, or come down?" a PA-voice asked.
"Take 'er down," I said. (You have to push a "communicate" button.)
No trains either; another strike-out.
"I've been here hundreds of times," I said to the clerk in the store; "but I've never seen it this bad."
We then drove to Brickyard, the only place in the area to watch trains from inside a car.
But the windows fogged up, and the windshield loaded up with water.
"3363, 237.8 clear; west on Track 3," the scanner said. But all it was was helpers; three SD40-2s.
"3363, 238.2 clear; west on Track 3," they said, as they went under the Brickyard signal-bridge.
Huge dumptrucks were depositing slabs of Logan Blvd. in a landfill next door. It sounded like thunder.
And for some reason the top retention-pond of the Altoony Water Authority at the Mighty Curve was nearly empty.
TrackSnacks had it's "Open" sign on, but no patrons. No one at the picnic-tables either (siddown and soak your bottom).
We eventually went back to the motel, and between cranking in this story, and arguing with Jack, chasing trains became impossible.
We went directly to the Philly-cheese-steak restaurant in Kresson. It was 5 o'clock. and even though it had stopped raining, the Mighty Curve makes no sense when it gets dark after 6:30.
The restaurant in Kresson is hard by the old Pennsy main, so we saw a few. But it ain't the same as the Mighty Curve.
So our trip to the Mighty Curve was only a break from the seeming rat-race. Only saw two trains, and a pusher-set.