OFF TO THE MIGHTY CURVE

OFF TO THE MIGHTY CURVE

The Keed.

Amtrak descends the mighty Curve on Track 2 next to a climbing freight on Track 1. (8/15/07.)

-8/14/07:
We can’t even take the poor dog to the slammer until 8:30 or 9 a.m., so I have a few minutes here.
This is our first visit to the mighty Curve this year, or more precisely our first visit this year ourselves; that is, without the ceaseless blustering of the almighty Bluster-King, which is a distraction from watching trains.
Last year we visited almost every month June through October — maybe even November. But this year various occurrences shoved the mighty Curve back.
June was so long ago, I forget what intervened; and July was the Great Race, Elz’s visit, and the gigantic window-project.
Every time last year was staying at the vaunted Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin, hard by the old Pennsy main. But Tunnel Inn was already booked for RailFest even though I called in May.
I plan to take a photo tonight of the parking-lot at the infamous spaghetti-joint (Lena’s; voted by Altoonians to be the best Italian restaurant in the area), and even note the time, but Tunnel Inn doesn’t have Internet-access (at least that we know of); and it ain’t in a hot-spot.

-Here we are in Altoony...........
......camped out in the Alco-suite of the dreaded Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin.

The Keed.

Alco-suite in Tunnel Inn.

For those unknowing, the Alco-suite is one of two on the backside of the building, farthest from the tracks.
The other back suite is “MO Tower” (the tower in nearby Cresson), but the AC in that suite blows directly onto the bed, so we prefer Alco. (Alco is what’s pictured at bottom-right on the Tunnel Inn web-site.)
We prefer the backside of the building so trains don’t keep us awake all night. —Although passing trains shake the entire building. There’s no denying the Norfolk Southern Pittsburgh main is right next to Tunnel Inn.
In fact, that’s its major selling-point. It caters to railfans like me. “When you stay at the Tunnel Inn, only the engineer is closer to the train!” is their slogan.
Tunnel Inn is the past Gallitzin library and town-offices, built long ago by Pennsy (I think 1905).
Gallitzin painted the outside brick, and then built a new town-offices and library across the tracks.
Gallitzin is the location of Pennsy’s Allegheny and later Gallitzin tunnel — the top of the Alleghenies west of Altoony.
Gallitzin tunnel was recently abandoned, and Allegheny expanded with state funding to allow two tracks and to clear double-stacks. The floor of nearby New Portage tunnel (also used by Pennsy) was also lowered to clear double-stacks.
(Allegheny was two tracks at first, but was reduced to one track in the late 1800s as car-size increased. (So was New Portage.)

The Keed.

The best Italian restaurant in the Altoony area. (6:45 p.m., 8/14/07.)

It’s called Tunnel Inn because it’s at the western mouths of the two Pennsy tunnels — Gallitzin tunnel now abandoned.
All the outside paint had to be sandblasted off, and the building gutted and refurbished to make it a bed-and-breakfast.
Tunnel Inn has an open deck out back for viewing trains, and they recently added a roof over the deck.
They also installed lighting down into the adjacent tunnel-cut; but it wasn’t working — it nearly electrocuted the operator. (The train-crews are probably thankful.)
-Departure was the usual madness it seems to have become since the stroke.
Nothing is ever organized, and things get gathered in passing. Organization and planning got vaporized by the stroke. (“Ya won’t understand until ya have one yourself!”)
A number of things never got done: rotating the tires, a new MAC-sticker on the tailgate, checking the oil, even turning on the all-night outdoor light. —Plus to whole-house ventilation got left on; I’d rather turn it off if we’re away; in case it burns out.
We took the CR-V; hopefully the last trip it ever makes to the mighty Curve.
Getting here was uneventful: no dramas to speak of, or mistakes, unless you count a slight foray over the left-side rumble-strip in a detour (about 20 yards).
We passed all the usual wayside markers: the Campbell (“Camp-Bell;” not the soup) rest-stop still has jet-engine hand-dryers; we passed the infamous gliderport and refrigerator-dump along the two-lane; plus the slowly moldering ‘52 Dodge sedan.
We also used the mighty Milesburg exit, as we have “hunderds” of times. Didn’t actually go through Milesburg, but used the mighty Milesburg exit, as it was in the beginning; ‘tis now and ever shall be; world without end; amen, amen.
For those into toitey-behavior, we made three widdle-stops. 250 miles, about five hours. (This some Porta-John thing?)

The Keed.

Amtrak climbs The Hill. (8/14/07.)

We’ve already been to the mighty Curve once. The light goes away about 6 p.m. (shadows), and we climbed the steps without drama.
I’d say I was less out of breath than last year; but even last year I wasn’t utterly bushed at the top like the almighty Bluster-King.
“At least we won’t have Jack harassing us every minute,” Linda said.
For RailFest every time I took my cellphone out on the trip down there was a message on it, and I felt obliged to listen lest some snippet of useful information sneak in amidst the turgid blustering.

The Keed.

NS freight down at the mighty Curve.

But no such luck! Just the usual tiresomely-boring putdowns and catcalls from the Limberger wannabee wildly driven to badmouth everything I do or say.
A neverending torrent of utterly useless fulminating. Is it any wonder I hang up when I don’t need to listen?

-Day Two (8/15/07)
.......Our full day at the mighty Curve.
-First stop: the dreaded Perkins next to the infamous Daze Inn — now Holiday Inn Express — where Jack dumped his GeezerGlide, requiring five guys and a dog to pick it up.
“Maybe yah should try something different, Dewd — so set in your ways; hell-ooooooo......”
Like Arby’s, of course; is it ever anywhere other than Arby’s?
Linda got the breakfast special; enough to feed a family of six in Bangladesh — and that’s the dreaded senior-citizen menu.
I got my standard three pancakes and two sausage-links.
The Altoony newspaper says I-99 may open north of 350 in a little over a year.
Apparently they encountered acidic sandstone (“acid-rock;” ain’t that Jimi Hendrix?” [That’s a Linda joke; 40 years, you guys!]) atop a ridge they were cutting through, and it has to be disposed of as hazardous material.
So probably before I die I will get to take the route Jack noisily claims we took.
I’ve gone that way a few times; but it ain’t worth it. Too much congestion on 322 over the hilltop.

The Keed.

NS freight at the mighty Curve.

I think the dreaded funicular may be shut down.
It descended about 10 feet and did an almighty lurch, as if a cable had stretched.
Thankfully no one was on it — at least in the top car — and I haven’t seen it run since. Someone said it wasn’t running.
-BAR NONE, this is the greatest railfan spot I have ever been to.
“Wouldn’t you like to sign our guest-register?” a smiling geezer said in the gift-shop.
There was a comment-area where you were supposed to put why you were here.
“I’ve been here ‘hunderds’ of times,” I said. “What do I say? This is the best railfan spot I have ever been to.”
“I’ve been to Cajon and Tehachapi, and Helmstetters and Tunkhannock. Nothing matches the mighty Curve.”
We’ve only been here an hour and at least six trains have passed, one the eastbound Amtraker (pictured at top) passing a climbing freight.
And climbing they always have the throttles to the roof — assaulting the heavens.
Thank ya Pennsy for having the foresight to make this a scenic area — to show off an incredible engineering feat for its time (1854).
The viewing area is smack in the Curve’s apex; and engineers are required by law to blow the horn at spectators.
And the railroad is right next to the viewing area.

The Keed.

NS freight at the mighty Curve.

-My old Rowi shoulder-grip (a rifle-mount for cameras), which goes back at least 35+ years, still works. I have the D100 mounted on it, and a cable trips the shutter — just like years ago.
I’m using the Rowi because I have the 300mm zoomer on the camera, which is too strong to be hand-held.
300 is also too strong for the Curve; it only gets about one unit. I have it set for about 135. 300 at Cassandra.

The Keed.

“Blue.”

I also called the all-powerful Tim Belknap at the mighty Mezz while a train was descending.
“No jogging tubbies,” I reported.
Belknap is always telling me Hilary-dillery is gonna shut down the Curve for her beloved Teamsters and convert it into a jogging trail.
“Never happen,” I say. “We’re talking about 200+ containers per train, and perhaps 30-40 stack-trains per day. That’s at least 6,000 trailers per day.
No way is there anywhere near enough highway capacity to handle that.

The Keed.

Two NS freights east at Cassandra. (The one at left is a double-stack.)

-Our final stop of the day, after 4-5 hours at the Curve, was Cassandra Railfan Overlook.
Cassandra Railfan Overlook is the old Route 53 overpass (over the railroad) into Cassandra, which is west of Lilly, about 10-13 miles west of the mighty Curve.
Someone noticed railfans were congregating on the old bridge, so seats were installed in the shade along with old metal restaurant tables.
Apparently the current mayor of Cassandra has a railfan gift-shop in town, and is the chief instigator behind Cassandra Railfan Overlook.
Six people and a frightened dog were already on hand — we were seven and eight. (The dog hid when locos passed, which of course is at full bore climbing east — Cassandra is on the West Slope.
I got a new antenna for the rail-scanner at Radio-Shack, and it grabs a lot. It helps the crews are calling out the signals, plus there are talking detectors galore.
At the mighty Curve I even got faraway Brickyard: 238.8. The Curve is milepost 242.
If it’s “258.8 Track 1” at Cassandra, an eastbound is coming. “253.7 Track 3” is an approaching westbound.
Every time we packed up to leave, the scanner called out another approaching train.

The Keed.

NS double-stack climbs east at Cassandra.

-8/16/07:
Driving north, returning from the mighty Curve, we stop at the Williamsport Weggers to buy milk and bananas.
Doing so scotches hitting the dreaded Canandaigua Weggers, which is rather indirect when you’re trying to pick up a dog.
The Williamsport Weggers is one of the first, if not the first, forays of mighty Weggers out of the Rochester area.
Now there are 89 bazilyun, including one in Cherry Hill and outside Washington, D.C.
Ambling through the vast, crowded parking-lot we noticed a Bush-Cheney ‘04 bumper-sticker on a car in a handicap-slot. (Amazingly, it had a handicap-tag.)
I was tempted to grab my camera, but didn’t, lest I get bopped on the head by an angry REPUBLICAN, or get dragged to the Williamsport slammer as a suspected terrorist. (“Taking pictures of a Dubya-sticker, eh? You’re under arrest as a liberial!”)
Driving north of Williamsport, one of our cellphones rang somehow despite our allegedly never having them on.
But I didn’t answer it. I can’t multi-task when one of the tasks is driving.
It was Jack, of course; blustering about quiet on FlagOut, no Internet-access at Tunnel Inn, and a possible heart-attack climbing the steps.
DREAM ON, Bubby! I marched right up the steps like I always do — once on Tuesday, and twice Wednesday. Breathing hard at the top, but nowhere near as outta breath as you were.
Still kicking, Bubby; and taking every one of your insane pronouncements to the cleaners. —We’re still wondering how coal-bearing ships access the landlocked Powder River Basin in Wyoming....... (thrump-thrump).
Your noisy claim the DC-6 was the first airliner with a fully pressurized cabin was also a bit off-the-wall, as was your incredible intimation the DC-6 came before the Connie.
We also fielded a cellphone call at the mighty Curve.
Amazingly my phone rang despite my allegedly never having it on, and it was MAC-Shack, asking a question before ordering a USB-scanner I wanted.
The poor guy probably wondered what in the wide, wide world was going on, since a train was descending.

-So what’ll it be........
....chasing trains or women?
I hope whoever 44 marries is as accommodating as Linda. (“I wanna know why every vacation seems to involve trains?”)
If railroading stays around for another 100 years — and I think it will, since nothing moves freight over land as well as railroads (see photo below of solid tank-train leaving Cassandra) — 44 is set for life. (“Just lemme out. I don’t care where ya stop. Just lemme out!”)

The Keed.

Solid corn-syrup east at Cassandra. (At least 80 cars — with pushers.)

I think the train-crews are catching on. All up-and-down the railroad — Tunnel Inn, Cassandra Railfan Overlook, Horseshoe Curve — the crews are blowing horn at the railfans — men that never outgrew their childhood.
Scanners on, photo cameras clicking, video-cameras whirring, taking copious notes. It’s better than chasing women or getting drunk.
(“Just remember, Marcy: you’re young only once, but you can be immature all your life.”)

-Addendums:
-1) Internet-access may be possible at Tunnel Inn.
We were speaking to a lady Wednesday-night getting a weak signal to her laptop — probably the library across the tracks.
When the library closed, no signal.
The so-called stationmasters (the people that run the place) have a ‘pyooter in their quarters downstairs. All it would take is a wireless transmitter — e.g. like our Linksys-box.
-2) The 94-year-old nosy neighbor had an ambulance in his driveway when we left. The 94-year-old nosy neighbor was walking out to the ambulance, so we didn’t pursue it.
Turns out he had a catheter installed — he couldn’t go to the bathroom.
“I’m gonna die soon,” he said. Obviously he’s fed up with all the insanity of getting old: like frailty, instability, falling, and not being able to do anything other than sleep and eat.

I hafta blog this, chillen; because that’s where the pictures are stored, but I ain’t doin’ the footnotes — way too many would be needed.

All I’ll say is that “Cherry Hill” is the suburban area in south Jersey where I grew up — although I don’t remember “Cherry Hill” existing when I was a kid.