“Beats chasing women”

GP9 #7048 (on display) looks on as an SD40E #6306 heads a freight up The Hill at Horseshoe Curve. (That’s Joey!)

Yet again.....the mighty Curve, bar none, the BEST railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
Check in at Tunnel Inn Bed & Breakfast in Gallitzin (“gah-LIT-zin”), PA, right on top of the old Pennsy tunnel exits.
Rumble-Rumble-ROAR!
A train! (We’ve been there all of three minutes.)
Five more minutes; another train.
15 minutes total; three trains.
Drive down to Horseshoe Curve Historic Site.
Ascend steps; 194, can still do it.
A train climbs up as we ascend.
Five minutes pass; one down.
Five more minutes; another down.
15 minutes; another up.
20 minutes; another up.
30 minutes; another up, but it gets stabbed by a restricting signal on the signal-tower at the Curve — wonky signal; nothing in the block.
It slows to a stop on the west leg, and another comes down.
That’s eight trains in a half-hour.
Ain’ nuthin’ like the Mighty Curve!
“You want train frequency?” my friend Tim Belknap (“BELL-nap”) shouts.
“Times Square Station in New York City.”
“Yeah, but that’s subway,” I say. “Mere Tinker Toys compared to here at the mighty Curve.
And climbing they are wide-open; assaulting the heavens!
Down it’s hold back the train; keep it from running away.
And of course the wheels don’t differentiate as ya go around a curve. They scream as they slide on the railheads.”
But “it’s a-rainin’,” as my wife’s relatives said long ago at a family reunion.
My MyCast® weather-radar on my cellphone displayed a lotta green, showing it inundating all of PA, including the Altoony area.
We spend most of our time on a bench under the funicular pavilion.
The place is hopping despite the downpours.
The up funicular is always filled.
A new signal gantry is erected on the east leg of the Curve, up on the hillside.
But it’s not over the tracks, so not in service yet.
It will replace the old Pennsy signal-bridge.
A lull begins, so we go back down.
Another train descends.
We find the infamous “Spaghetti-Joint,” Lena’s Cafè in Altoony.
We order spaghetti with marinara sauce and one homemade meatball, what we always order.
All trips to the mighty Curve include the “Spaghetti-Joint.”
Use rest-room while leaving.
“I could use it too,” Linda says; “but I ain’t sittin’ on that filthy seat!”
“So we’ll go back to Tunnel Inn, and you can use their filthy seat,” I say.
We go up to Brickyard, but a deluge began as soon as I got out of the car.
I had taken along my camera, and unholstered my cellphone to look at my MyCast weather-radar.
Everything was getting drenched.
The signal-lights came on on the old Pennsy signal-bridge nearby: Track Three was clear — a train was coming.
I started back, but it was coming down in buckets, so I got back into the car.
Right about then the crossing-signals started flashing, the bell started ringing (an audio-file), and the gates dropped.
Rumba-rumba-rumba!
Double-stack up The Hill on Track Three with two GEs on the point.
“If it weren’t coming down in buckets, I woulda shot that,” I said. “I don’t wanna soak the camera.”
It was the usual auto-trip down, except was, or was not, the new expressway open over Bald Eagle Mountain?
It was; they’re even rebuilding the segment over Steam Valley.
Southbound traffic was previously on the “old road.”
Northbound was a new section up to Interstate standard.
Southbound wasn’t, and worse yet it passed gas-stations and a restaurant next to a sharp curve at the top.
Downhill after that was zigging and zagging all over, the “old road” alignment.
But it looks like an Interstate-standard southbound segment will open before I kick the bucket.
That will leave only one two-lane segment; the section from the NY/PA state line up to Presho, NY.
Hint-hint; Schumer.
Only Federal funding will get that built, as it probably has in PA.
What happens if the price of gasoline skyrockets?
It sure ain’t the LA Basin. Ya might pass a car occasionally.
Back to Tunnel Inn. At least their viewing deck outside is roofed.
Step outside to go downstairs and install “billy-club” on the van steering-wheel.
A guy is out there with his stringbean son, about 12 or 13.
“I see ya installed your billy-club,” he said.
“Don’t know as I need it out here, but there are senior-citizens around.
I so much as get here earlier, and BAM, a train.
And then another and another.
This place is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to.”
“More scenic, but more trains at Fostoria, OH.
CSX and Norfolk Southern cross at grade in two places. 100 trains a day!”
“I’ve been to Tehachapi (“tuh-HATCH-uh-pee”); I been to Cajon (“kah-HONE”); I been to Helmstetters (“helm-STETT-rrr”), etc., etc., etc. This is the best.”
What about Cass (“KASS;” as in gasoline)? We’re goin’ to Cass tomorrow.”
“By all means, and Cass is one of the best places we’ve ever done — the license-plate surround on the back of that van is Cass.
And ride it all the way to the top.”
“What about Spruce?”
“No! Spruce is okay; a branch to an old Western Maryland connection, the line WM ran Cass’s “Big-Six” engine on.
But it ain’t the top. Ride it all the way to Bald Knob!
They can’t even run “Big-Six” up there. There’s a curve so tight it derails.
And it’s so steep your engines will slip. They may be Shays, but ya hear ‘em slip — 13%.
And they also have to rewater on the way up.
It takes two engines to shove up there; but one is enough coming back down.
Ya end up about 4,000 feet above the valley-floor, and there’s a big wooden observation deck. The climate is Arctic. Wear a jacket.
And crew-members work the brakes manually on each car.
Railroading old style. It ain’t the engineer setting the train brakes.
And the best part is the steam-locomotive whistles echoing through the hollers.”
“What about Tunkhannock Viaduct?” he asks. (“tunk-HANN-nick”)
“Holy mackerel, I say. “I come around a bend, and YOWZA!
Built with private money too.”
“Same thing,” he says. “I did college in Scranton; I’m wandering around one day, and suddenly there it is!”
“It’s all concrete, and it’s HUGE.” I say.
“And it’s actually called ‘Nicholson Bridge’” (“Nick-ul-SIN”), he says; “and the town of Nicholson is hardly anything.”
“Right,” I say; “but it spans the valley of Tunkhannock Creek. The railroad used to have to descend into that valley and climb back out, until that viaduct was built.”
“What about Strasburg (“Strass-burg”); what about Steamtown?” he asks.
“Strasburg is 10 mph; putrid!” I say. “Steamtown is 30.
The best railfan excursion I ever rode was restored Nickel Plate steam-engine #765 up New River Gorge in WV. That thing was doin’ 75 mph! Boomin’-and-zoomin’.
“I don’t know how true this is, but I hear a rumor about Norfolk Southern closin’ the Curve and puttin’ in a tunnel to bypass it.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I say. “That’s a mighty long tunnel; at least 10 miles.
This is a very busy line, but I don’t know if it’s busy enough to justify that kind of investment.
It’s still wooden ties; they ain’t concrete. And the rail is only 136 pounds per yard — fairly heavy, but the old Pennsy electrified Corridor main was 143 in the ‘60s.
BNSF added just a third track to their ascent of Cajon Pass. Cost a ton of money.
But no long tunnel.
Norfolk Southern may eventually regret that fourth track was removed (by Conrail), but it was always just three tracks over the summit.
The original tunnel was two tracks at first with 1850s equipment; relaid into one when equipment got larger. It was overly wide at that point, but high enough until double-stacks became the norm.
The original tunnel was enlarged; high enough to clear double-stacks, and widened to allow two tracks with current equipment.
That abandoned Gallitzin tunnel was added in 1912 to go from two to three tracks.
The third track is Track One, downhill, through New Portage Tunnel on the other side of town.
And New Portage is higher in elevation because it was a realignment of the old Portage Railway to circumvent the original inclined planes, part of the storied Pennsylvania Public Works System combining canals with an inclined-plane portage railroad.
The Public Works was PA’s response to the hugely successful Erie Canal, although the Erie didn’t have a mountain barrier to cross.
Pennsy got the Public Works System for a song when it was abandoned. Here was that New Portage tunnel, an additional tunnel under the Allegheny barrier. They might as well use it. It was wide enough for two tracks with 1850s equipment, but eventually relaid as one.
But they had to build a ramp up to it. This is ‘The Slide;’ 2.37 %.
New Portage was also enlarged to clear double-stacks.
But it’s only one additional track, and limited to 12 mph on ‘The Slide.’”

DAY TWO: Back to the mighty Curve
“Weren’t you here last year?” some stringbean 14-year-old asks. “Beginning of last August?
I was the one that asked you if knew anything was coming, because you had a scanner.”
“So now you’re a year older,” a stone-face solemnly intoned. “I’m here to direct music for a Bible-conference,” he said. “But I’ve been up here about 15 times.”
“Well, I been here hundreds of times,” I said; “bar none the greatest railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
Smack in the apex of the Curve, and uphill assaulting the heavens!”
By now it was no rain, and no green on my MyCast weather-radar.
At least three up and three down over two hours.
“I really like that SD40,” a little kid said, pointing at 7048.
“It is not,” I said. “It’s a GP9.”
Memories of my B24 incident at Daze Inn in Altoony; now Holiday Inn Express.
A painting of a B24 was on the wall in the lobby. The motel-owner had been a B24 pilot in WWII.
The receptionist identified it as a B52.
“That ain’t no B52,” I said. “That’s a B24!”
“Whatever,” she said.
“SD40s are the helpers ya see on this hill. SDs have six-wheel trucks; this thing has four-wheel trucks — a Geep (“GP” = General Purpose).
The plaque on the other side identifies it as a GP9.”
“It looks like that guy might know more than you do, Joey.”
But at least he’s heard of SD40s, which go back to the ‘80s, well before he was born — he looked about six.
One of the trains down was the Executive Business Train, but it had a single freight-motor on the point; perhaps an SD60.
No Tuxedo Fs. One wonders whether they’re still usable. They are antiques.
Down to Brickyard. Little success. I was trying multiple exposures first time, but it stores image-files in a cache.
Cache filled; no more motor-drive. Maybe four or five frames.
Okay, deal with it!
Back to Tunnel Inn, then off to Lilly, PA west of Cresson on the eastbound slope of the Alleghenies. It’s an overpass right over the tracks.
A train came down, west on Track Three, but the best shot at Lilly is eastbound — it rounds a curve.
This is the place I got two trains at once last year, but that was with Phil Faudi (“faw-dee”), a local railfan extraordinaire.
I paid him for an all-day train chase; I photographed 20 trains over nine hours; including the Executive Business Train with the Tuxedo Fs.
Faudi knows each train by train-number as the engineer calls out the signals, and how long it takes to drive to a location we can shoot at.
Back-and-forth we zigged and zagged in Faudi’s tired Buick, and at Lilly we got two trains at once.
Each wait for a train was about five minutes.
Lilly seemed to be a dead-zone for the scanner. 253.1 (at Lilly), but nothing from the detector at 258.9 down at nearby Portage.
The only way I knew an eastbound was coming (climbing) was hearing it hammering up The Hill.


Eastbound through Lilly up The Hill toward Gallitzin tunnels on Track Two.

More multiple shots; I keep the best, and trash the rest.
We then drove to Summerhill west of Portage, and I also took a few back roads to see if I still knew my way.
A train was going down (west) on Track Three as we drove in, but then a long dry-spell ensued as we got out.
Finally, “Milepost 258.9, Track Three, no defects.”
Wrong way, the most photogenic shot is eastbound (Tracks One or Two), a train under the old Pennsy signal-bridge, which silhouettes against the sky. It has raised signals to be visible to far away eastbound train crews over a highway overpass.
The signal-lights came on on the signal-bridge, but it seemed so short I thought it might only be helpers.
I was about 10-12 feet from the track, at a fence, and could hear it coming behind me; boomin’-and-zoomin’.


Westbound Amtrak through Summerhill. STAND BACK!

All-of-a-sudden it zoomed past, Amtrak doin’ 60-70 or so.
BANG! I only got off one shot, but okay.
It obliterates most of that signal-tower, but that was fading into a rain-cloud.
A shower was on my MyCast, and would soon hit.
“Ever been to ‘the Cut?’” a guy asked. He had just exited the adjacent Summerhill Social Club — I thought he was going to arrest us for parking in their parking-lot.
“No. But I think that’s private property,” I said.
“Well, yes it is. Some guy leased it and put up ‘No Trespassing’ signs.
I used to be the town highway warden, and we put up park benches and trashcans for the railfans.
But is got so messy we stopped.
People stop here all the time. You’re not the first.”
He then treaded gingerly across the tracks; that’s trespassing to Norfolk Southern.
Back to Cresson and Cresson Springs Family Restaurant for my usual Philly Cheese-Steak sandwich — a Curve trip tradition.
Cresson Springs Family Restaurant also gives a discount to Tunnel Inn customers.

DAY THREE: HOME
Home via mighty Weggers in Williamsport.
The Williamsport Weggers because it’s along the way.
The Canandaigua Weggers isn’t. We’ve done it, and it’s an out-of-the-way detour — through Watkins Glen, and over rural two-lanes.
It also delays getting our dog, boarded near Honeoye Falls.
But it’s mostly just a drag. So is the Williamsport Weggers, but not as much.
It’s different, but pretty much the same layout as every Weggers.
Williamsport is the Little-League capitol of the world; the Little-League World Series is held there every year.
The Williamsport Weggers reflects that. Miniature baseball-bats are the order separators on the checkout belts.
They’re also selling Nittany Lions paraphernalia. In Rochester it’s Buffalo Bills.
A Curve trip is about four-and-a-half hours.
Used to be about six, but now it’s nearly all four-lane limited-access expressway.
It was a-rainin’ that morning at Tunnel Inn. My MyCast weather-radar had green all over PA, with occasional splotches of yellow.
For those unfamiliar with weather-radar, green is rain or light rain; yellow a deluge.
Red is a downpour; dark red a gully-washer.
Red and dark red are usually only thunderstorm cells, or a hurricane.
We eat the muffins Tunnel Inn gives us for breakfast, usually outside on the observation-deck if it isn’t frigid.
I pointedly avoided going out on the observation-deck the night before to avoid a 45-minute yammering fest.
Feared the same thing might happen that morning, but all were in a group we could avoid.
My brother Jack would have been in glory.
Jack is a manager at a power-station for Boston; I think it burns coal or natural-gas.
A retired manager for Delaware Power & Light was holding court.
“A nuclear plant takes 10-12 years to go on line; a coal plant 9-10 years.
A lot of people are for wind power, but not-in-my-backyard.”
“They can put it in my backyard!” some guy shouted.
“The neighbors will object,” the retiree declared. “Ya can’t even build a cell-tower.”
My brother woulda loved it. He woulda barged right in.
“Nuclear power generation? I wrote a book about that. It’s in the Library-of-Congress. It’s titled ‘Nuclear Electrical Generation for Dummies.’”
It rained all the way through PA, especially near the Bald Eagle Mountain crossing — a downpour.
But blue skies appeared as we drove into NY.
Down-and-back; a surgical-strike. Down one day, one full day chasing trains, and then back on the third day.
Without train-chasing of any kind.
The imperative is to rescue our dog.
Usually a single day is all I can stand‚ a three-day vacation.
I’ve done longer vacations, but usually only one day at the mighty Curve is all I can take.
And that includes side-trips to other area train-watching sites.
“We’re retirees,” my wife observes; “but we need a vacation.”
....from the blizzard of errands and appointments, and continuous lawn-mowing.
Part of the reason vacations have to be short, is the lawn can get ahead of us.
Returned home, I noticed almost the whole lawn needed mowing; well over an acre.
“So where’s your wife?” I asked the Fostoria guy.
“At home. To her, my chasing trains with my son is a vacation.”
“So where’s your wife?” my wife asked old stone-face. “Back home. She thinks train-chasing is silly.”
“I’ve run across that,” I said.
“Some guy was at Tunnel Inn with his wife, who kept bad-mouthing his enthusiasm.
Take note, people,” I said, pointing at Linda behind me.
“I don’t understand it, but my wife accompanies me on all my train-chases. Not interested, but seems to wanna come along.”
“Didja have any idea this would happen?” old stone-face asked.
“You should admit you’re a railfan before marriage,” he declared.
“Beats chasing women,” Linda said.

• (All photos by the so-called “old guy” with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.)
• No footnotes for this — there would be too many — except “Linda” is my wife of 41+ years, “Jack” is my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, and “Brickyard” is a railroad crossing in Altoona over the old Pennsy’s ascent of The Hill. The road has another name, but the railroad-crossing is next to an abandoned brickyard.