Pennsy’s Allegheny Crossing in snow

Amtrak eastbound at Fostoria.

Four hours 37 minutes portal-to-portal.
That’s our garage to Tunnel Inn.
The trip was record short.
West Bloomfield to Gallitzin (“guh-LITT-zin”) usually takes about five hours.
No snow to speak of. All dry pavement and sunshine.
The infamous Steam Valley segment has been finally reengineered.
“Steam Valley” because the elevation is high enough to be in the misty clouds.
The northbound lanes, on the eastern side of the narrow valley, are late ‘60s, Interstate standards.
The southbound lanes, on the western side of the valley, were the old road, not up to Interstate standard.
Two lanes, but narrow and curving. —Some curves were posted for 45 mph.
Worst of all was the hillcrest, a blind left curve at the top, with gas-stations and a restaurant to the right.
You always had to do it in the passing lane, lest someone slow in front of you to access the gas-stations.
The passing lane was a blind curve left.
But last Fall they were working on bypassing the gas-stations.
And putting in new southbound lanes up to Interstate standard.
It’s open. Saves maybe five minutes, and extreme fright and intimidation.
“I guess the Steam Valley segment is finally open,” I said as we cruised through it.
No gas-stations, no blind curves.
We were up on the hillside. The old road, retired, was far below. Mostly it was filled over.
Linda was doing hand-finished quilting.
“This is really great,” she said. “At last I get to use all my scraps. No waste.
I just cut these scraps into hexagons.”
“In which case you’re left with scraps,” I said.
“So I cut the remaining scraps into smaller hexagons, and quilt them.”
“I which case you’re left with more scraps,” I said.
“So tiny I just throw ‘em out.”
“Cluttering the landfill,” I said.
Some people appreciate this kind of sick humor, but most don’t.
Thankfully I’m married to one who does.
No snow driving down, but it was obvious the Altoona area had been clobbered.
Gallitzin was even worse; Tunnel Inn was buried. The owner, Mike Kraynyak (“krane-YAK”) was trying to clean out.
His first challenge was blowing out his tiny parking-lot, with a snowblower.
The snow was at least two feet deep, maybe three feet. And heavy.
Some sort of mixup was in play. We thought we had been confirmed for the “MO Tower” suite, “MO Tower” being a lineside tower on the old Pennsy main across Pennsylvania now operated by Norfolk Southern.
The letters “MO” are telegraph code.
The tower may even still exist; at least “MO” is a crossover interlocking.
We even had a confirmation postcard.
But apparently it was sent before Mike had received our check; which he got at his Gallitzin post-office box the day before we arrived.
So he was never clear we were coming.
(Mike doesn’t live in Gallitzin.)
He had three suites not reserved. Two were two twin-beds each, and one was the Handicap suite downstairs. It had two queen-size beds.
I told him I preferred a Queen-size bed, but only the same rate as MO.
“Oh no problem,” he said.
Perhaps my train-calendar made the difference.
I had sent him one with my check.
Blew him away, as it did me, and many others.
“You should share that thing with others,” he said. “Maybe you could print me 100 or so, and I’d sell ‘em to patrons.
There’s so much crap around,” he observed.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I’ve sent some back.”
He’s thinking $10-$12 per calendar, but I don’t think Kodak can do it that low.
A single calendar costs me $19.95. Kodak discounts for quantity.
But probably not that low.
And to me, the fact my calendar is Kodak makes it a class act.
I don’t want to compromise.
“I’m not much of a businessman,” I said to Linda later. “If I knew that thing was in such high demand, I’d charge for it.”
After setting up camp, we set out for Horseshoe Curve, closed until April.
The parking-lot was unplowed, and a giant four-foot snow-berm was blocking the entrance.
We parked along the road, and I promptly sunk hip-deep in a snowdrift.
I had to unhand my camera, and fall over into the snow to escape.
Much as I wanted to reproduce my calendar cover-shot in snow, Horseshoe Curve was out.
It was probably three feet deep on the sidewalks, and the 194 steps up to the viewing-area were nearly obliterated.
Just climbing up there looked impossible, and we couldn’t even get in.
Next I drove to Brickyard Crossing.
Called that because a brickyard facility was nearby — the streetname is something else.
The parking area was under three feet of snow, so there was no place to park. Someone had tried to park there, and got stuck.
The embankment I liked to shoot from was under at least two feet of snow, another impossibility.
We gave up, turned around, and drove down to the infamous spaghetti-joint, Lena’s Cafè.
First supper out is always Lena’s; spaghetti with homemade marinara sauce and one meatball. Any more is too much.
We were back to Tunnel Inn by 6:15, so watched the TV-News.
Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”) arrived the next morning by 7:45 a.m. to begin chasing trains by 8.
Faudi is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona, PA, who supplies all-day train-chases for $125 (I’ve done two). —I did one two years ago, alone, and it blew my mind.
Railfan overload.
Did it on a Monday; worst day of the week. 20 trains.
Faudi has his rail-scanner along, tuned to 160.8, the Norfolk Southern operating channel, and knows the whereabouts of every train, as the engineers call out the signals, and various lineside defect-detectors fire off.
He knows each train by symbol, and knows all the back-roads, and how long it takes to get to various photo locations — and also what makes a successful photo — lighting, drama, etc.
“We don’t know how you can do this,” we said. “There is so much snow things look impossible.”
“The Curve is out, Brickyard is out, and my best photo in that calendar, Cassandra Railfan Overlook, is probably out too,” I said.
“Bridges are out too,” Faudi said. “Too much snow blocking the shooting areas, and the plow-berms might be so high they block photography.
Curved track might be out too. The only places I can think of we might get to are all tangent (straight) track.”
Off we went to Rose, where the railroad changes crews.
It’s east (north) of Altoona, but includes many running tracks, an inheritance of the old Pennsy.
A reprise of a vertical in my calendar, but better because of the snow.


Crew-change at Rose.

Somebody had snowblown a deep channel where the sidewalk was supposed to be but I had to sit down in it to avoid wires.
We then drove up to Fostoria Crossing, location of a six-target signal bridge.


Westbound at Fostoria.

The train is on Track Two, westbound. Track One is eastbound, and next to it is a siding.
All tracks can be run either way, which is why there are six signals; targets.
A signal for each track, either direction; two signals per track.
After that we drove up to Tyrone (“tie-RONE”), where the railroad turns east through a notch.


Westbound at Tyrone, past the old station.

Tyrone is an old Pennsy station; visible in the picture.
Tyrone is also a junction with the old Pennsy Bald Eagle branch up Bald Eagle valley toward Williamsport.
The branch is now a shortline, but I think Norfolk Southern has trackage-rights. It’s built to the hilt, and I saw an NS coal train on it once. It appeared to be a unit-train for a power-station.
We also went to Plummer’s Crossing, a very rural road-crossing not far east of Tyrone.
It was the only place Faudi’s car couldn’t negotiate; a front-wheel-drive Buick. It spun its drive-wheels trying to climb the hump to the tracks, so we gave up and backed down.
Such a hump needed All-Wheel-Drive — our Honda CR-V, the car we drove down in, is All-Wheel-Drive.
We then returned to Gallitzin, and didn’t try accessing the eastern portals of the tunnels. The dirt-track was plowed, but would have needed a Jeep.
My brother Jack from Boston, the overconfident blowhard who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, would have tried it, and promptly got stuck.
We had taken along our coal-shovel, and Faudi had his own shovel, but we never got stuck.
But of course, we were avoiding the impossible.
After a short break at Tunnel Inn to recharge my camera, which may have been left on all night, we headed west on the Western Slope, first to Cresson (“KRESS-in”).
At Cresson we accessed their railfan platform, a place I usually avoid because it’s too sunny with a poor view.


Eastbound at Cresson, snow flying.

Cresson is where the railroad services its helper-sets, and you can see that facility across the tracks from the viewing platform.
The train pictured is eastbound, up The Hill, on Track One, kicking up a trail of snow.
Smashingly successful, at a place I usually avoid, because of all that blowing snow. The only thing wrong with that picture is that evergreen to the left.


Eastbound at Portage, on Track One.

Farther west we stopped at Portage, and set up inside a running track to a coal tipple. It isn’t a mainline track, but near the switch from the mainline.
Clambering up to it, over snow-berms, was a struggle, mostly on hands-and-knees. That way I wasn’t sinking hip-deep in snow.
Looking at it, I wondered if it’s the original Pennsy alignment prior to realignment bypassing Cassandra — a straighter approach to the summit.
We then went down to Summerhill, and shot the westbound trash-train coming under the signal-bridge in a snow-squall.
The trash-train is a daily occurrence; carrying trash in purple containers. Westbound loaded, eastbound empty.


Westbound trash-train at Summerhill, on Track Three.

As you can see, the signal lights are on. They always are with these signals.
It’s shot from an overpass, but the snowbanks were low enough I could shoot over them.
The two targets looking west are up high to be visible to eastbound train crews over the overpass.
We then drove up to Lilly, where I once caught a double with Faudi off a highway overpass.
A double is two trains in the same shot.
Instead of that overpass, we went down to the west end of a street paralleling the railroad.
I’ve always wanted to try it, but had to climb an eight-foot snowpile to do it.
Poor footing merges with poor balance and weakness getting up.
I slipped and tumbled head-over-heels down the snowpile.
“Oh Bob, are you all right?” Faudi cried.
“Of course,” I said, and got back up.
“I’m gettin’ that picture no matter what!”
Back up on the snowpile, a berm left by a plow.
These falls always look more dramatic than they really are. I always end up on my back.
“Wanna go back to that overpass?” Faudi asked.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I prefer this place, and we’ve never shot here.”
—I got the shot (pictured below); my best picture. The sun had parted the scudding clouds.


My best shot, eastbound stacker up The Hill on Track One at Lilly.

By then our light was fading, but off to Brickyard.
Faudi parked next to a gate, which was locked shut, and it was Saturday. “Nobody’s workin’ here today.”
I hiked a short distance up to trackside, well clear of the tracks, and crossing gates.
It was the Faudi wisdom at work. Good shots at plowed out railroad crossings, often from snowpiles. The usual shooting locations were snowed under.


Almost sundown. (The ethanol train; all tankcars except the buffer-cars at each end.)

Waited about 5-10 minutes, then WHAM, the westbound ethanol train up on Track Three; one of many trains running late due to various maladies, like snow blocking the grade-crossings. You have to hope a heavy locomotive wouldn’t derail at an ice-clogged road crossing. It’s happened.
We would miss nearly all the delayed trains due to fading light. Which of course drove poor Faudi nuts. “In June we’d get ‘em all.”
They started going by after we returned to Tunnel Inn; 5-6 trains running late.
One track was blocked by a train crippled by a frozen airline.


“Shovels are coming!” Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian on Track One in the Altoona station.

Our final drama was Amtrak’s westbound “Pennsylvanian,” into Altoona station on Track One because Two was out of service.
Track One isn’t the station platform, and was separated by an unshoveled snowpile.
Passengers couldn’t detrain because of that unshoveled snowpile, and the station didn’t have any shovels.
Angry banter ensued on the radio: “Cancha just back us onto Track Two next to the station so these passengers could at least get off?” the train conductor asked.
Finally, “shovels are coming.” Perhaps the stationmaster had gone to a nearby hardware.
“This makes Amtrak look very bad,” Faudi said.
“And our national leaders wanna put in ‘Fast-rail,’” Linda said.
“Just dump ‘em in the snowpile,” she said. “Just like railroad mail-sacks from long ago. Wheelchair and all; on-the-fly!”

Back to reality!
....and our beloved dog.
Four hours, 45 minutes. A Curve trip is becoming a yo-yo.
Two widdle stops, one the Williamsport Weggers, and the second a roadside state rest-facility north of Bath.
The sky looked ominous as we started out, and roads were snow-covered.
But about 10 miles north of Altoona, all become dry.
Gallitzin is like running the rapids in Grand Canyon.
Most streets are very narrow, many only one lane wide.
Many are one-way, but some aren’t.
Streets were plowed, but lined with 8-12 foot high snow berms. —Which narrows the street.
If anyone dared approach on a two-way street, someone had to get off — driveway, etc.
Kraynyak did well to clear his parking-lot with a snowblower — a plow woulda reduced it by half. It only holds about four cars; the Inn’s capacity.
The worst thing about these forays is boarding our dog.
It’s a really nice place with wonderful people, but our dog has become extremely attached.
I walked the dog into her chicken-wire boarding kennel, and then walked back out leaving the dog inside.
I was greeted by a whimpering dog: “Hey, what’s the big idea? I’m in here, and you’re out there. WHIMPER!”
“Back to reality” because:
—1) As a stroke-survivor things are rather messy.
Compromised balance, and a tendency to drop things.
On a trip it can’t happen much, but at home it does.
—2) I was greeted by the usual madness at home.
We plugged our TV back in, and it smoked.
Sound, but no picture.
The videotape Faudi gave me couldn’t be played.
I can play it, but no picture.
Our TV is an old CRT screen, not a flat-screen; about 7-10 years old, or even older.
Looks like it will hafta be replaced.
But not by much.
TV is not a priority in our house, not with ‘pyooters to entertain.
Our ‘pyooters are where the money is, although my display isn’t very large.
Too big it’s not entirely viewable two feet from the screen.


The view at Rose from the 8th-St. bridge. (The train at right has had its crew changed, and will soon restart.)


This thing better not derail. (Yrs Trly atop the snowbank at Lilly.)

• All photos by BobbaLew (except the last, which is by my wife).
• “Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Williamsport.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.