This morning’s dream

Fishbowl. (Not RTS.)

This morning’s dream (August 31, 2010) was about driving transit bus for the first time in 17 years.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs.
My stroke was almost 17 years ago. It ended my career driving bus.
It was fun at first, but I was tiring of it.
I could minimize my driving hours, and thereby minimize exposure to the clientele.
The clientele was the worst part. They could be rancorous and cantankerous.
The job was always a bucking bronco to avoid getting mugged.
And Transit management was always complicit. If you got mugged, it was your fault.
Assistance was always too many minutes away, and Transit wanted to keep out the Police.
And placate the miscreants.
Too far to counter a mugging.
I had a passenger try to strangle me; and I had a lady bop me over the head with her umbrella.
We bus-drivers had a rule management never heard about, although I’m sure they were aware of it.
It was DON’T GET SHOT!
We probably collected less in valid fares because of that, but management seemed to go along with that.
Spies would blow us in for accepting an invalid fare, we’d get called on the carpet, but nothing came of it.
What mattered was not rocking the boat.
Avoid violence, which would involve (GASP) calling in management.
It was possible to avoid this by picking Park-and-Rides; express runs from suburbs, or the hinterlands.
It avoided the city, where the rancorous clientele was prevalent.
The clientele was better on Park-and-Rides; working stiffs avoiding an auto commute.
And avoiding parking in the city, which was expensive.
Driving bus also involved skill — they were large vehicles.
I remember stroking the brake-pedal to get braking action.
On top of that was defensive driving; avoiding accidents.
You always found yourself cutting slack for the Mario Andretti wannabees.
And the NASCAR wannabees.
You were always driving the back end, which was 33 feet behind.
It followed inside of where the front-end went. You had to put a swing on all turns to make sure the back end didn’t clip things; e.g. cars, curbs, and telephone poles.
It’s not like that with a car, which is short enough to not pay attention to the rear.
This all came back, even 17 years later.
I was driving one of our old 600-series fish-bowls (pictured above), a bus RTS no longer has.
They were scrapped years ago, I think during my employ.
The Yard was more challenging than I remember it.
The Barns were being expanded, and concrete pilings were in the way.
I had to drive around the pilings, which included 90 degree turns.
The Yard was also snow-covered, and massively drifted in.
But a bus could drive through most anything; it was all that motor-weight over the drive-wheels.
I arrowed my bus into a three-foot drift, and drove right through it.
You could never do that with a car.
In the morning when we pulled in, we’d stop next to the Wash-Building, where a “bus-placer” would tell us where to park.
I had written the bus up for some minor thing, so was told to park on Lane Six.
I drove behind the Barns, but into a barricade.
They were building something, so Lane Six was inaccessible.
I managed to get turned around without backing, and stopped at the bus-placer again.
“Lane Two or Three,” I was told.
“Can’t do it,” I said.
As usual the left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing. (The barricade was not visible to the bus-placer.)
“Okay, Lane 13 or 14,” he said.
Which meant my write-up wouldn’t get looked into.
It was only a “check” anyway.
13 and 14 weren’t mechanic lanes.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester.
• “The Yard” was a large paved area outside where buses congregated before leaving, or could be parked.
• “The Barns” are at 1372 East Main St. in Rochester, somewhat from downtown. The Barns were large sheds the buses were parked inside. Regional Transit’s operations were conducted in buildings adjacent to the Barns.

Things not said

Yesterday (Friday, August 27, 2010) I visited a nearby bank branch to close out our 20-year-old home-equity line-of-credit.
Not local. We have our checking-account with George’s bank, and are quite happy with it.
For some unfathomable reason a couple months ago this bank changed the address on our account to Route 65, Canandaigua instead of Route 65, Bloomfield.
I doubt George’s bank would have done that.
Route 65 is nowhere near Canandaigua.
But it’s not a local bank.
So how would they know?
I noticed we did not get a July statement, so I queried the bank.
“Is Route 65 in Canandaigua?” I was asked.
“Never in a million years,” I answered.
We changed the address back to Bloomfield.
August came; still no statement.
“Since I can’t seem to get a statement out of you guys,” I said; “we decided to close the account.”
“Do you have time to see why you’re not getting statements?” the kindly lady asked.
I sat quietly with my hands folded while she called headquarters.
Minutes passed. I twiddled my thumbs.
“The reason you’re not getting statements is because they’ve been returned. They have a Canandaigua address.”
“We changed that last month,” I said.
“Yes, here at the branch, but apparently not at headquarters.”
-Not said: “Left hand doesn’t know what right hand is doing. I thought you changed it in the system.”
-Said: “Whatever; we don’t need it, so we’ll close it.”
-Not said: “Sounds like ya don’t want our business,”
-Said: “I need the balance to close.”
-Not said: “This is silly! I never initiated that address-change. That was your mistake. And now ya can’t correct it.”
-Bank lady: “Would you like us to mail those statements to your Bloomfield address for your records?”
-Said: “Yes.”
-Not said: “If you can......” (We’ll be watching.)
—What happens next year at tax-time? The bank’s statement of my total interest paid gets returned to them as undeliverable?

• “George’s bank” is Canandaigua National Bank, based in Canandaigua. Its president is George Hamlin. —”Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• We live in the rural town of West Bloomfield, but our mailing address is “Bloomfield,” which is to the east of where we live.

So much for Strong Hospital and their vaunted hot-spot

The other day (Thursday, August 26, 2010) we had a medical appointment at Strong Hospital.
Strong is a hot-spot, so I took along this here Apple MacBook Pro laptop.
Okay, fire up as soon as we get there.
No hospital network query.
Okay, same as at Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin”), PA, also a hot-spot.
Tunnel Inn is the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in the Altoona area, location of Horseshoe Curve, by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to.
Fire up Internet, FireFox.
“There they all are,” I say. All my Internet-tabs appeared. I was getting Internet. (Ain’t technology wonderful?)
Okay, set about keying in stuff, some of which includes links and web addresses.
To do so, I hafta have Internet; that’s how I get the addresses.
I go to my PhotoBucket tab to get a picture address.
I get the address, but only about one-fifth of the picture is displaying.
I hit my Google search tab; Google basic search.
Text, but no art.
The famous Google moniker is not displaying.
I paste something in.
Hits, but nothing happens when clicked.
I try my e-mail, through RoadRunner’s web-mail.
Three e-mails; I click one, and there it is.
I click back to new e-mails (those remaining unread), and nothing happens.
We seem stuck at the e-mail I first opened.
“How do I get outta this? I don’t wanna delete.”
I try “junk,” and that displays.
Back to new e-mails, and there they are.
I try my family’s web-site tab, and see my sister in Fort Lauderdale has responded to my recent post.
I click her response: nothing.
Back to Google, an image-search.
Still no moniker.
I type in the search, and again nothing.
“Well, I don’t have all day,” I say.
Wait long enough, and things eventually happen.
“Guess I’ll just key in what I already wrote.”
After that I shut off my machine and read magazines.
So much for Strong and their vaunted hot-spot.
I’ll Internet back home.

• “Strong Hospital” is a large hospital in Rochester’s south.
• “Hot-spot” equals wireless Internet.
• “PhotoBucket” is a place I store image-files of pictures; displayed by a web-address.
• “RoadRunner” (Time Warner) is our Internet Service Provider (ISP) via cable. My e-mail is also via RoadRunner.

State Route 19

The road south out of nearby Houghton College (“HO-tin;” as in “oh,” not “how” or “who”), State Route 19, is open and inviting.
In the ‘60s I attended Houghton and graduated in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated as somewhat of a ne’er-do-well, without their blessing.
Houghton is a religious liberal arts college.
Route 19 was straight and flat, a wide concrete two-lane.
I remember driving a friend’s 1964 383 four-speed full-size Plymouth coupe south out of town.
It was red.
We were quickly up to 120 mph — on the clock.
I backed off. I hadn’t intended to drive that fast.
Route 19 went straight a long way before finally arcing southeast toward Caneadea (“Kan-ee-ya-DEE-yuh”).
That road was also the kind I loved to encounter driving Park-and-Ride bus.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
My most pleasant rides were Park-and-Rides into the hinterlands; e.g. Hamlin and East Avon (“AH-vahn;” not the cosmetic).
In from East Avon included 5&20 and 15A, way more interesting than a city street.
Another was 31 to Newark.
And driving bus was no fun unless you could put the hammer down at least once per day, 60-65 mph on the expressway.
With Park-and-Rides you usually could.
I-490 or 390 into Rochester. Head for the passing-lane, and pedal-to-the-metal.
19 goes south all the way to Wellsville, and north to Fillmore, the next town north of Houghton.
There the road became State Route 19A to Letchworth Park.
We’re following the Genesee River, the Genesee valley, the first bread-basket of our nation.
Before his ’64 Plymouth my friend owned a 300 series Chrysler, probably a 300F.
He took it off Route 19 into what he thought was a ditch.
Actually, it was the bed of the abandoned Genesee Valley Canal.
That canal connected with the Erie in Rochester, and shipped wheat north.
Which is why Rochester was at first called “the flour city.”

• “383” cubic-inches engine displacement (fairly large); “four-speed” standard transmission.
• RE: “On the clock” means on the speedometer, and they were imprecise at the time; usually reading fast.
• “Hamlin,” a small rural town, was far west of Rochester, over an hour away.
• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live. 15A is a parallel adjunct of what used to be U.S. Route 15, the main highway into Rochester from the south. (15A was a state highway. as Route 15 now is.) —U.S. Route 15 was replaced by Interstate 390, the main interstate into Rochester from the south. Interstate 490 is/are the interstate expressways into Rochester from the NY State Thruway, south of Rochester. 490 comes in from both the west and east.
• “Newark,” NY is a fairly substantial rural town. (State Route 31, a west-east highway, goes through it.)
• “Wellsville” is just north of the PA border.
• “Letchworth Park” is where the Genesee River carves through a high rock-walled canyon. It’s a state park.

Monkeyshines

The other night (Sunday, August 22, 2010) I fired up Facebook.
Probably for the first time in over a week, since that’s about all I ever look at it.
Which is apparently more than many of my Facebook “friends.” —My aunt in south Jersey has only one “friend,” my brother, who set up her Facebook.
Probably the record.
My intent was to delete a slew of Facebook “notes.”
All my notes are blog-links; sometimes MPNnow, but mostly BlogSpot.
MPNnow and BlogSpot get pretty much the same blog; only explaining footnotes added for BlogSpot’s wider audience.
As you know, I blog something most every day, so my Facebook notes were piling up.
Every time I fire up Facebook, it’s slightly different.
Lessee, “view notes;” hmmmnnnnnn, no delete.
Where’s my note list?
There’s always some tiny hidden link on here, but I don’t see it.
Try this, try that; nothing.
I poke around; I’m getting nowhere.
My wife walks in.
“Must be they decided to end the delete-note option. Probably no one was doing it.”
“Great. I got 89 bazilyun notes, and I can’t get rid of ‘em,” I say.
This ain’t the first time Facebook has shoved something down my throat. My even having a Facebook is thanks to a fast one on their part.
Finally I see an “edit-note” option; it has “delete.”
“Ya mean I gotta fire up each and every note to delete it?
This ain’t the way it was last time!”
That Facebook is always dorking around with things.
They can’t leave well enough alone.
It’s different each time I open it.

• “MPNnow” is the Messenger Post Newspapers’ web-site. I post pretty much the same blogs on it. (It has a blog page).) —For almost ten years I worked at Messenger Post Newspapers, mainly the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.) The Post newspapers are (were) suburban weekly newspapers around Rochester bought by the Messenger when their publisher retired.
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.” Like me she’s retired, but she worked part-time at the West Bloomfield post-office. She retired as a computer programmer. She no longer works at the post-office.

They WERE bus-drivers

The third table. (That’s the Lodge behind.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Yesterday (Saturday, August 21, 2010) we attended the annual Alumni picnic at Hazelwood Lodge in Ellison Park near Rochester.
The so-called “Alumni” are the union retirees (Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union [“What’s ‘ah-two?’”]) of Regional Transit Service in Rochester, NY.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs.
The Alumni was a reaction to the fact Transit management retirees ran roughshod over union retirees — a continuation of the bad vibes at Transit, management versus union.
Transit had a club for long-time employees, and I was in it. It was called the “15/25-year Club;” I guess at first the “25-year Club.” But they lowered the employment requirement, and renamed it “15/25-year Club.” The employment requirement was lowered even more; I joined at 10 years.
My employ there ended in 1993 with my stroke; and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then. The Alumni is a special club — you have to join.
Every summer the Alumni hold an annual picnic.
It seems to have replaced the annual Transit picnic, which included both management and union people.
I attended it once long ago.
I attend these Alumni shindigs, even though I sorta don’t fit, since I too drove bus.
It’s always pleasant to see people I used to work with.
After our long trip to the picnic site, about 45 minutes, we got out of our van and leashed our dog.
“What’s all that yelling?” my wife asked.
A torrent of noisy yelling and bellowing was emanating the Lodge area, about 75 yards away.
“Well, they were bus-drivers,” I said.
The job made us that way.
I walked up to the Lodge, and was heartily greeted.
“Please sign in,” signs said.
“Okay, where’s the sign-in book?” I asked.
“Over here.” I was directed to another table.
“I don’t see no sign-in book,” I said.
“Inside,” I was told.
I walked inside the near-empty Lodge.
Covered dishes of macaroni salad and potato salad were on picnic tables, attracting flies.
Still no sign-in book.
“Out at the greeting table,” I was told.
Back to Square One.
“So where’s this sign-in book?” I asked. “I keep getting told to sign in, yet I don’t see no book.”
“Over there,” I was told.
Over to a third table. Still no sign-in book.
“Back at the greeting table,” I was told.
Back to Square One.
“Looks like if I don’t sign in, all Hell will break loose.”
Back to that third table.
“It looks like I’ve finally found the elusive sign-in book” (under a pile of papers).
I signed in, staving off Armageddon, engaging sweetness and light.
We thereafter disappeared.
Ellison Park, after all, is a park, a place to walk our dog.
There’s just one problem.
Lots of other dogs use it, and our dog is not very well socialized.
We have to keep her away from other dogs, lest she go into fighting mode.
We hiked a trail that disappeared into heavy undergrowth, but then crossed a bridge over a creek into a main trail.
Mosquitos galore; more than at Boughton Park (“BOW-tin;” as in “wow”), where we usually walk our dog.
Walking down a wooded trail, a young puppy was coming the other way.
We got off to the side.
But young puppy would have none of it, dragging her young leash-girl toward our dog.
All-of-a-sudden roar-snarl!
The poor girl was knocked to the ground.
“Here, Tabatha. Are you all right?”
Her knees were covered with dirt.
“We’re sorry,” everyone was saying, including us.
“It’s our dog,” we said. “She can be that way.”
That was encounter number one.
Number two was a loose dog, unleashed.
We can try to avoid, but here comes the dog.
Again roar-snarl!
And “We’re sorry.”
Other dog-encounters occurred during our walk, but we managed to avoid dog-fights.
One was two loose dogs.
“You’ll be sorry, Tex.”
“We tell them to stay away, but where do they go?” a lady said.
More dogs.
We diverted into a large pasture.
“Hopefully these bushes will keep them from seeing each other.”
“What a beautiful dog,” someone said, referring to our Irish-Setter.
”But a snapper,” I said.
“She doesn’t like strange dogs getting in her face,” my wife said.
“At our other park (Boughton Park), she knows all the other dogs. No angry encounters.
By then we returned to Hazelwood Lodge, after skirting a pavilion birthday-party with booming rap-music. Boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka, with resonant F-bombs galore.
“I gotta use the rest-rooms,” I said.
I hiked up to ‘em, but they all appeared to be locked.
There were six; three per side.
And they were unisex.
But they were all locked open.
I tried one, but it apparently was occupied, locked inside.
I found an open door, but no lock inside.
“Ya’ll hafta guard the door,” I said to my wife.
“Any hot-dogs?” I asked the guy cooking things over an outdoor grill.
“Sure,” he said, uncovering a pan.
I pointed to our dog.
“It’s pretty hot,” my wife said. “I’ll have to cool it.”
Finally chomp! “That hot-dog was for me!”
“They got potato salad inside,” I said to my wife.
“But I don’t wanna go in there,” my wife said. “I’d be alone.”
I’d hafta hang onto the dog while she went inside.
“Well, I guess we oughta get outta here,” I said.
We’d been there about two hours, enough to jaw with a few people, and walk our dog.
We drifted toward the parking-lot; no goodbyes or strident histrionics.
I’m sort of a misfit at these shindigs; was as a bus-driver too.
Plus my stroke may have something to do with it. I tend to avoid talking to people.
“Is that Stitt?” I asked, pointing out Terry Stitt.
“He finally retired, after 40-some years.”

• ”Ellison Park” is a large county park east of Rochester.
• “What’s ‘ah-two?’” is something my mother asked seeing my ATU (Amalgamated Transit Union) button.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”
• “Boughton Park” is where I run and we walk our dog. It’s a nearby town park.

Not United Parcel Service

We have purchased a U.P.S. (pictured at left).
That’s Uninterrupted-Power-Source, not United Parcel Service, as we thought at first.
I got sick-and-tired of fully reprogramming our video-recorder (DVR) every time the electricity went.
We have a stand-by generator (pictured below), but it delays 20 seconds before kicking on.
Which is just long enough for our video-recorder to lose all its settings.
Including its clock.
Not that I minded that much.
Fully reprogramming was about 15 minutes, a process I did two or three times last summer.
This summer every thunderstorm has knocked out the electricity; often for only a second or two.
Which is just long enough to lunch the video-recorder.

So far, about eight-nine times this summer.
This computer is not on battery backup yet.
I don’t feel it needs to be.
It’s a laptop, and can be battery powered.
What irks me is the nearby RoadRunner substation also loses electricity during a thunderstorm.
It seems that RoadRunner substation doesn’t have a stand-by generator.
So when the substation gets zapped, I lose my Internet.
I’m thinking of switching to cellphone Internet for that reason.
The cell-towers seem to have stand-by generators.

• “We” is me and my wife of 42+ years, “Linda.”
• “RoadRunner” (of Rochester) is my Internet-Service-Provider, by cable.

Eye-Care exam

“It appears an entire year has passed, and I see no changes,” said Dawn Pisello, O.D., my eye doctor at Canandaigua’s Eye-Care Center.
“That’s debatable,” I said. “That floater in my left eye is a little more intense, and it seems I hafta use a magnifying-glass a little more.”
“Your cataracts, which are very slight, and don’t effect your vision, are unchanged, there’s no macular degeneration, and your retinas are fully attached.”
“I also am the only one in my high-school class not using bifocals, and I graduated in 1962.
I haven’t felt need for ‘em yet, so I keep holdin’ out.
Bifocals are like a walker. Use ‘em, and ya end up needin’ ‘em.”
It was my annual eye checkup at Canandaigua’s Eye-Care Center.
I could do it cheaper, but......
—1) Doing so is a trip into Rochester. Eye-Care Center is nearby.
—2) A while ago I had a retinal tear lasered shut.
My eye-doctor was Heidi Piper, M.D., a graduate of nearby Houghton College (“HO-tin;” as in “oh”).
I could tell. Ms. Piper had her feet solidly on the ground, very professional and caring.
I too am a graduate of Houghton College; 1966. Ms. Piper graduated in 1987.
Houghton seems to turn out professionals, people who have their feet on the ground; not elitists.
The Executive Editor at the Mighty Mezz during my employ, Robert Matson. was a Houghton grad.
So is the current Entertainment Editor, L. David Wheeler.
Both are class-acts.
Every time I visit the Eye-Care Center I’m amazed at their clientele.
They all seem old and decrepit.
A lady in her 50s wheeled in her mother.
“She can’t leave the wheelchair,” she shouted.
They had arrived in a Wayne County wheelchair bus.
A gentleman in his late 50s commented to relatives he and his wife were considering moving into a 55+ adult-care center in PA.
“I’m 66,” I was tempted to say; “and I ain’t leavin’ my house!”
Have people start doing things for you, and ya’ll get so ya can’t do anything.
I was directed into a darkened room to await pupil dilation.
A 350-pound Big Momma in a motorized chair was called.
Slowly she followed with her chair. Whirr-bump, Whirr-bump, Whirr.
“Look out!” I thought. “Ya don’t wanna get run over.”
A grandpop roared next to me in a motorized chair at the speed of light. He had full oxygen regalia.
Another woman about 250 pounds was called.
She had a walker.
Slowly she waddled toward the examination room.
Lift walker, put walker down, advance two feet. Lift walker, put walker down, advance two feet.
About seven seconds for each advance.
The attending clerk had to wait.
My wife’s mother is 94.
“No walkers,” she says. “Start usin’ one, and soon ya can’t walk.”
So I go to Canandaigua’s Eye-Care Center.
It’s that Piper lady.
She’s like my appliance repairman.
She gets the job done right.
It’s all about service to people, which Houghton seems to engender.

• “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.
• Houghton College in western New York is from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it, although I graduated as a Ne’er-do-Well, without their blessing. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had.
• “Wayne County” is the county north of the one we live in, Ontario County. It’s just east of Monroe County, the county Rochester is in.

I was the only entrant in that class

Yrs Trly has won an award (pictured above).
First-in-class (age 65-69) in the Riesling 5K footrace Saturday, August 14.
“What this tells me,” I said to my wife; “is that I was to only entrant in that class. 45:48 for a 5K is dreadfully slow.”
I know for a fact there’s a guy in his 70s much faster than me.
He’s not carrying 50 pounds of excess avoirdupois.
“15 bucks at Medved,” I said. “I haven’t patronized Medved since I started ordering running-shoes online.
And I used to always shop at Medved. I hafta order shoes smaller than standard, and one time they were too small, which they ate.”
“Well, maybe you could buy running-socks,” my wife suggested. “You’re running out of running-socks.”
I’ve been running for years.
I only still do because I can.
“These 66-year-old knees are still letting me,” I always say.
But winning an award is a joke.
I had long ago left when those awards were handed out.
The award came in the mail.
My wife did that years ago when we ran footraces in Rochester.
She’d be the only one in her class, so won an award most every race.
One time she even won first-female.

• The “Riesling 5K footrace” was sponsored by the Canandaigua YMCA, where I work out. Five kilometers equals 3.1 miles. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.) —Wine made from Riesling grapes. (There was a festival.)
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”

The bus-driving game

The job of driving bus was foremost a game.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs.
My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
It was possible to -A) minimize contact with our rancorous, cantankerous clientele, or improve it, and/or -B) minimize our time carrying passengers, while at the same time maximizing our pay.
During my employ we picked runs three times per year, usually —1) at the beginning of the school-term (September), —2) New Years, and —3) the beginning of Summer, when school was out.
The Bus-Company would post run-guides, per schedule, and we picked by seniority; that is, those with the most years service picked first.
I always preferred —A) Park-and-Rides, and —B) school work.
(Regional Transit provides service to schools with regular city buses, usually over established bus-lines.)
The clientele on a Park-and-Ride was better than city runs.
Plus there was always the possibility a Park-and-Ride included deadheading; driving your bus without passengers.
We were paid for the time we drove bus, i.e. we were on duty, not just for when we collected fares.
I remember three deadhead moves:
—1) Out to Eastview Mall over Interstate-490.
—2) To East Avon over I-390.
And my longest was:
—3) All the way to Hamlin, which took over an hour.
That was an hour’s pay for just driving empty out to Hamlin.
I also had a late afternoon pull-in from Hamlin, but that was in the schedule.
I rarely had passengers, but could.
School work I only drove in morning, when the kids were too sleepy to be troublesome.
We were guaranteed eight hours of pay per day, no matter what.
If school were closed due to weather, or winter-break, for example, my school-work was canceled, yet I still got eight hours of pay (guaranteed).
My goal was to schedule all school-work in the morning, so if school was off, I might only drive five hours that afternoon, yet collect eight hours of pay.
The other goal was to minimize your driving hours.
E.g. Seven hours of actual bus-driving, for which I got paid eight.
I suppose the Bus-Company factored all this in deciding our pay-rate.
More precisely, the pay-rate proposal. Our pay-rate was negotiated by our bus-union, Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union (“What’s ‘Ah-Two?’”).
—Factored in by default. Bus-service and maintenance might cost so much. The pay-rate had to be what could be afforded.
That included all on-duty time, which includes time we weren’t collecting fares.
Driving bus was fun as long as I could play the game.
To do so you had to live near the bus-barns.
For years I lived in Rochester, about five minutes from the Barns.
When we moved to West Bloomfield I was 45 minutes from the Barns; I could no longer play the game.
I had to drive city-runs, which exposed me more to our clientele, who could be difficult.
Among bus-drivers, we used to have three rules. They were —1) Show up, —2) Don’t hit anything, and —3) Keep your hands outta the farebox.
We bus-drivers had a fourth rule management never heard about. It was DON’T GET SHOT!
Park-and-Rides also became impossible, and the greatest joy to a Park-and-Ride was putting the hammer down.
I used to say driving bus wasn’t fun unless you could put the hammer down at least once per day; hammer-down meaning 60-65 mph on the expressway.
That morning trip from Hamlin was an express trip. I’d pick up all the way to the Latta Road ramp onto I-390, and then hammer down in the passing lane all the way into Rochester.
Another great hammer-down trip was in from East Rochester/Fairport on I-490, and shooting the Old Can.
So when playing the game I used to analyze every available run for —1) maximum pay per actual driving hours, and/or —2) minimal exposure to our clientele.

• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester.
• “Eastview Mall” is a large shopping-mall southeast of Rochester. “East Avon” was a tiny crossroads west of the rural town of Avon (“AH-von;” not the makeup supplier). East Avon had a shopping plaza I could turn my bus in. —Both were Park-and-Ride endpoints, as was Avon, although I never drove it.
• “Interstate-490” and “Interstate-390” are both four-lane interstate expressways into Rochester, 490 from the east and the NY state Thruway, and 390 the main interstate from the south.
• “Hamlin” was a small rural town far west of Rochester.
• “What’s ‘ah-two?’” is something my mother asked seeing my ATU (Amalgamated Transit Union) button.
• “The Barns” are at 1372 East Main St. in Rochester. The Barns were large sheds the buses were parked inside. Regional Transit’s operations were conducted in buildings adjacent to the Barns.
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• “Latta Road” (“LAH-duh”) is a two-lane road north of Rochester, heading west. It intersected with I-390, which at that point headed south, then east, then south. I took I-390 to where it intersected with I-490 from the west, then I-490 into Rochester.
• RE: “Can.....” —The Can-of-Worms (so-called) was an old expressway interchange southeast of Rochester, built in the ‘60s. It was difficult to get through. The “Can” was reconfigured a while ago (Old Can and New Can), taking out little-used railroad trackage, making it much easier to negotiate. There were various tricks to “shooting the Old Can” with a bus. Most difficult was a lane change smack in the middle of the Old Can.

Thank ya Gates

Last night (Sunday, August 15, 2010) I fired up good old Microsoft Word® on this here computer.
Of course it’s Word for Mac, the Apple Macintosh computer. I drive an Apple MacBook Pro laptop.
I got it as part of Microsoft Office®. It includes Excel and PowerPoint and other glitzy apps.
It replaced my Word and Excel98, both classic applications that won’t work under the OS-X on this computer; Snow-Leopard, which no longer has Classic-mode.
I hardly use it.
I only use it to make envelopes and labels, and do case-change.
There were other Word-tricks I used to do with it at the Mighty Mezz, sort and convert-to-table.
But I haven’t needed to do that since I retired.
I use iWork “Pages” as my word-processor. I’m using it now.
I tried Word some time ago, and it punished the sloppy keyboarding of a stroke-survivor.
It slammed you into the ozone if you hit a hot-key by mistake.
Worse yet was vaporizing everything I had just done.
AppleWorks was friendlier, the word-processor we used at the Messenger during my employ.
AppleWorks no longer exists, replaced by iWork I guess.
It too is friendlier.
It doesn’t punish a stroke-survivor.
So I fired up Word to do an envelope.
Envelope completed, I hit Command-Q, quit Word.
Nothing.
I mouse the menu; quit is grayed out.
Now what! Have I gotta force-quit Word?
With OS-X you can do that.
You don’t have to pull the plug.
“Sure is ironic I gotta force-quit Word,” I think.
I’ve been noisily told Word is the Alpha and Omega.
“Thank ya Gates,” I think.
I never have to force-quit Pages.

• “Word98 and Excel98” only worked under an earlier Apple operating system, e.g. 9.2 in my case. The version of OS-X I had, “Tiger,” had a 9.2 buried in it; classic-mode. —More recent versions of OS-X, e.g. Snow-Leopard, no longer have “classic-mode.”
• “Case-change” is to change the case of letters, e.g. all lower-case to all upper-case. Word can do this. There are other case-change functions, e.g. Title-Case and Sentence-Case.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• The ones telling me Microsoft is superior are my siblings, all PC users. Since I use a MAC, I’m of-the-Devil.
• “Gates “ is Bill Gates, head-honcho of Microsoft. MAC users always say Microsoft is inferior. (Don’t know as it is.....)

The Art of Manipulation

“He ain’t doin’ that if I can help it,” a girl shouted.
I was in the stretching-area of the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym.
Two girls were talking with three guys.
They all seemed like FLCC students.
One guy was doing most of the talking.
He seemed nervous, but was doing fine.
The girl was a little cutie. She reminded me of the Bachelorette.
“You should see this guy,” the guy said. “He wants to buy a motorcycle or a jet-ski, and zeroes in on a motorcycle.
He stabs around.
‘Dude, do you even know how to start this thing?’ I asked.”
“He’s your boyfriend,” the other girl says to cutie.
This is not the way I started motorcycling.
My motorcycling was started by Robert Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” in the late ‘70s.
I still think it’s the most important book I ever read.
It put my feet on the ground, enough to tackle a job I would have deferred.
It lead me to replacing the windshield on our Chevrolet Vega, and repairing rust-damage.
In “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” the protagonist — Pirsig, I guess — rode all over the Great Northwest on his bucket-a’-bolts motorcycle with his son.
They camped a lot — a drill that appealed, except my motorcycling turned into something else.
Beyond that, I wonder about girls that think guys have to be manipulated.
I’ve never felt that way, nor has my wife.
Perhaps cutie was manipulated herself; the attractive ones usually are.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• “FLCC” is Finger Lakes Community College, just south of Canandaigua. (The Finger Lakes are a series of north-south lakes in Central New York that look like the imprint of a large hand. The were formed by the receding glacier.)

Droid®

Yesterday (Thursday, August 12, 2010) I visited my hairdresser for a trim.
After the usual perfunctory yammering, his cellphone rang.
He stroked an icon on its display, and began talking into his tiny BlueTooth headset.
Well yeah, I could do that myself, but -a) my phone rings infrequently, and -b) as my younger brother-in-Boston says, I don’t want a cricket in my ear.
My hairdresser’s cellphone is a Verizon Motorola Droid® (at left).
Call ended, he stroked off, and I picked it up.
“Tell me about this thing,” I said.
“It’s really cool,” he said. “It’s saving me time and money.”
Thus began my introduction to the fantabulous Motorola Droid.
He has 89 bazilyun apps on it, all of which are displayed as icons on a miniature iPad-like screen.
You scroll through it the same way you scroll an iPad, with finger swipes.
“Here, look at this,” he said.
He showed me some app that had all his Shoppers’ Club discount barcodes.
Great idea; every Shoppers’ Club barcode displays.
“I had a wallet overstuffed with Shoppers’ Club cards. Everything is on this phone. All they hafta do is scan it.”
“Yeah, but I only have three keytags on my keys.”
“Every store has a Shoppers’ Club. Doncha shop B.J.’s?”
“No.”
“You don’t shop B.J.’s?”
“Here we go with the Sam’s Club/B.J.’s bit. I don’t need 89 tons of bulk rice.
Nor do I need 22 boxes of Cocoa Puffs. —The last ones will be rotten by the time I get to them.
I ain’t stockin’ up for Armageddon.
Show me more.”
I took out my own cellphone, a simple Verizon Nokia 6205.
“To me this is just a phone,” I said. “I ain’t usin’ it to start my dinner from across the universe.
I have a few apps on it, one of which is VZ Navigator.
But I don’t use it as a navigation system. All I got it for is it would tell me the exact geodesic coordinates of where I was holding it.”
“But VZ Navigator is a great app!” he said.
“Not for me,” I said.
“VZ Navigator is nice, but what I do is print off a series of Google-maps, and follow them. I ain’t havin’ some disembodied voice tell me to turn at the next fast-approaching intersection. I need to know where I’m going before I leave the garage.”
“Here, watch this,” he said.
He spoke an address into his phone, and in a few seconds it came up with a step-by-step route.
“Take Monroe St. west from Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;' rhymes with 'boy') Falls.....”
“Yeah, I did that last week, got as far as the Honeoye Falls Veterinary, and discovered a bridge was out.
Does your phone tell ya that?” I asked.
“Yes, it does,” he responded.
“‘Follow posted detour’ the flashing sign said. That posted detour was on the other side of the bridge.”
“This thing is faster than my laptop. I can get my e-mail in seconds.”
He stroked an icon, and his e-mail displayed.
“Have ya ever seen anything this fast?”
“Yeah, my laptop at home,” I said.
“Firing up my e-mail is just about instantaneous, and it might take five seconds to download my e-mail from the poPserver.
Pardon me for being an old fogey,” I finally said; “but I have to have function over magic.”
“I happened to hit a garage-sale the other day, and they had a garbage-disposal for $25.
Well, what do I know about garbage-disposals? But it had a barcode.
So I took a picture of the barcode, and let my Goggle® app research it.
$100 new at Lowes. So I bought it.”
“It’ll look nice in your closet,” I thought. (Of course that’s not fair. He may have immediate use for it, whereas I don’t.)
TWANG-TWANG-TWANG!
He had some guitar app displaying in his cellphone, and was strumming the virtual strings.
“Well, I might just hafta hit my Verizon store, but the iPad crashed because it wasn’t a computer.”
I’m hoping he’ll let me try it.

• “Honeoye Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where we live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away. (The hairdresser is within it.)
• “Goggle,” not “Google.” It scans and then researches.

WE SHALL SEE!

“You’re gonna like this stuff,” said the bubbly check-out girl at the Canandaigua Wegmans, after scanning a pint of Wegmans Premium Organic Dark-Chocolate ice-cream I had bought.
“My boyfriend got this, was gonna just taste it, but ended up eating the whole thing.”
“WE SHALL SEE,” I said. “It’s competing with Ben & Fat Jerry.”
“Did you find everything you were looking for?”
“Not Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream,” I said. “You never have it.”
“Well, maybe we should look into it,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave our store unhappy.”
She was young enough to be my granddaughter.
I hope she can maintain her enthusiasm.
She finished my order. I paid, but then the poor girl was at loose ends.
There I was, a customer she wanted to please, yet more customers were standing in line behind me.
“Ask at the Service-Desk,” she said.
Fear-and-loathing; the old stroke-effect speech hesitation kicked in.
“Can I help you?” a callow youth asked.
“Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream,” I said.
“Right over there in Frozen,” he said, pointing.
“You never have it,” I said. “Haven’t for some time.
“Well, let’s see if we do,” he said.
“Frozen call Service-Desk,” he barked on the storewide all-call.
Minutes passed. Nothing.
“Let’s see if it’s in our online inventory.”
He began fiddling a computer terminal; “Ben & Jerry, Ben & Jerry, Ben & Jerry.
Ah, there it is. Actually we discontinued that some time ago. Not enough sales.”
“Right,” I said. “Now it’s all garbage flavors; Sauerkraut Supreme, Rotting Lettuce, Dublin Mudslide......”
Guess what Bubbles, I’m leaving your store unhappy.
Although not that much.
Wegmans hasn’t had it for eons.
But I can’t get it anywhere else.
I have this dreadful feeling Ben and Jerry discontinued it, and Ben & Fat Jerry’s is the best chocolate ice-cream in the entire known universe.

• “Wegmans” a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• RE: “Did you find everything you were looking for?” —Wegmans coaches their check-out people to ask this.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)

Don’t see Randy

“Whatever ya do, don’t see Randy” (or what’s-his-name), said a sweat-stained redneck with a giant beer-belly to a flaccid-skinned Harley-momma with arms the size of my legs.
“Randy is forbidden,” he said.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Harley-momma said. “I do as I please. Life without Randy would be no fun at all.”
Every late afternoon, before supper, I take our dog for a walk up the street.
That means Michael Prouty Park, often the site of a giant soccer-game, with bellowing coaches and squealing teenyboppers.
Often it’s just me and the dog and any bunny-rabbits she might see.
Our dog is a hunter. She’s already dispatched at least eight bunny-rabbits in the two years we’ve had her.
Other times it’s kids shooting baskets on the macadam basketball court, or grad parties in the pavilion.
Once I passed a cub-scout pack in the pavilion giving the wolf-howl.
“I’ll call,” said redneck, as he climbed into his maroon sky-high 4-by-4 Dodge Ram pickup.
“And if I get the tax-bill, I ain’t payin’.”
Little children at picnic tables made snide remarks. I guess redneck was their father.
And Harley-momma, divorced, their mother.
“Did I miss something?” I thought to myself.
Over 42 years of marriage I never heard talk like this.
Pot-shots and intimidation.
My sister in south Florida implies I’m inexperienced, having been only married once.
My sister is on her fourth marriage, although thankfully her last. She did pretty good this time.
“I don’t have no Internet,” Harley-momma said. “Send me an e-mail and it will bounce.”
It was pushing eight o’clock. The sun was setting.

• “Michael Prouty Park” is a town park near where we live. The land for it was donated by the Prouty family in honor of their deceased son (“Michael”) who used to play in that area. —It is mostly athletic fields, but has an open picnic pavilion. It’s maintained by the town. I walk our dog to and around it.
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)

2-10-4

Chesapeake & Ohio T-1 #3006 at 60 mph in Ohio around 1940. (Photo by Glenn Graybill Jr.)

The Fall 2010 issue of my Classic Trains magazine has a large feature on 2-10-4 steam-locomotives.
It claims the 2-10-4s were the “mountain-climbing, tonnage hauling giants of the Steam Age.”
Well, they were impressive, but I don’t know about “mountain-climbing.”
I always got the impression they were misapplied — that they were better at hauling tonnage at speed, than dragging up mountains.
The article also says any 10-drivered steam-locomotive was a challenge; that it was abusive of track.
10 drivers require heavy side-rods, and the driver-wheels were too small to allow enough compensatory counterweighting.
Mentioned is the fact a track-crew had to be stationed at the foot of a grade, to repair the damage a 10-drivered steam-locomotive would inflict hammering up the hill.
10 drivers also required a long, rigid wheelbase that couldn’t handle curvature.
Often drivers had to be blind (flangeless) to avoid pulling rails out of curves.
That is until lateral motion driver-boxes came into use, that allowed a driver to offset perhaps an inch relative to the wheelbase.
10-driver experiments go back a long way, clear to 1867; adding another driver-set to the 2-8-0 Consolidation. —There were 10-driver locomotives even before that.
Lehigh Valley had 2-10-0s first, two. But they were too rough for track at the time.
25 years passed before the next 2-10-0s, six Camelbacks for Erie to work Gulf Summit.

Pennsy Dek #4300, probably a builder-photo.

It was Pennsy that got serious about the 2-10-0 at first. 598 I-1 Decapods, built by Altoona and Baldwin — 123 by Altoona, 475 by Baldwin.
And they were all the same; no differentiation of classes, or major appearance-changing upgrades.
The Pennsy Deks had only one minor appearance difference.
All the Baldwin Deks had Worthington feedwater heaters; the Altoona Deks didn’t.
It was the first time Pennsy allowed any kind of appliance.
A feedwater heater is just that; it preheats the water fed into the boiler.
Pumping cold water into a boiler degrades its efficiency.
Often the feedwater heater got installed in the top-front of the smokebox, to take advantage of smokebox heat.
But the Worthington was hung on the boiler side.
I don’t know how the Worthington works.
Pennsy later widened the cutoff on its Decapods, the I-1sa.
“S” stood for superheat, by 1916 pretty much the norm.
Superheat pipes the steam back in the firebox exhaust flues through the boiler, heating the steam to much higher temperature, making it “drier.”
Prior to superheat, steam-locomotives were “wet.” The steam was only 212 degrees or so, and not as efficient as superheated steam.
Arcade & Attica tourist railroad in western New York still had two wet steam-locomotives.
“Wet” was the norm at first. Superheat came later.
Superheat came into use about the turn into the 20th century.
At first Pennsy was adding “S” to all its superheated locomotives.
By 1930 superheat was so common they dropped the “S.”
“Cutoff” is percentage of piston-stroke during which steam is admitted.
Limited cutoff was all the rage when the Deks were built, so it was limited to 50 percent.
It was found later cutoff could be increased, increasing the power of the locomotive.
The Deks were increased to 78 percent, the “A” modification.
By 1916 track had evolved enough to deal with a 10-drivered locomotive’s heavy pounding, and Pennsy was open enough so that curvature wasn’t a problem.
The Pennsy Dek had limitations. You couldn’t go too fast or it ran out of steam.
Its firebox grate was only 70 square feet, not much to keep up with a 10-drivered locomotive’s steam requirement.
But a Pennsy Dek was very powerful at slow speed — dragging freight.
Pennsy Deks saw use clear until the end of steam.
A Pennsy Dek might run 50 mph, but it was hang-on-for-dear-life.
Too much vibration. Everything hammering up-and-down.
And I doubt it could hold that speed very long.
A Dek had a large boiler, but not much steam capacity.
At that speed it would run out of steam.
That smallish fire-grate couldn’t keep up with the steam requirement of its two HUGE cylinders.
The Dek was a monster, but only if run slowly.
#4300 (pictured above) wasn’t the first Pennsy Dek. That was #790, erected in Altoona in 1916.
4300 was a Baldwin Dek. The Baldwin Deks were numbered starting with 4225 in 1922.
I had to drag out my ancient “Pennsy Power” book by Alvin Staufer, copywrite 1962 — the year I graduated high-school.
I’ve had it over 42 years; I got it in 1968.
I’ll never throw it out. I still consider it the bedrock of all Pennsy fandom; and most of all I’m a Pennsy fan.
It comes from my childhood encounter with Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines (PRSL) through the little town of Haddonfield near where I grew up in south Jersey.
PRSL also ran Reading (“REDD-ing;” not “READ-ing”) steam, but it was Pennsy that looked best.
PRSL was not up to needing Decapods, so I never saw one in the flesh.
The largest freight locomotives it ran were the 2-8-0 Consolidations, or perhaps L-class 2-8-2 Mikados. (I’m not sure I ever saw a Mikado.)
The Deks were supposed to be hand-fired, but no way could even two firemen keep up with the coal demand.
The Dek was the first engine Pennsy deigned to put a coal-stoker on. Only that could keep up with the coal demand.
What the 10-drivered steam-locomotive needed was more steam capacity, which could be done with a larger fire-grate and firebox.
That required trailer-wheels, 2-10-2.
Also, hanging the firebox grate behind the driver-wheels gave it more volume. You didn’t have to shorten it to fit it atop the drive-wheels.
This also allowed taller drivers.
But not much with a 2-10-2; the firebox was still often atop the drivers.
So the 2-10-2s were still pretty much slow drag-engines, much like the Decapod.
Santa Fe was the first to get a 2-10-2, 85 from Baldwin in 1903; little more than a Decapod boiler on a 2-10-2 frame.
Railroads were quick to see the improvement in steam-capacity a 2-10-2 could have over a Decapod.
Soon over 2,200 were built, but they still had limitations. Their firebox could be larger, but their firebox grate was still small, limiting horsepower output.
Plus the 2-10-2s didn’t address the counterbalancing problems of the Decapod.
In 1929 the principal railroads controlled by the Van Sweringen brothers of Cleveland — Chesapeake & Ohio, Erie, Nickel Plate, and Pere Marquette — created a design and engineering bureau, the Advisory Mechanical Committee (AMC), to develop common locomotive and rolling stock designs.
By then Lima (“LYE-muh;” not “LEE-muh”) Locomotive Company had developed its SuperPower locomotive designs, first for Boston & Albany Railroad.
B&A had a difficult profile across Massachusetts, its greatest challenge being crossing the Berkshire mountains in the western part of the state.
Lima Locomotive Company added a fourth trailer-wheel to the 2-8-2 Mikado, making a larger firebox possible.
Lima did other things to improve the boiler’s steam generating capacity.
Primary was a combustion-chamber ahead of the firebox, which allowed more complete burning of the coal.
Other appliances were added that enhanced steam generation.
Lima’s first SuperPower engines were 2-8-2 Mikados, but the 2-8-4 (“Berkshire;” after the mountains where they were applied) allowed an even bigger fire-grate.
Even Pennsy tried the combustion-chamber; its 4-8-2 Mountain engine had one. They could be run hard at speed.
SuperPower made continuous high-speed steam-locomotive operation possible.
At last the steam-locomotive could cruise a long time at 50+ mph without running out of steam.
Lima built SuperPower 2-10-4s, but the Advisory Mechanical Committee’s first assignment was to design a locomotive that could run through on coal-trains from Russell, KY to Toledo, OH, replacing 2-10-2s and 2-8-8-2s.
At first they designed a sort of super Berkshire, 2-8-4, patterned after Erie’s S-3 Berk.
But it didn’t have enough tractive force, so they added a fifth driver-set, making it 2-10-4.
That was a success, so much so Pennsy copied it when fishing around for WWII steam-locomotives.
When WWII broke out, the Pennsylvania Railroad found itself short of power to move the humongous increase in traffic.
It also found itself saddled with old and tired steam-locomotives. They had invested inordinate sums in electrification during the ‘30s, but didn’t develop modern steam power.
Pennsy always developed its own steam-locomotives. They might buy from Baldwin, but it was a Pennsy design (e.g. the Decapods).
The War Production Board wouldn’t allow Pennsy to develop replacements, so Pennsy had to shop around.
Pennsy tried Norfolk & Western’s fabulous “A” articulated; 2-6-6-4. They also tried Chesapeake & Ohio’s T-1, 2-10-4.

A Pennsy J1.

Pennsy decided to get its own version of the C&O T-1. They called it the J1.
It was the only Pennsy steam-locomotive without the trademark Belpaire firebox.
The boiler and the firebox was the C&O T-1. They finessed the front-end somewhat, and also somewhat streamlined the cab. it looked like Loewy had blessed it.
The firebox top was round, same as the boiler courses. The standard firebox on 89 bazilyun steam-locomotives since time immemorial.
It wasn’t the square-shouldered Belpaire firebox. They couldn’t graft a Belpaire on the C&O design. The War Production Board wouldn’t let them.
By some accounts, Pennsy’s J was the best steam-locomotive Pennsy ever had.
It had all the modern accoutrements Pennsy usually eschewed. —For all its testing and research, Pennsy never developed a landmark steam-locomotive.
I always got the feeling it was somewhat misapplied in mountain railroading, e.g. The Hill over the Allegheny Mountains.
Where it excelled was where it could get rolling; 50-60 mph over level terrain.
To do that you needed boundless steam capacity, which the mighty J had.
Perhaps the Norfolk & Western “A” woulda made more sense, but Pennsy had had difficult experiences with articulateds.
They also could afford multiple crewing.

Another Faudi gig

Head-to-head at Tipton. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Day One:
We are quietly driving south down Interstates 390 and 87 in our 2003 Honda CR-V.
We are on our way to The Mighty Curve, another short vacation from retirement.
We’d have used our Bucktooth Bathtub, but it’s making a noise.
I don’t think it’s serious, but what do I know?
The exhaust system on our CR-V is finally rattling apart.
It must be stainless steel — it’s original.
It too isn’t serious, so I felt I could trust it.
We are not far from the infamous Campbell (“KAMP-bell;” not the soup) Rest-Stop, our first widdle stop to The Mighty Curve.
We just got on the interstates at Bath.
All-of-a-sudden RING-RING-RING-RING!
It was Linda’s cellphone.
It’s her brother from Florida; he never calls.
“I have news,” he says. “Not the best.”
We thought it might be about his wife Nancy, who the day before endured ultrasound, which found an enlarged bladder.
“Mother is in the hospital, I think,” he said.
This is Linda’s 94-year-old mother, who lives on her own in a retirement center in the shadow of the mighty De Land water-tower.
“What do you mean ‘think?’” my wife asked.
“Well, it’s not via Mother,” her brother said. “It’s via a guy from the Salvation Army.”
Linda’s mother set up an annuity with the Salvation Army, with her getting interest until she dies, and then Linda’s brother.
She had met this guy to consummate the deal.
The guy then met Linda’s brother.
“How’s your mother?” the guy asked.
“Okay as far as I know,” her brother said.
“She’s in the hospital,” the guy responded.
“Do I turn around?” I asked. By then we were in the Campbell Rest-Stop.
“Why is it every time we head for Altoona, Mother ends up in the hospital?” my wife asked.
I was thinking of coming again in October when the leaves change. Do I dare?
“I don’t think she wanted us to know,” Linda’s brother said.
She can be that way.
But she had also forgot her phone list.
Her brother also dislikes her giving money to various charities.
But were it not for the Salvation Army we might not know about the hospital.
We continued on.
Linda got her mother in the hospital room.
By then we were in a gas-station in Gang Mills.
A tube had extracted vile green stuff from her intestines; she started feeling sick a few days ago.
As usual, suffer in silence.
She went to the hospital on the advice of a nurse service, but took a taxi.
No ambulance.
Waves of pain were washing over her, but do-or-die she was keeping that appointment with the Salvation Army.
In fact, the Salvation Army may have played a part in getting her to the hospital; she looked awful.
Our cellphones are getting plenty of use.
Linda’s battery gave out calling her brother later.
She had to use mine.
We were at Tunnel Inn five minutes, and a train blew past.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Tunnel Inn.

Tunnel Inn, in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin”), PA, is the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in the Altoona area.
It used to be the old Gallitzin town offices and library.
It was built by Pennsy in 1905, and is brick and rather substantial.
It was converted to a bed-and-breakfast when Gallitzin built new town offices.
Its advantage for railfans like me — also its marketing ploy — is that it's right beside Tracks Two and Three.
It’s right next to the old Pennsy tunnels through the summit of the Alleghenies.
Trains are blowing past all the time.
Three is westbound, and Two can be either way. —Track One is not visible; it’s on the other side of town, using New Portage Tunnel. Tunnel Inn also has a covered viewing deck behind its building, plus floodlights to illuminate trains approaching or leaving the tunnels in the dark.
We went to The Mighty Curve about 4 p.m., but it closes at 6.
Up the 194 steps without drama.
Wasn’t sure I could, coming down from a cold.
A couple trains passed, including Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian, on time.


Eastbound auto-racks toward New Portage Tunnel at Five Tracks. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Day Two:
As usual, the whole idea of this journey is another Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”) gig.
Faudi is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona, PA, who supplies all-day train-chases for $125. —I did one two years ago, alone, and it blew my mind.
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.
I let Phil do the monitoring. I have a scanner myself, but leave it behind.
Phil knows every train on the scanner, where it is, and how long it will take to beat it to a prime photo location.


Eastbound coal up Track One at Lilly. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


Westbound mixed freight down Track Three past eastbound coal up Track One at Lilly. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Faudi has a new car, a used 2003 Buick LeSabre.
It replaced the 1993 Buick we chased so many trains in.
We don’t know if it will help him chase trains any.
He’s too enamored of it, and justifiably so.
We used to beat that previous car like a Jeep.
We took the new car up one weedy track Faudi had to stop on.
He feared scratching the paint — it’s a pretty car.
Last tour we went down some forest track closed in on all sides by brush.
I doubt we could do the same with the new car.
Most of our train-chasing was on highways and streets, not forest tracks.


Westbound Trash Train with too little power approaching McFarland’s Curve. That’s a GP38 leading. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


Eastbound camp cars down the siding at McFarland’s Curve. (That’s also a GP38 on the point.) —”You’re too close; it’ll be on the siding.” (Photo by BobbaLew.)

These train-chases are always wearing, although in my case not that wearing.
I managed to keep up fairly well.
Giant swooping U-turns would get executed on the main highway.
“Woops, we’ll miss this one if we don’t get back to where we were.”
Trains were coming willy-nilly.
We couldn’t get out of Lilly.
Then it was three times to McFarland’s Curve.
“Not there! It’s gonna be on that track.”
That was one the many doubles we saw; two trains at once.
One passing another approaching.
“Wanna keep going (4:30 p.m.)? The westbound Amtrak is coming.”
“Sure.”


Westbound double-stack on Track Three at Brickyard climbing toward The Curve. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

We checked out a place Phil long ago shot video at.
“There’s a ditch to cross,” I said. “I don’t think we can do it.”
It was all overgrown anyway, and would have involved a climb up a near-vertical embankment.


Six locomotives, two of which are a helper-set. A very heavy train. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


Two more helpers on the rear; the train is downhill, east on Track One. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Some of the photo-locations seem rather moribund although I could be surprised.
We reconnoitered a glitzy footbridge in Bellwood over the tracks.
The tracks were straight, and the primary adventure involved the passing of a John Deere lawn tractor.
No steps, luckily. The footbridge also had long wheelchair ramps a lawn-tractor could negotiate.


Eastbound on Track One at Bellwood. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My camera also threw a hissy-fit.
Its image-files get stored to a buffer which transfers to the memory-chip; the chip’s not fast enough.
If the buffer is full, it won’t shoot; that is, until the image-files get transferred to the chip.
The camera also has an internal clock that can imprint the image-file.
I have that turned off — I don’t want that silly date mucking up a picture.
But all that information gets stored along with the image-file, including what camera it was, aperture, shutter-speed, etc. The whole kibosh.
The clock gets driven by a battery, charged by the battery that drives the camera.


In your face at Slope Interlocking. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

That clock battery had died, which resets the clock to zero.
Our supposition is the buffer wouldn’t empty, because the clock needed to be reset.
We reset the clock.
No more flashing clock icon predicting Armageddon.
But still no shoot. That apparently came back later.
The buffer emptied, so I was back in business.
Same as before — this has happened before.
It involved a stop at Tunnel Inn, for a short battery recharge, and picking up the manual.
The clock got reset as we drove north. We had already lost a couple shots, but nothing important.


Westbound Amtrak Pennsylvanian approaches Altoona (about 5 p.m.). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

By McFarland’s Curve, about noon, we seemed back in business.
We had started about 8:30, and the camera threw its hissy-fit about 10:30.
I’d been shooting multiple shots, like motor-drive, and throwing out the bad.
But everything was so fast-and-furious at Lilly, I never got to weed.
My impression was the buffer maxxed at Lilly; too many image-files.
The poor thing needed time to write all that stuff to the chip.
Plus there’s the possibility it couldn’t because the clock needed to be reset.


Eastbound at Pinecroft on Track One. Track Two is to the train’s left, and the one to its right is a siding. It’s a two-track railroad here. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Despite all that I managed to snag that fabulous image at the beginning of this blog.; two engines head-to-head in Tipton.
Pictures like that make this whole train-chasing thing worthwhile, worth every bit of the $125.
“Bam!” I shouted as I shot the picture.
One headed east (approaching), and a second headed west (passing).
Faudi was in ecstasy; a maximum double, and I got it.
“That’s a calendar shot,” I shouted.
It was the third of at least five doubles, maybe six.
“I need you to get stuff like this,” I told Faudi.

Day Three; back to reality!
.....Back to the wild bucking bronco ride of trying to wedge 89 bazilyun all-important errands and medical appointments amidst mowing our HUGE lawn, walking our dog, and working out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym.
It’s utter madness and frustrating; a rat-race.
When I get home I have three things I absolutely, positively have to do.
They are:
—1) Turn our tankless water-heater back on.
—2) Reset the house thermostat from “hold” back to “run program,” and
—3) Process our combination DVR/VCR so it can record the news, which it does on DVR.
Altogether these three things comprise 5-10 minutes, but if I forget anything.....
—1) I won’t have hot water.
—2) The house thermostat keeps holding at 78 degrees, and/or
—3) The DVR in the recorder is maxxed out, and can’t record the news
I didn’t pull the plug on our combi DVR/VCR, just the TV.
It recorded both days we were away.
Our previous DVR/VCR was flaky about recording anything if the plug had been pulled — my next science experiment is pulling the plug on our current combi.

Lessee..... Tomorrow, Sunday, August 8, 2010:
—1) Walk dog at Boughton (“BOW-tin;” as in “wow”) Park; about two to two-and-a-half hours.
—2) Shave, shower, eat breakfast; about two-and-a-half hours. —That includes feeding dog beforehand, and treats if she eats everything; about a half-hour of the two-and-a-half.
—3) Key as much of this monster in as I can while drinking coffee — maybe three hours. That includes processing all the pictures I wanna fly. I may have to minimize pictures; each is about 10 minutes.
—I have another monster almost all keyed in; I did a lot of it in Altoona. But it’s not fully written yet, and may have to wait.
—I have two other blogs I’d like to write, but they may get shunted aside.
As always, I’m up against how late can I stay awake?
—4) Mow Back 40, and southern wing; perhaps 3-4 hours. Both were put off before this trip, so absolutely, positively have to get done.
Thankfully, I have a mower that helps me.
It’s a zero-turn, so is fairly quick.
It’s mowing two segments in the time it took to previously mow one.

Okay, drag out monthly schedule for August.
Lessee, what about the coming week?
Fairly easy, just a haircut for me on Thursday.
That means I can work out at the YMCA Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Every YMCA day is also the grocery-store; largest visit on Monday.
Also any other errands in that direction.
That haircut scotches walking our dog on Thursday.
I have a 5K footrace on Saturday; first time in about two years.
I’m still running at age-66, albeit slowly.
Mowing lawn may not be possible; the weather may not cooperate.
And starting Monday I have a blizzard of phonecalls to make. A car needs tending, as do my teeth.

Notes:
—1) I used this here laptop with no problem at Tunnel Inn.
Tunnel Inn is a hot-spot.
I couldn’t log in last visit until just before we left.
Probably due to a defunct password; an earlier wireless router.
This time I just turned on the machine at Tunnel Inn, and I didn’t even get a log-in query.
“Try your Internet,” my wife said.
I did, and “There they all are,” my saved Internet tabs.
It didn’t even ask for a password; it must have memorized it.
—2) Can I chase trains without Faudi?
Trains are frequent enough on this line, so I probably could.
But there are lulls.
Our experiences at Lilly and McFarland’s Curve remind of an earlier experience by ourselves at Cassandra Railfan Overlook.
Every time we went to leave, my scanner would call out another approaching train.
We were stuck over two hours.
At that time all I understood was defect-detector broadcasts; 253.1 west of Lilly, and 258.9 at Portage. (Cassandra is in between.)
Faudi is also making sense out of the train-engineers calling out the signals. He knows where the signals are.
Which means he knows better to see trains; he doesn’t miss any.
I might get an hour wait, but with Faudi it’s 5-10 minutes.
Where we end up is not necessarily one of my favored photo-stops, but I’m not freezing in the cold.
—3) Along those lines, a favored photo-spot is Alto Tower.
But that’s a morning shot.
The shooting-window there is only a couple hours, plus it’s not near the other photo-locations.
To my mind, the only way to shoot Alto is to sit there a couple hours, and can anything else.
Which is Faudi-less, unless we’re in the area, and he knows of an approaching train.


Eastbound at Alto. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

We did this last visit — me and Faudi.
It was June and after sunset — the light was all wrong.
But it was light enough at 8:30 p.m. to make a shot (above).
The weather Saturday morning (Day Three) was fabulous; I coulda done an Alto morning gig.
But I was more interested in driving home, and getting our dog.
—4) On the way home we patronized the Wegmans in Williamsport, PA.
We usually do. We need milk and bananas.
Plus it avoids the Canandaigua Weggers, a more boring route up through Watkins Glen.
Plus there was a NASCAR race. I’m sure it woulda been a mess.
It’s our first contact with the world we know, although the Williamsport Weggers is different than Rochester area Wegmans.
Williamsport is the Little League Baseball capital of the world; the Little League World Series gets played there.
As such the order separators on the check-out belts are miniature baseball bats.
And the benches by the rest-rooms are made out of baseball bats.
Leaving the store, we followed a 200-pound hottie in short-shorts.
Her shorts were gigundo size. Each giant buttock was squarely encased, and waddled about four inches with each footfall.
“Ba-boom-ba, ba-boom-ba, ba-boom-ba,” I said.
Her flaccid calves were about the circumference of my thighs, and thigh-flesh drooped below her knees.
“At least my wife doesn’t look like that,” I said.
“Not yet,” my wife said; “and probably never will.”
The other night, there was the Bachelorette, looking chipper and cute.
“Well,” I said; “she’s sexy, but in my humble opinion what really matters is what’s between the ears.
Whaddya wanna bet she divorces the winner, and marries one of the guys she dumped.”

• RE: “That’s a calendar shot.........” —I’ve assembled many of my train-pictures from here into a calendar at Kodak Gallery.

Eastview Mall

Yesterday (Tuesday, August 2, 2010) I set foot in Eastview Mall for the first time in my entire life.
I needed a protective sleeve for my Apple MacBook Pro laptop computer (this computer), and I was aware there was an Apple store in Eastview.
I ordered one from Amazon, but it wasn’t big enough.
My wife and I are not mall-people.
Never were.
Years ago I used to shop a store in MarketPlace Mall.
Used to buy my Jockey-shorts there too, back when it was Sibley’s.
Sibley’s became Kaufmann’s or perhaps something else first.
Now we buy everything online, so we don’t have to frequent a mall.
Shortly after my stroke we participated in a fundraising walk inside MarketPlace for Rochester Rehabilitation; where I was doing post-stroke rehabilitation.
Rochester Rehabilitation is affiliated with Al Sigl Center.
It was the last time.
A bagpipe band was serenading us.
It was unbearable.
Beastly loud, and echoing within the concrete caverns of the mall.
We had to cover our ears.
I used to shop the Sears at MarketPlace, but a few years ago, when we needed a new washing machine, we decided to try the Sears at Eastview, since it was closer.
Prior to yesterday, that was the closest I got to Eastview Mall. I never went inside.
Eastview has been around for years, and has apparently become the sales-tax cash cow for Ontario County.
That’s because it’s actually in Ontario County, the extreme northwest corner.
It’s at the southeastern edge of the metro Rochester area, but actually Ontario County. Not Monroe County, which Rochester is in.
I guess it’s quite successful, almost as much as MarketPlace, which is gigantic.
So, here we go; find the elusive Apple store.
I parked about a quarter-mile from what appeared to be a mall entrance, although it could also be a bistro entrance.
I’ve been advised I should get a handicap tag, but I don’t feel I need one yet.
But a quarter-mile in blistering heat to what might not be an actual mall entrance seemed a bit much.
But it was a mall entrance, so into the fray!
72 degree climate-control; almost frigid.
People were sitting on mall benches, quietly stroking their iPads, or perusing Proust.
A thunder-thighed tart in short-shorts strode past, cleavage bouncing.
And then another tart with red-dyed hair shaped into a gluey iridescent mohawk flecked with stars.
I walked into the wide center corridor, and began looking for that Apple store — I was also carrying this laptop, wanting to not drop it.
“Boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka” from a store I passed. They seemed to be selling ladies’ underthings; perhaps Victoria’s Secret, with it’s promise of torrid sex.
Banana Republic and Coldwater Creek.
The new L.L. Bean store in the Eastview area (a standalone) has a gigantic model of L.L.’s original hunting shoe outside — entirely in character.
“I’d hate to face the guy that wears that thing,” I think. “A shoe for Sasquatch.”
I wandered down a side corridor that seemed to drift into emptiness; stores unoccupied, and for rent.
Except it seemed to direct toward another mall entrance, larger than the one I had used.
Back to the wide center corridor, and there’s the Apple-store.
Into the entrance, and I find myself surrounded with geeks and little children playing computer games on iPhone4s on display.
I headed for the back; there seemed to be a service-desk.
A doe-eyed thing young enough to be my granddaughter eyed me warily.
She was wearing the same blue frumpy iPad uniform tee-shirt all the Apple geeks were wearing.
Our eyes made contact, but I wasn’t sure.
Finally, “may I help you sir?”
Across the generations.
“I need a sleeve for this thing.” (I had brought this here laptop along.)
She went to a set of shelves and brought out various sleeves.
“I guess this’ll do,” I said.
“I can check you out right here;” just a tiny hand-held gizmo that does everything wirelessly.
One end sent out the scan-laser; looked just like the Millennium Falcon, throttling up for hyperspace. (“Let’ er rip; Chewy!”)
“Credit-card?” she asked.
Credit-card scanner on the right side; BIP!
I laid this computer on the counter and placed the sleeve on top.
“I don’t think this thing is big enough,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “Your laptop must be 17 inch.
All we have at 17-inch are these polyurethane sleeves.”
“Which is what I wanted in the first place, so we’ll swap,” I said.
“Shall I e-mail your receipt?” she asked.
I rattled off our e-mail.
Back into the wide center corridor, dodging thunder-thighed iridescent mohawks.
And the mall sitters quietly stroking their iPads.
Back into steamy reality, sleeve in tow.

• Both Eastview and MarketPlace are large retail shopping-malls in the Rochester area. MarketPlace is in the suburb of Henrietta, south of Rochester, and nearer.
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”
• “Sibley’s” was a large Rochester retailer, now out of business.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• Rochester Rehabilitation and Al Sigl Center.
• We live in Ontario County.

Ah Bloomfield

I try to avoid Bloomfield village.
All because of a speed-trap on the east side of the village.
I doubt it’s intended as a speed-trap, but that’s what happens.
The speed-limit on 5&20 through Bloomfield village is 35 mph, entirely prudent since it’s a residential area.
Exiting what appears to be the village to the east you descend a defile, and drive up the other side.
What happens if you’re not paying attention is your car will speed up as it descends the hill, so even though you may have been doing 35 in the village, you’re up to 40+ at the hill’s bottom.
Bloomfield village goes clear to Oakmount Road on the other side of the defile, as does its 35 mph speed-limit.
An Ontario County Sheriff’s Deputy is often on the other side with his radar.
I’m sure the officers cut some slack.
They know a car will go faster as it descends the hill.
If you already were going too fast through Bloomfield village, ya might approach 45+ going down the hill.
I’ve been nailed in this same exact spot at least five times over the past 20 years.
After the last time I said “ENOUGH!”
There has to be some other way to Canandaigua beside 5&20.
And there is. But to get to the Canandaigua National Bank branch in what used to be Holcomb, and what used to be the Holcomb Post-Office, I must drive through Bloomfield village.
So I’m entering Bloomfield village yesterday (Monday, August 2, 2010) on 5&20 from the west, and slow to 35 mph.
I turn north on South Ave. toward the old 20C, Main St., the main drag toward what used to be Holcomb.
I avoid Main St. to 64 because I got nailed there once. The speed-limit is 30 mph.
The speed-limit here is also 30 mph, so I slow.
Almost immediately a clapped-out Chevrolet Lumina falls behind me, its glowering driver gesticulating madly.
We pass Oakmount Ave. where a NY state trooper is pulling out onto our street.
I’m down the 30 mph, and the Earnhardt wannabee is furious, climbing my bumper.
The trooper is behind him.
Does this guy have any idea what the speed-limit is, or that a trooper is behind?
Suddenly the trooper’s red roof lights start flashing; he’s pulling the Lumina over.
This is a rare and precious event; I’m not being nailed myself.
This time it’s my jerky follower, the Earnhardt wannabee.
I’ve impeded State Troopers before on this segment, doing exactly 30 mph, per the speed-limit.
This incident reminds me of a trip to Altoona, PA long ago.
I was doing the speed-limit, and all-of-a-sudden a gray Pontiac sedan roared up behind me, its glowering driver gesticulating madly.
He roared past, floored, giving me the one-finger salute as he passed.
He then disappeared up the road.
Up ahead I noticed a white Crown Vic on the horizon pulled off on a side road.
Soon I was passing the Crown Vic with the Pontiac pulled over.

• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. Adjacent is the rural town of East Bloomfield, and the village of Bloomfield is within it. The village of “Holcomb,” to the northeast, seceded from Bloomfield long ago, but recently merged back into Bloomfield village. (We live in “Ontario County.”)
• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live.
• “Old 20C” is what used to be a state highway toward Holcomb. It branched off 5&20. It was made into no longer a state highway, and no longer intersected with 5&20. Instead it intersects with State Highway 64, just north of 5&20.(“64” is State Highway 64, a main highway north out of East Bloomfield toward Rochester.)
• “Earnhardt” is Dale Earnhardt, deceased, of NASCAR fame, who used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him pass.
• Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh”), is the location of “Horseshoe Curve,” by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is now a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child. —I’ve been there hundreds of times, since it’s only about five hours away.
• A “Crown Vic “ is a Ford Crown Victoria, the full-size Ford sedan police departments often use as police cruisers.

DVR Chronicles

“What I need is something that actually tells me how a DVR works,” I cried.
“Well, how about the instruction manual for our combination DVR/VCR?” my wife said.
“Sure,” I thought. “‘Install DVR in receiver-slot, then program machine to record on DVR.’
That’s not telling me how a DVR works.”
I guess I’ll hafta figure it out the same way I figured out computers at the Mighty Mezz; the old “try this and see what happens” method.
With heavy observation to make sense of what is actually happening.
“Just insert disc and shaddup. Don’t think, just do.”
But if I don’t know what’s happening it won’t make any sense.
I won’t be able to wrastle it into submission if I don’t understand what’s going on.
We have switched from recording our news on a VHS cassette to a DVR.
The news is the only TV we watch. We record it so we can view it later while we eat supper.
I have deduced a DVR is just a storage medium. And unlike VHS tape does not store information like on a vinyl record.
I surmised this seeing it couldn’t be rewound.
Nothing was happening.
Apparently all the information on a DVR (or DVD) gets read into computer memory somewhere, and that’s what plays.
At this point the young elitist techno-mavens appear to tell me I’m stupid and technically challenged. —Also an old fogey.
I go my own way, oblivious to the judgments of others.
And that includes making sense of technology.
I’ve done it hundreds of times.
The other day I noticed our machine was “making a menu.”
Hmmmmmnnnnnn.........
All my train DVDs have menus. Insert the DVD, and the menu displays.
I insert my news DVR I just recorded and no menu.
Where is that? It’s playing yesterday’s news.
Perhaps there’s a menu-button on the remote.
There is; “Disc menu/List.”
I hit that, and VIOLA, the menu displays.
Two recorded news segments are on there, yesterday and today.
I hit “today” and “play” that.
Today’s news begins.
While in there I notice a “delete” for each segment.
The DVR will only swallow two hours, five minutes; each news segment is 62 minutes.
So I only have a minute left. It wouldn’t have recorded any future news; only a minute thereof.
So I deleted the two earlier news segments.
Back to two hours five minutes free.
This is not like my VHS tape, where I rewound, and it recorded over yesterday’s news.
I also used to fast-forward the news ads recorded on the VHS. (Like the Cialis® ads —ever wonder if there’s any water in them bathtubs?)
That’s not how it works on a DVR.
Fast-forward is throwing short clips at you. The sound gets fast-forwarded too, but as clips of the regular sound at doubled speed it’s still quite discernible.
The fast-forwarded video is also laughable.
We were watching the beginning of our recording of the news, fast-forwarding the conclusion of a horse-race.
Them horses were boomin’-and-zoomin’. Looked just like Silver in the Lone Ranger.
I decided it made more sense to just fast-forward the entire news recording.
It was still discernible, and we had more time to walk our dog.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• RE: “Train DVDs........” —I’m a railfan, and have been since I was a child. I have a large collection of railfan railroad videos.
• “The Lone Ranger” was a TV program I watched in the early ‘50s; his horse’s name was “Silver” (all white). At full gallop they were always speeded up.
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)