Monthly Calendar-Report for February 2013

Four MACs push the back end of the C51 coal-extra east on Track One into Lilly, PA. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The February 2013 entry of my own calendar is from long ago, June 18, 2010.
My wife was still alive then, and with Phil and me.
Phil (Faudi; “FOW-dee;” as in “wow”) was still is business then, doing the driving.
In other words, Phil was leading us around, which he still does, only it’s me driving instead of him. Plus he’s no longer doing train-chases as a business; he’s doing it as a favor to me. For that he -a) gets a free calendar (my own calendar), -b) a meal paid by me for he-and-his-wife at an Altoona restaurant, -c) my driving (which is a bit slower than him; although I felt safe with him), and -d) the pleasure of chasing trains with a real railfan comparable to him — although he knows more than I do.
Phil gave up his business after -a) a client almost injured herself, and -b) occasional near-misses with his car. He also traded his old car for a newer car he didn’t wanna damage with a train-chase. Phil is slightly older than me, by now 69 — I turn 69 this month. He turned 69 in December.
My Honda CR-V is also more amenable to a train-chase, since it’s All-Wheel-Drive, and being an SUV has more under-clearance than a car.
Of course it ain’t a Jeep, and I’m not about to try charging a snowbank.
But we did a farm-track with a center-hump that would snag his car, plus it was icy. With All-Wheel-Drive that was no problem.
This picture was nowhere near as challenging: just drive down a dirt-road to the location. Lilly is in sight to the right.
We went there in Phil’s old car; Phil driving.
The MACs are EMD SD-80 MACs, “SD” (Special-Duty) meaning six-wheel trucks (three traction-motors each truck), with AC (Alternating-Current) traction-motors, “M” meaning wide (modified) cab.
Most diesel-locomotives are DC (Direct-Current), but AC pulls better at slow speed.
Which is why this train has MACs on it; it’s a drag-freight = not fast.
The train is headed uphill, up the west slope toward Allegheny Summit.
So it has lots of MACs on it, perhaps four at each end, at least four at this end, which is the pushers on the rear.
An SD-80 MAC can generate 5,000 horsepower; it’s the first V20 diesel-locomotive since the SD-45 of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.
But its forte is moving heavy drag-freight.
This train, all loaded coal-cars, is a heavy drag. It’s moving slowly.
Lots of coal gets mined in Pennsylvania, and was part of the Pennsylvania Railroad’s riches, although other traffic-generators played a part.
Pennsy merged feeders west of Pittsburg which fed the main stem. Soon a flood of traffic was moving from the nation’s interior east toward the east-coast megalopolis.
Pennsy also took advantage of the Industrial-Revolution, steel-making in Pittsburg and Johnstown on the Pennsy main.
Pennsy no longer exists, and its railroad-lines are now Norfolk Southern, what we see here on the old Pennsy main through Lilly.
A lot of coal is still mined in Pennsylvania, and Norfolk Southern is often the railroad transporting it to market. The coal in this train is probably metallurgical, and if so will be exported overseas for foreign steel production.
Norfolk Southern also moves steam-coal in great quantity, coal burned to generate steam for making electricity. Steam-coal is trained directly from mine to generating-station.
Trucking is little competition to railroading when it comes to moving coal. A single coal-car can hold 100 or more tons of coal. A coal-truck doesn’t even come close.
A coal-train might be 100 or more of those coal-cars, and its crew is only the train personnel, perhaps three-or-four in this case, plus a few more crewing the helpers when needed.
With trucking every truck needs a driver.

Over the old Reading bridge in Harrisburg. (Photo by Bruce Kerr.)

—(“REDD-ing;” not “reading.”)
A winner again!
The best entry this month is my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar, a Norfolk Southern train of probably coal-empties rumbling across the old Reading Railroad bridge across the Susquehanna (“suss-kwee-HAH-nuh”) river at Harrisburg.
Reading Lines was a part of Conrail, broken up and sold in 1999. The old Reading main toward New York City is Norfolk Southern’s line toward New York City.
In fact, the old Reading main became Conrail’s main toward New York City after the old Pennsy main became Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor.
Conrail probably had trackage-rights on the Corridor, but freight toward New York City needed a railroad of its own.
That would be the old Reading line which connected with Central of New Jersey to get to the New York area.
Freight still doesn’t cross the Hudson River via railroad to get to Manhattan Island — it didn’t with Pennsy either.
The old train-ferries were superseded by trucking.
Double-stacked freight-containers might get trained to the New York area in northern New Jersey on the west shore of the Hudson, but from there the containers get trucked into the city.
This bridge was built in 1924. It probably replaced an earlier bridge.
It became part of Reading’s attempt the steal traffic from Pennsy; that is, traffic from the nation’s interior toward New York City.
It became part of the so-called “Alphabet-Route,” an alliance of smaller eastern railroads meant to compete with Pennsy and New York Central.
It wasn’t just one railroad. It was an alliance of smaller railroads like Reading, Central of New Jersey, and Nickel Plate.
The alphabet-routing was a bit more roundabout, including through western Maryland.
It was called “Alphabet-Route” after the letters of its many participating railroads, like P&WV (Pittsburg & West Virginia) and CNJ (Central of New Jersey). (—Reading was “RDG.”)
So eastbound freight on Norfolk Southern might use the old Pennsy line to get to Harrisburg, but it then would switch to the old Reading line to get to the New York area.
The bridge was originally Reading, but now Norfolk Southern uses it to get across the Susquehanna near the old Pennsy yard at Enola (“aye-NOLE-uh;” as in “hey”).
Pennsy had at least two bridges in Harrisburg. One, Rockville, is the original Pennsy main.
A second came with a merged railroad out of Maryland.
There may have been others.
Enola Yard was southwest of Harrisburg, and across the river. Freight from the east had to cross the river south of Harrisburg to get to Enola.
Rockville Bridge became kind of moribund when Pennsy switched its Harrisburg yarding to Enola.
Harrisburg became too congested, and the flood of traffic could bottleneck it.
The train pictured is westbound, probably empty coal-cars headed back toward mines in western PA.
It might just pass right by Harrisburg, and not even stop for yarding. It looks like the train is a “unit-train,” assembled long ago for yo-yoing mine-to-destination then back to the mine. Back-and-forth with no need to be broken.

Cobra-Jet 429 Ford Torino. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—Hooray! A Ford product has made my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar, a 1970 Cobra-Jet 429 Torino.
And photographer Harholdt made it look pretty good; although the strident yellow color helps.
The Ford Torino was the best-looking of the intermediate sedans, although it never looked that good as a musclecar.
At least that was the impression I always had.

Photo by BobbaLew.

George Follmer’s Trans-Am Mustang.

The best-looking Fords of that era are the Boss-302 Mustangs made for SCCA’s Trans-Am competition.
The car pictured at left is the Trans-Am Mustang raced by George Follmer (“FOHL-mer;” as in “oh”). Follmer is driving. These were the best Trans-Am racers, campaigned and built by old NASCAR-racer Bud Moore.
The Cobra-Jet Torino was pretty, but so was every garden-variety Torino. Other musclecars were based on intermediate sedans, but for some reason looked more like musclecars than the Torino.
During the ‘70s my wife and I lived in an apartment in the top half of a house.
The bottom floor of the house was lived in by our landlady, who was elderly and advancing in age.
As she got older, she had to rely on live-in companions.
One had a Ford Torino, nice to look at, but very ordinary.
It was her day-to-day grocery-getter.
Often she gave me the keys if I had to drive to the grocery.
She’d park in the driveway, and had to move her car if I had to get my car out.
Rather than do all that, she’d have me drive her car.
Her car was only a Windsor 302 cubic-inch V8. Her car was very pretty, but hardly a Cobra-Jet.
The Ford musclecars also had the reputation of becoming losers. It could be they didn’t hold their tune as well as the GM or Chrysler musclecars. The ones that seemed to excel were made by General Motors, the SS Chevelles, and the G-T-O Pontiacs.
The Chrysler musclecars looked pretty good too, but looked bigger. The Cobra-Jet Torino is as big as a musclecar should look. It looked smaller than the Dodge and Plymouth musclecars, the same size as an SS Chevelle or G-T-O Pontiac, both of which look brawny, whereas the Cobra-Jet Torino looks pretty.

GG-1 awaits departure from New York City with the southbound “Silver Meteor,” which goes all the way to Florida. (Photo courtesy: Mitch Dakelman Collection©.)

—The February 2013 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a GG-1 (“Jee-Jee-ONE;” I only say that because a friend was mispronouncing it “Jee-Jee-Eye”) electric-locomotive deep in the bowels of Pennsy’s New York Penn Station.
It’s at the head of “The Silver Meteor,” a passenger-train that went all the way to Florida.
The train was New York City to Florida. It used Pennsy to Washington DC, where it switched to Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac, for delivery to Seaboard Air Line railroad in Richmond, which it used all the way to Florida, where it split, a Miami section, and a St. Petersburg section.
The picture is eons ago, February 2nd, 1939, the first run of the “Meteor.”
The Silver Meteor was first of a bunch of Seaboard streamlined passenger-trains, all using stainless-steel cars, silver.
Others were “The Silver Comet” and “The Silver Star.”
The “Silver Meteor” is still in service, a Florida train under Amtrak. We used it in the ‘80s to get to my wife’s parents in Debary, FL. We got on the train in Wilmington, DE, and off in DeLand, FL.
It was awful. Despite being a railfan, I decided I’d never use it again.
As soon as we left Wilmington the lights went out. This was in the diner, and it was dark. I couldn’t eat if I couldn’t see.
Apparently the electric cord from the locomotive to the train had disconnected, and we went all the way to Baltimore before it was reconnected.
Shortly after leaving Baltimore it disconnected again. I resolved never again would I ride Amtrak without a flashlight.
The train-trip to Florida was overnight.The equipment was so-called “Heritage” cars, older cars inherited from the railroads that turned railroad passenger-service over to Amtrak in 1971.
In other words, the cars were equipment once used by the railroads. They were old and tired.
I don’t know if the cars rode rough, or the track was rough. Probably both. We rode Amtrak’s Auto-Train over the same route years later, and it was smoother.
Auto-Train was new equipment; the railroad probably was too.
Sleep was impossible on the Silver-Meteor.
We had a sleeping compartment, a “bedroom,” but every switch and grade-crossing threw me into the ceiling.
All I could think of all night was the train derailing.
Our bunks were across the car, which was discombobulating as the train rocked.
On Auto-Train we had a “SlumberCoach” accommodation; a tiny compartment beside a center aisle that had our bunks lengthwise. For return Amtrak offered us an upgrade to a “bedroom” accommodation at the SlumberCoach price.
But I refused. I wasn’t about to try sleeping across the car after my experience on the Meteor.
Anyone who follows this blog knows I consider Pennsy’s GG-1 the greatest railroad locomotive of all time. Not only were they gorgeous, they lasted about 20 years longer than average.
As a teenager, I was lucky enough to live in northern Delaware, a GG-1 heaven on Pennsy’s New York-to-Washington electrified line, what later became Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor.
GG-1s reigned supreme, and every one I saw seemed to be doing 80-90 mph or more!
They rode smooth, and were immensely powerful. A single GG-1 could put 9,000 horsepower to railhead on short-term overload. They couldn’t do that continuously — the traction-motors would overheat. But power like that was great for blasting away from a station-stop.
A single modern diesel-electric locomotive is good for 4,400 horsepower.

4876 in the basement at Washington Union Station.

The locomotive pictured is #4876, famous later for being involved in an accident on January 15, 1953. 4876 was leading the Federal Express southbound from Boston into Washington Union Station, when the train lost its brakes.
4876 and train crashed through the bump-stop, and continued into the station out onto the concourse floor.
4876 sunk heavily into the basement.
It had to be disassembled to be removed.
It was later reassembled and returned to service.

4876 in Baltimore.

4876 apparently still exists, at the B&O rail-museum in Baltimore. Many GG-1s were scrapped, but 4876 wasn’t. It’s one of many that weren’t, although it’s stored outside, vandalized, suffering water-damage, and is in very poor condition.
It’s doubtful a GG-1 could be restored to service. The old Pennsy electrification was upgraded, and is no longer what it would need to be to operate a GG-1.
Beyond that, the GG-1 had transformers filled with PCBs. Those transformer-casings were drained and filled with sand or concrete. Others were removed completely.
Under the current 60,000-volt catenary, a GG-1 would really be an AEM-7 in a GG-1 body. Many AEM-7s were rebuilt to operate on alternating-current (AC). The wire powering a GG-1 was AC, but was only 11,000 volts (which is still a lot). GG-1s were AC traction-motors. The first AEM-7s were direct-current (DC), rectifying the AC catenary-power. Many AEM-7s were later switched to AC traction-motors.

A ’37 Ford five-window coupe.

—The February 2013 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a 1937 Ford coupe.
The car is not especially attractive to me — its front-end is wrong.

A 1939 Ford five-window coupe. (A five-window has an added small window behind the door-post.)

But it’s the year Ford introduced the coupe-body that became one the best-looking cars of all time.
Put the front-end of a ’39 Ford on this coupe-body and you have one the best-looking cars of all time.
And Ford Motor Company didn’t have a styling-department; that is, not the vast resources of General Motors’ Art & Colour Section as set up by Harley Earl.
Which despite its strength fielded some of the worst-looking turkeys ever marketed.
Old Henry, Henry Ford, founder of Ford Motor Company, thought styling a waste.
What mattered was function, and dependability.
Yet Ford had Henry’s only son Edsel, who Old Henry badmouthed. Edsel wanted Fords to look good.
As a result, some of the best-looking cars of all time emanated from Ford Motor Company — for example, the Model A, and the 1932 Ford. Also the 1934 Ford, and this coupe-body as 1939-1940.
Ford also had E.T. “Bob” Gregorie, Ford’s styling-chief from the middle ‘30s on.
This coupe-body is essentially his. Gregorie was a hire by Edsel.
Ford also had a cheap V8 motor, attractive to hot-rodders.
The fledgling hotrod parts industry was aimed at the Ford V8. A tinkerer could soup up the Ford V8 in his backyard.
You didn’t need a college education. Being mechanically-inclined was enough.
The Ford V8 could be easily modified for increased performance, and as a V8 it was spunky enough unmodified.
Plus the Ford was a low-priced car. They were cheap and plentiful.
After WWII a lot of elegant surplus fittings and fasteners were still on the West Coast for the Pacific war-effort. The stuff was cheap, and made it possible to build a hotrod.
Meld a Ford with surplus equipment, and you had a hotrod.
This car is the traditional late ‘40s hotrod.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A Ford Flat-head V8. (Note flat cylinder-head casting — an aluminum hotrod part in this case.)

It has a Flat-head Ford V8, souped up with double Stromberg 97 carburetors.
The only thing non-stock is the paint, a Thunderbird red.
Plus it’s the coupe-body, basis for what became one of the best-looking cars of all time.
I’ve also seen sedan versions of this body, and they don’t work at all.
They’re BeetleBombs!



(Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—A friend of mine says this is a really dramatic picture.
Well, yes it is, the lighting is fabulous.
But when I look at this picture I think “charade!”
Those aren’t really Japanese fighter-planes. They’re Texan trainers painted in Japanese colors.
Ersatz Japanese fighters. Impostors!
“Well,” my friend said; “the B-17 was a heroic airplane.”
“Sure,” I said; “if you don’t mind getting shot out of the sky.
The B-17 is a 1930s airplane asked to do a 1940s job. They were bog-slow; sitting ducks.”
“Load ‘em up with machine-guns,” he said.
“89 bazilyun machine-guns count for nothing, when you’re getting shot out of the sky by the Luftwaffe,” I said. “And if the Luftwaffe succeeds, as often it did, nine of your buddies get shot out of the sky along with you. Your heroic bomber crashes mightily in flames. Engage Joseph Heller. If you survive, you end up a German prisoner.”
The February 2013 entry Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a B-17 bomber accompanied by supposed Japanese fighter-planes.
Except they aren’t Japanese fighter-planes. They’re Texan trainers painted in Japanese fighter-plane colors (one is a Harvard, the Navy version of the Texan).
I’m not even sure the B-17 saw duty in the Pacific theater versus the Japanese, although they probably did.
The Japanese mainland was out of the range of a B-17. It would have to fly from China, which it probably did.
Not from America.
By the time various Pacific islands were conquered by America, the B-17 was being replaced by Boeing’s B-29 bomber, which could reach the Japanese mainland from those islands.
To me the B-17 was heavy bombing-runs over Germany, which it could reach from England.
They could do serious damage if they delivered their bombs.
But they also were sitting ducks for Hitler’s Luftwaffe.
A B-17 had a forest of on-board machine-guns to protect it, a so-called “Flying Fortress.” But 89 bazilyun machine-guns mean nothing when you’re a sitting duck.
And at first the B-17s had to fly over Germany unprotected by fighter escort. Hitler’s Messerschmitts had open season.
Friendly fighter-planes didn’t have the range to go as far as Germany, not until the P-51 Mustang, which came later in the war.
The Germans discovered the B-17s were especially vulnerable from the front; there were no machine-guns up front at first.
Which is why that chin-turret was added below the bombardier’s post.
But the B-17 didn’t become viable until they could take along fighter escort.
I’ve seen a B-17 fly; quite a few are still around. My WWII warbirds site says 13 are still airworthy.
A B-17 was bog-slow; gorgeous but a sitting duck.

Truck-train! (Photo by Ron Taylor.)

—The February 2013 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is what Pennsy did to meet the competition of trucking; a truck-train southbound on the Pennsy New York-to-Washington mainline near Levittown, PA in 1964.
Truck-trailers would be loaded onto special flatcars circus-style, driven right onto the flatcars into position.
It isn’t van-containers, what’s common now. The trailers are complete with road-wheels.

Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.

Behind the locomotives is a train of doublestacked containers.

What’s common now is wheel-less van-containers stacked two high in well-cars; “doublestacks.” The van containers get loaded and unloaded in giant yards with large cranes or equipment.
Van containers of standard 40-foot length are also used in international sea-trade. They get shipped in container-ships. Larger containers are also moved (for example the standard 53-foot trailer-length), but not in sea-trade.
The van-containers were more efficient than railroad switching to small industrial sidings. Railroad delivery is not as flexible as trucking.
The profit in railroading is moving large loads over long distances. Delivering a small load to an unloading-point can be costly.
A truck can deliver to an unloading-point not near a railroad, plus costly railroad infrastructure doesn’t need to be maintained. Industry doesn’t need to be trackside, unless it’s depending on railroad delivery.
The train is powered by a single E-44 electric locomotive.
The E-44 was built by General Electric, and rectified the 11,000-volt 25-cycle alternating-current delivered by the overhead wire into direct-current for the locomotive traction-motors.

Photo about 1962 by BobbaLew.

Box-cab P-5s.

Photo about 1962 by BobbaLew.

A steeple-cab P-5.

Photo by John Dziobko.

An E-3b (three four-wheel trucks).

Photo by BobbaLew.

Penn-Central E-33s.

The E-44 replaced the P-5 (4-6-4), both box-cab and steeple-cab, in freight-service.
The P-5s were old and worn out, and were essentially passenger-locomotives downgraded by the GG-1.
Rectification allows use of DC traction-motors like diesel-locomotives. Yet AC transmitted better over long distances. The GG-1s and P-5s were AC, as were Pennsy’s self-powered MP-54 commuter-cars.
Pennsy tried rectification in the ‘50s; experimental cab-units like the E-3b illustrated.
But they were never built in quantity.
Virginian Railway tried a 3,300-horsepower version of a rectifier locomotive on its electrified segment, made by General Electric, and found it successful.
(When electrification on Virginian was shut down, the E-33s moved to New York, New Haven & Hartford, which was eventually merged into Penn-Central, the E-33 illustrated.)
Pennsy asked General Electric to build a more up-to-date version.
Thus the E-44, 4,400 horsepower in a boxier body.
They have six DC traction-motors spread over two three-axle trucks (six wheels).
At first the E-44 used 12 mercury-arc Ignitron-tubes for rectification, but soon E-44s were marketed with silicon-diode rectification.
Eventually all the E-44s were switched to silicon-diode rectification. It was easier to maintain then mercury-arc Ignitron-tube rectification, which liked to fail.
Many E-44s were modified into E-44a’s, 5,000 horsepower.
They were occasionally used to haul passenger-trains, although they weren’t suited to such service. They were unstable at speed, so limited to 70 mph.
The E-44 is essentially a freight-engine. Some lasted even to Amtrak and Conrail, but were retired when Conrail got out of electrification in the ‘80s.
Pennsy’s New York-to-Washington line is still electrified, but it’s Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor, owned and operated by Amtrak.

The only remaining E-44.

Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.

A Trailer-Train on Norfolk Southern’s old Pennsy line.

Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.

RoadRailer.

Only one is left, #4465, at Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania in Strasburg, PA.
4465 is an ex-Amtrak unit, but was repainted in Pennsy colors.
Truck-Train is still around, although it may no longer be called “Truck-Train.”
Just recently we saw a Truck-Train on the old Pennsy line near South Fork, PA.
It’s trailer-on-flatcar, I think UPS trailers, coast-to-coast, very high priority.
Norfolk Southern has gone beyond Truck-Train to RoadRailer, a train of special highway trailers that can convert to railroad bogies. The bogies couple the trailers into a train, and lift the trailer-wheels clear of the rail.
It’s highway trailers running on railroad wheels. The concept is extremely efficient, but requires the highway-trailers be modified for RoadRailer use.
It’s better than Truck-Train, but costly to implement.

Legend Cub

A Legend Cub.

The other day (Monday, January 28th, 2013) I received a catalog from Sporty’s Pilot Shop of Batavia, Ohio.
Sporty’s Pilot Shop sells accessories and paraphernalia to pilots and would-be pilots.
Why I continue to get their catalog after all these years I don’t know.
I order from them hardly ever, perhaps a tee-shirt or two over the past 10 years; one fairly recently.
I suppose they got me from the AOPA mailing-list (Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association), which I joined in the late ‘70s, so I could get their gorgeous decal to put in the rear window of my 1972 Chevrolet Vega-GT.

That Vega was long-ago junked; it fell apart. But to my mind it was one of the best cars I’ve ever owned. My ability to do mechanical work was enhanced by that Vega. I did various improvements to it, and was always rewarded.
Every year Sporty’s holds a sweepstakes. Purchase something and you’re automatically entered to win a new airplane, usually some Cessna aimed at the private aviation crowd.
But I noticed this time they were giving away a so-called “Legend Cub.” It looked like the famous J-3 Piper-Cub first flown in 1938.

An actual J-3 Cub.

WHAT?
Is someone actually making a J-3 Cub? Is it Piper?
The J-3 Cub that started private aviation?
It’s the Piper-Cub, but it’s being built by Legend.
It’s powered by a 100-horsepower Continental engine.
As I recall, the J-3 was originally powered by a 40-horsepower Lycoming engine — although other engines of higher horsepower came to be used.
Well, it’s a gorgeous airplane, and significant (although the J-3 followed the J-1 and J-2).
It was manufactured in Lock Haven, PA, and I think Piper is no longer based in Lock Haven.
If I’m right, I think the old Piper Lock Haven facility is now a museum (to the Piper heritage), and Piper is now based in Florida, building megabuck aircraft for the super-rich, and also fairly inexpensive low-wing trainers. (The Cub is high-wing.)
The Cub was supposed to be the beginning of getting Ma and Pa out of their cars into airplanes.
Well, sort of.......
Actually it was the beginning of private aviation.
The Cub was so basic and affordable, it’s kind of the Model-T Ford of private aviation.

TriPacer.

Piper’s TriPacer, a tricycle landing-geared Pacer (a tail-dragger, like the Cub), was the attempt to get Ma and Pa out of their cars.
Being a tail-dragger you don’t land or taxi a Cub like a car.
Landing and taxiing weren’t the same angle-of-attack as flying.
The TriPacer, with its tricycle landing-gear, landed and taxied the same as it flew; making it more like a car.
If I am correct, the TriPacer integrated its steering to be like a car.
It had rudder-pedals, but you didn’t need ‘em.
In an airplane the control-tiller was often a wheel. With the Cub it was a vertical stick.
That tiller activated the ailerons, banking the airplane. You had to bank to turn.
Your rudder helped the plane turn. Rudder-pedals activated the airplane’s rudder.
With a car you just crank the steering-wheel.
The TriPacer, in an attempt to be more like a car, integrated rudder-function with the tiller, which was a wheel to be like a car.
This supposedly made flying more attractive to Ma and Pa.
But I wonder how car-like you can get, when you also have to fly up and down?
The tiller-wheel also activated the horizontal elevator. Forward equaled down, and back equaled up. —With the Cub it was forward or back on the control-stick.
The Cub only seated two in tandem. The TriPacer could hold four, although I’m sure there was a weight-limit.
In a car you aren’t obsessed with a weight-limit. Overload a car and it doesn’t drop out of the sky (become inoperable). A car just rides lower, and rides like it’s overloaded.
My first-ever flight was in a TriPacer back in 1956. The pilot was the owner of the airport, also a Piper franchise. I flew copilot; and the guy let me fly the plane.
I was 12, and thrilled.
I noticed the pilot was doing things that would have buffaloed Ma and Pa. He was trimming the airplane so it flew level. He also lowered the flaps on landing-approach.
A lot more was involved than in just driving a car.
Ma and Pa would be over-their-heads.
As soon as we took off he changed the pitch of the propeller. You could do that with a TriPacer, but not with a Cub. The TriPacer had a variable-pitch propeller. He changed the pitch to maximize fuel-usage. Challenge Ma and Pa with that!
Despite my best efforts, the plane kept climbing. I was flying level, but from 1,000 feet we slowly climbed to 1,200 feet.
I noticed the airport’s Super-Cub trainer, a J-3 with a more powerful engine, doing intentional tailspins below us. Someone was trying to earn his pilot’s license. (You could tailspin a Cub and recover without drama.)
My pilot had me approach the runway (a grass strip), but then he landed the airplane.
My younger brother, who once had his pilot’s license, and was part-owner of a Piper Cherokee, tells me landing is the most frightening adventure in flying.
A car is much more friendly.
-A) If it cripples, it doesn’t just drop out of the sky and kill its occupants. You head for the shoulder and call Triple-A.
-B) With a car you pretty-much look straight ahead to avoid accidents. With an airplane you have to look all around to avoid hitting your fellow flyers.
The level of intellectual involvement with flying is much higher than driving.
Then too, keeping airplanes separated became much more involved. Individual involvement of the pilot was not enough. An extensive navigational system had to be instituted. Its goal was to keep planes apart. If they hit each other, they’d disintegrate and drop out of the sky killing the occupants.
Also, things had to be avoided: radio- and water-towers, wires, mountains, and other airplanes. Things you just drove around with your car.
For 16 & 1/2 years I drove transit-bus. I’m a railfan, and people wondered why I wasn’t driving train.
“Because with a bus it’s mainly me,” I’d say. “With a train I gotta depend on others to avoid accidents. Trains all use the same track; with a bus I can just steer around threats.”
Plus a bus can stop much better than a train. With a bus you might be able to stop in less than 300 feet (a football-field) from 60 mph. A train might need a mile or two. It has the momentum of the heavy train pushing it, plus the contact-patch for each wheel is about the size of a postage-stamp, steel-wheel on steel-rail. Traction is almost non-existent. (Slam on the brakes, and the train slides.)
So now the classic J-3 Piper-Cub is being built by American Legend Aircraft Company.
124,900 smackaroos, brand-new. HOLY MACKEREL! For that kind of money I could purchase a pretty-good used Ferrari.
And it ain’t really the J-3 Cub, although pretty much it is.
It has modern avionics, stuff only dreamed about back in 1939.
Back then your location wasn’t pinpointed by satellite GPS.
And of course it ain’t fast. It’s just cool; kind of like how hotrods are cool.
And it’s an antique design. More recent airplanes are more up-to-date, and probably cost a fortune too.
But almost $125,000? For cryin’ out loud!
Do I enter the sweepstakes? I think not; I haven’t yet.
What do I do with an airplane other than sell it?
And for that kind of money I’d like it to haul ass. I’d prefer a modern airplane.

Dem changes

Over nine months have passed since my wife died.
My mind knows her ashes are under her father’s sugar-maple on our property.
But I still don’t feel like she’s gone forever.
I’m told this is quite common among bereaved people.
I keep feeling she’ll return some day, and if that were to happen I’d have explaining to do.
—1) “How come the hair-dryer cord is now wrapped in a rubber-band? It never was before.”
“Because the cord began unraveling,” I’d say. “It didn’t before, but now it does. I have to wrap it in a rubber-band to keep it from unraveling all over the floor.”
—2) “How come the Igloo dog-house is no longer in the kennel?”
“So I could mow that kennel with the zero-turn mower.
In fact, I now mow that entire immediate backyard with the zero-turn, what once was verboten, because mowing it with the trimming-mower took 10 times longer. You’re no longer around to do it for me, and damage by that giant zero-turn is hardly noticeable.
I couldn’t afford an hour-and-a-half when I could mow it in 10 minutes with the zero-turn. Pulling out the doghouse made mowing the kennel with the zero-turn possible.
With the zero-turn I just sit. That trimming-mower has to be pushed, and it’s only 20-inch cut, not 48 inches like the zero-turn. —That’s five, maybe six mowing swaths, instead of just two.” (The kennel is about 56 inches wide.)
—3) “I notice you’ve retired that lo-flow toilet in the master bathroom from number-two duty.”
“That’s because I got tired of plunging it every time I used it.”
—4) “I notice you’ve marked the range-hood insulating-panels ‘right’ and ‘left.’”
“That’s because the left panel was hesitant to fit in the right opening, yet fit fine in the left opening.
Plus the right panel fit fine in the right opening.
I got tired of always experimenting to find what fit the left opening, so I marked the panels.”
There are plenty of other things I’ve instituted since my wife died.
The kitchen-floor is no longer verboten, unless it’s inordinately dirty, which I don’t let happen.
If something falls on the kitchen-floor, it’s no longer immediately in the dishwasher, toxic until washed.
My wife would probably wonder about the vegetable-pans I’ve only rinsed out and left to dry in the sink-drainer.
“I’m still alive,” I’d say. “Those pans only go in the dishwasher if they were licked out by the dog, and if they don’t fit -a) they sit until they do (hopefully the next day), or -b) if I need ‘em I wash ‘em out with hot-water and dish-soap.
Sheets and towels go unlaundered for more than a week (Gasp!), unless the towels got dirty in food-processing; in which case they get laundered with colored clothing (about once per week).
Food-containers often only get rinsed out. They look clean enough, and I’m still alive. Often containers are “top-rack dishwasher-safe.”
There are other shortcuts I’ve made I’m sure wouldn’t pass muster. But I do make the bed. —I couldn’t stand that bed being unmade.
But I allow my dog on it once finished, and I allow the dog to sleep with me. I don’t think my wife would allow either, but I figure I owe that to my dog when her master is still a wreck.
The house hasn’t burned down yet, and I’m still erect and fully clothed. People tell me I’m doing wonderful; I guess some bereaved people fall apart.
I’m doing wonderful, but I still feel awful. I cry a lot.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.
• My “zero-turn” is my 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass. —It weighs about 700 pounds.
• RE: “Lo-flow toilet in the master bathroom.....” —The lo-flow replaced a toilet that became defective. Two other toilets remain, and they aren’t “lo-flow.”
• RE: “Range-hood insulating-panels....” —My wife made fabric-covered cardboard panels to fit the stove range-hood ventilation-openings. Otherwise, cold air comes down into the kitchen. The panels have to be installed.

Blankie

Scarlett with her blankie. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

It’s been bitterly cold the past few days.
Not below zero, but close.
It has also been very windy, taking wind-chills below zero.
Cold enough to make we worry about taking my dog to the park, and she loves going to the park.
Smells galore, and critters to chase.
She’s very much a hunter-dog.
I have to leash her at the park. She’s run away and got lost twice.
Her collar saved her both times. I have my cellphone number embroidered on her collar.
See a deer, and off she charges. That’s how we lost her once — on-the-leash after that! My wife was alive at that time. Some guy in a ratty Chevy pickup rescued her.
The second time she walked out an open gate on our property, opened by a hunter perhaps. She later jumped in the car of a kindly girl who then called me.
See a deer on the leash and I get dragged into the woods.
There are a number of things I don’t know since my wife died:
—1) is the whereabouts of the dog’s blankie (illustrated above), the coat she wears when it’s really cold.
—2) is a gigantic box of 89 bazilyun paper muffin-cups we got from Amazon. I have since found them, but in order to make muffins some time ago I had to order another 89 bazilyun.
—3) our wi-fi router is locked, one needs a password-key to connect. We got it so my wife could get the Internet wirelessly to her PC in another room, yet my neighbor was locked out.
This MAC is hard-wired to my Internet-cable, but can get the Internet wirelessly.
I joined my wireless network years ago, so this computer has memorized the network.
Now my iPhone is prompting me to join. but I don’t remember the key.
Since my computer memorized it, it’s invisible.
My wife would know the key, or have it written down somewhere, but she’s dead.
I may have to install a new router just to solve the key problem.
But that’s just for my iPhone, so I don’t think it’s worth the bother.
(I have other networks memorized on this rig.)
So, in order to take my dog to the park in bitter-cold, I need that “coat,” but I have no idea where it is!
The coat is an old warmer my paternal grandmother knitted long ago. My grandmother is long-gone.
My wife added straps that convert it to a dog-coat. They’re pinned with safety-pins. The straps thread small holes in the knitting.
We’ve used it on just about every dog we’ve had, including Scarlett.
So, where do I find it, or more properly can I take my dog to the park in bitter-cold?
I rummaged around in various trunks, and stumbled across it.
I could take my dog to her beloved park. We didn’t have to sit around.

• “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara) is my current dog; a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is my sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s my fourth rescue.)
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.

The GM bump

The GM-bump on a radical ’55 Chevy BelAir hardtop hotrod.

The March 2013 issue (#102) of my Hemmings Classic Car magazine has a feature on “Cars of the ‘60s.”

Photo by Richard Lentinello.

To my mind, the cars of the ‘60s aren’t that notable, except among them are one of the prettiest automobile styling jobs ever marketed, the ’61 Pontiac bubble-top two-door hardtop.
On the cover is a 1960 Studebaker Lark convertible.
The Lark was first marketed in the 1959 model-year, and as such trumped the Big Three.

Photo by Jim Donnelly.

The Lark was a first compact-car. The Big Three didn’t get around to marketing compacts until the following year, 1960.
That would be the Ford Falcon, the Chevrolet Corvair, and the Plymouth Valiant.
And only Ford got it right. The Corvair was so different The General had to bring out a Falcon clone, the Chevy II.
The Valiant had the right moves, but its styling was over-the-top. Chrysler-Corporation didn’t get it right until the 1963 model-year. The Valiant became an appliance.
So the Lark is pretty pedestrian, but it got the formula right: a downsized full-size Detroit sedan.
I notice the Lark has a slight vestige of what I called “the GM-bump.”
General Motors couldn’t get away from the curved rear fender.
Their cars of the early ‘50s are straight along the bottom of the side-window, but had pronounced fender-bulges.
Special models, for example the Olds Fiesta and the Buick Skylark dipped the side-window bottom to follow the fender-bulge.
That side-window dip became a trademark. Even the most basic GM models had it, what I called “the GM-bump.” Look at Chevrolet’s cheapest model from that time, the 150. Only the stationwagons didn’t have it.
Ford didn’t have it, nor did Chrysler, although their fins might start where the GM-bump was.
As the decade advanced, the GM-bump became ridiculous. Of course, styling of the late ’50 GM cars was overdone, and Chrysler went wild with fins.
By contrast, the Lark looks almost sensible.
A box with wheels and a motor. Studebaker’s version of the Ford Falcon. (Or should I say the Ford Falcon was Ford’s version of the Lark?)
But look carefully, and you’ll see they couldn’t get away from the GM-bump.
The dip along the bottom edge of the rear-window is slight, but there.

• “The General” is General Motors (“GM”).
• “Studebaker” last assembled cars in Canada March 16, 1966, and shut down its South Bend (IN) plant in 1963.

Power-failure

Photo by BobbaLew.

The stand-by generator.

Yesterday (Sunday, January 20th, 2013) was extremely windy, enough to blow down trees and knock out power-lines.
So I lost electric-power, first time since my wife died last April.
We (I) had (have) a stand-by generator, but it’s flaky in extremely cold weather.
It’s fueled by natural-gas, and apparently if it’s cold enough condensation freezes in the gas-line, blocking gas-flow.
The stand-by self-tests once a week. It starts and runs 10 minutes.
That is, it tries to start. If the fuel-line is plugged it can’t fire up. It cranks for a while then gives up.
A red light comes on indicating it over-cranked.
It was 41 degrees yesterday morning, warm enough to thaw a freeze.
When the electricity failed the stand-by didn’t come on.
So I went outside to see if the tiny red “over-crank” light was on.
It had been extremely cold earlier.
The red-light was on, so I switched the stand-by over to manual start. It cranked then fired.
Still no lights, so I went out again and switched it over to “set,” the position it’s in to sense power-failure.
20 seconds passed, per as it should, then the stand-by cranked and started.
Back inside I had lights.
The stand-by pushes other things. Both my furnace and water-heater need electricity, plus my freezers are on it. Plus my garage-door opener. My garage-door is so big and heavy it used to take two to open it manually, my wife and I. —Which is why I (we) had the garage-door on the stand-by.
Apparently the power-company was dorking around trying to get electricity to our street.
Electricity came back long enough for the stand-by to quit. Then the electricity dove again, leaving me without lights.
My stand-by didn’t restart. Perhaps enough electricity was getting through to trick the stand-by into not taking over.
I went back outside and did the manual-start drill again. And switched over to “set.”
Back to lights again; but I figured I better not take my dog to the park; that is, away from my house.
I walked my dog around the property, and the stand-by quit, as did my neighbor’s stand-by across the street.
Apparently the broken power-line was repaired.
Even when my wife was alive, a power-failure was frightening. The stand-by would kick on, and then we’d wait for the grid-electricity to return.
What happened yesterday was similar, although I didn’t feel that frightened and discombobulated.
And that’s despite my lack of confidence since my wife died.
I went out and fiddled the stand-by into doing its job.

PASS!

Yesterday (Friday, January 18th, 2013) I got another one of those letters from Rev. Max Bishop, Bereavement-Counselor at Ontario-Yates Hospice.
Ontario-Yates Hospice is the service we used when my wife died.
Ontario and Yates are both NY counties — I live in Ontario County.
My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.

“Dear Hospice Family:

Many months have passed since the death of your loved one. It may seem like the death occurred yesterday or it may seem a distant event. Some people believe it takes four full seasons for grief to ease. For many it takes much longer.”

Why not “Many moons?”
I couldn’t help thinking does he keep these letters stored on his computer hard-drive? Already composed and ready-to-print?
“Dear Hospice Family” makes it generic, although you could program your computer to put “Dear Mr. Hughes,” or whoever, in its place.

“We remind you again that we are here for you if you need someone to talk with. Just talking is good therapy.”

PASS!
Get real, Rev. Max.
I tried calling you once, long ago.
At the six-months anniversary of my wife’s death, when your tickler suggested you send a similar letter.
I called and got your machine. I dutifully left a message, and your machine said you’d call back.
You never did, as promised.
I don’t know if things are any different than they were last October, but I’m not inclined to find out.
Heaven-forbid I interrupt your donut-break!

• “Mr. Hughes” is me, “Bobbalew,” “Bob Hughes.”
• “Tickler” is an old bank term, but may apply other places. It was a book that indicated when loans came due for renewal. It indicated future events. (I worked at a bank in the late ‘60s after I graduated college.)

Train-chasing with Faudi on phone

(“FOW-dee;” as in “wow.)

I finally got one (a westbound approaching 257.2). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Photo by Tom Hughes.

That’s yrs trly in the red jacket; my brother Bill is at right.

Another foray to Altoona, PA to chase trains in the area.
This would my eleventh “tour” with Phil Faudi, the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona I chase trains with.
Except he wasn’t able to accompany me, due to his wife having a virus of some sort on top of the multiple-sclerosis she already has.
I will never forget when Phil called after I arrived.
It was like a punch in the gut.
I felt like there went my train-count, 20 or more with Phil, to perhaps five with me alone.
A five or 10-minute wait per train with Phil, as opposed to a half-hour or more for me, if at all.
But Phil had an idea. He’d monitor his scanner at home, and call me to tell me where I might catch what he heard coming.
Suddenly my train-count was recovering.
Phil would call my cellphone, so I could be out anywhere along the railroad.
It just so happens I invited my railfan nephew, Tom, along. He would have accompanied me and Phil.
Then my younger brother Bill, my nephew’s father, suggested he’d like to join us. (Bill is not a railfan.)
So now it was just me and Bill and my nephew, but Phil only by phone.
Phil also gave me a list of all scheduled eastbounds, since he would be unable to monitor the west side of The Hill.
I had my scanner, but unfortunately it’s not Phil’s scanner, which has a tuned antenna so gets better reception.
My trip to Altoona was uneventful.
The only thing worth mentioning is what I call the Hillary Clinton and Chuck Schumer Memorial Freeway, a short segment of perhaps eight miles from Presho to the PA state-line, is not open yet.
It’s graded and paved, but a bridge needs to be erected yet.
I had to use the ancient two-lane, the only section of two-lane remaining in a trip to Altoona.
Other than all the rural two-lanes I use to get across New York.
I could use a freeway, but it’s roundabout, and takes as long as my slower two-lanes.
A trip to Altoona is now almost all limited-access expressway in PA.
I arrived at Tunnel Inn in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”), the bed & breakfast we always stayed at, at about 3:15 p.m., my usual time.
My nephew would stay with me, since I had reserved a room with two single beds. And my brother would stay at a motel in Altoona — since I hadn’t reserved for him.
My brother and nephew would arrive about 6:45; they suggested we all eat supper together at a restaurant.
I had set up my CR-V to seat four, but without Phil we were down to three. My brother suggested he drive his car so I could answer Phil’s phonecalls.
Our train-chase would begin at Slope Interlocking, an overpass in Altoona over the old Pennsy “Slope Interlocking,” where The Hill begins.
Slope is also where the leads began into vast Altoona Yard. There once was a tower. —The switches are all interlocked to avoid conflicts.
Amtrak’s eastbound Pennsylvanian was coming, and was on time. We’d catch it at Slope.
So began our parade of “doubles,” what Phil calls two trains at once.
An eastbound stacker came down The Hill on Track Two, then another on One, and then Amtrak’s Pennsylvanian beside it on Track Two.

Stacker and trailers down on Two. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

Rare. (Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.)

But I had the wrong lens on. I had my big telephoto zoomer.
My nephew got the better picture. He wasn’t using telephoto.
And 513 is a rare locomotive, not the usual P42.
It’s an Amtrak version of the General-Electric freight locomotive.
I’ve seen them on eastbound Pennsylvanians, but only because the eastbounds are what I see; there’s only one eastbound per day.
The 500-series could be on westbounds too.
The eastbound Pennsylvanian gets into Altoona at 9:51 a.m. (Westbound about 5 p.m.)
We saw it about 9:35-9:40.
I called Phil. “Where to next?”
He suggested going west from Slope over The Hill, but he couldn’t monitor that side, which is why he had given me that list of eastbounds.
And so began our train-chase coached by Phil on the telephone.
Phil says he called me nine times. My cellphone says I called him 15 times or more.
We tried the approach to Ledges, but the snow was so deep we turned back. My brother was driving us around in his BMW sedan, which was not my CR-V.
Just-the-same I probably would have turned back my CR-V.
Brickyard-Crossing was among our stops.
Actually it’s the Porta Road grade-crossing, the only grade-crossing in Altoona.
But there used to be a brickyard adjacent.
It was there we saw our “triple,” first one train passed by a second, and then a third train.
That’s a train on all three tracks.

First this down on One. (Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.)

Then a train up on Three, and

Then the triple begins; this is the second train. (The first train of the triple is still up on Three.) —This train was all auto-racks, which blocked the third train down on One. (Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.)

The last triple I saw was almost 44 years ago.
Unfortunately the only way to photograph a triple is from above, an overpass.
Brickyard is a grade-crossing, not an overpass. All we could do was see it was a triple; the second train was blocking the view of the third train.
Triple passed, we had another double.

This one is up on Three while train-three of the triple is stopped on One for this one to clear. (Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.)

The third train of the triple was stopped to clear this train.
At some point we ended up at South Fork, and the sun came out. It’s a fabulous shot with strong telephoto, a gigantic curve.
I called Phil, who remember can’t monitor the western side of The Hill. (He’s at home on the eastern side.)
“A westbound is coming; 25 minutes to the top of The Hill, then 20-25 minutes to South Fork.”
“Have we got time to go up to CP-W?” I asked, which is just north (railroad-east) of South Fork.
“Yes.”
But in moving there we lost a fabulous shot of an eastbound at South Fork.
All I got was a helper-set – so pictured.

And so it goes. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

The eastbound came as soon as we left, and I’d never heard it.
About all I can do is try again in a few months.
And hope I can get a tuned antenna like Phil if alone.
I also have to develop the ear Phil has, to pick out train-symbols from the gibberish as the engineer calls out the signals.
If I’d had all that, we wouldn’t have lost that fabulous shot at South Fork.
Next was CP-W (checkpoint W) just north of South Fork.
An eastbound went by as we were walking down to it; a ballast-strewn service-road.
CP-W is where the South Fork Secondary switches into the main line; and there used to be a flyover there. The flyover is long-gone; it was only there to keep trains switching onto the South Fork Branch from blocking the main.
Phil said more westbounds were coming, and we kept getting eastbounds, and doubles.

I think this is my best picture. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

I think this is the westbound UPS-train. (Photo by Tom Hughes with Phil Faudi.)

(“UPS” because it’s all United-Parcel-Service trailers, very high priority. The train goes all the way to the west-coast.)
Time was passing quickly, more quickly than I expected it would.
Already it was 4 p.m., and getting dark.
We concluded at 257.2, a highway overpass over the tracks that has the 257.2 signals mounted to it.
That section is a bypass built in 1898 to ease curvature approaching Allegheny Summit from the west.
Far down the tracks is a deep rock cut; a lot of rock had to be blasted out to make that bypass.
Also visible far down the track is Cassandra (“kuh-SANN-druh;” as in “Ann”) Railfan Overlook, a footbridge over the tracks next to the tiny town of Cassandra.
Railfans were attracted to that footbridge.
Much of the original mainline is still extant, as it serves a coal-tipple. It used to cross here and go into Cassandra.
It switches into the mainline at right.
We were losing light, but I managed to snag the lede picture (above).
I’ve shot many photos off that bridge, but that lede picture is the first I’m happy with. It’s not fabulous, but it’s pretty good.
We ate supper at the infamous spaghetti-joint, Lena’s in Altoona.
We never saw Phil, so our chase, fairly successful, went unpaid for.
(I usually eat out with Phil.)
I returned home the next day, a Sunday, very depressed; seemingly more so than my last train-chase in September.
I was returning home to the same sorry, sad situation I had left two days earlier — the fact I am now a widower.
My beloved wife of over 44 years died nine months ago, and I miss her dearly.
I still have my dog, but I told her “your master is still a wreck.”
And so yet another train-chase drifts into the filmy past.
Train-chases I can still do, but no railfan excursions yet.
I lack the confidence.

Adventures in bereavement

.....or should I call it “misadventures?”
Since I drove all the way to Altoona, PA and back over the past weekend (blog coming), my car was slathered with road-dirt.
I decided it needed to be washed, so yesterday (Tuesday, January 15th, 2013), after working out at the YMCA in nearby Canandaigua, I decided to run my car through a car-wash.
It only costs eight bucks, and I use my credit-card.
The car-wash has a computer interface with an interactive touch-screen.
“Welcome to Car-Wash,” a disembodied female voice bubbled. “Select car-wash, basic or ‘The Works.’”
I must have hit something wrong. It wanted a code.
Start over, but get back to that point.
Now, “Select method of payment, cash or credit/debit card.”
I hit “credit-card.”
“Insert card.” I did so, forgetting to immediately retrieve my card.
(It hadn’t read it before, when I took it out too quickly.)
The machine crunched my payment, and raised the gate.
I drove into the car-wash, inadvertently leaving my credit-card in the machine.
Car-wash complete, I drove down to the supermarket to get groceries.
Groceries selected, I processed everything with their U-scan.
“Select method of payment.”
UH-OOOHH; no credit-card in my wallet. It’s still in the machine at the car-wash up the street.
My groceries were only $14-something, so I paid cash; first time at a U-scan.
Back to the car-wash. My credit-card was no longer in the machine, which was processing a line of cars.
I went to the car-wash office, and after poking around I noticed my credit-card on a desk. (No-one was there.)
I retrieved my card, and notified a car-wash employee.
Now, anything different here since my wife died? Did I leave my card in the machine because I’m distracted?
I think not. A mistake like that could happen to anyone, death of wife or not.
And did I pursue my credit-card similar to before my wife’s death?
Probably.
Although it would have been fairly likely it would have been she pursuing the card.
Although I was more likely to retrieve the card myself, and would have done so even if she were alive.
Thank goodness I didn’t have to call the bank to cancel my card, an act I would have delegated to my wife — although I could have done it.

• I drove to Altoona to chase trains. I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m almost 69).
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I 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 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.)
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.

Lunch with Brenda

Brenda Tremblay.

For some reason or other, I don’t remember why, I got the e-mail address of Brenda Tremblay (“TROM-blay;” as in “trombone”), the morning-host at WXXI, the classical-music radio-station out of Rochester (NY) I listen to.
Brenda and I graduated Houghton College (“HO-tin;” not “how” or “who”), she in 1990, me in 1966.
In fact, her father was Class of 1964; two before me. I never knew him personally, but I know who he is.
It’s not her private e-mail. It’s WXXI. But it’s not the generic WXXI e-mail. Her name is in the address.
Once-in-a-while I’d send her a link to one of these blogs, usually something that dealt with Houghton.
I happened to send her a link about my wife’s obituary finally appearing in the college magazine — about six months after her death.
So she fired back wondering if I could do lunch.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m told I need company.”
We’d swap stories about Houghton, and how it was an inspiration to our musical inclinations.
For me that was a pleasant surprise. Brenda’s parents were both music-majors.
I’ve never regretted Houghton, although I was adjudged a ne’er-do-well.
My surprise was discovering their penchant for Bach, which I readily accommodated.
So after graduating and moving to Rochester, and listening to rock-’n’-roll a few years — Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, etc...... — I gravitated to WXXI, a return to my enjoyment of classical music.
WXXI is a public-radio station, and wasn’t classical at first.
Since the commercial classical station in Rochester tanked, WXXI-radio went classical.
I’m a long-time listener and supporter, ever since the middle-‘70s.
I no longer render heavy financial support, since at my age (almost 69), itemizing deductions no longer makes sense.
As a public-radio station, WXXI depends on member support, the financial support of its listeners.
And so it was yesterday, Monday January 14th, 2013. Faire Brenda and her ancient bereaved listener.

Simon Pontin.

Brenda replaced Simon Pontin (“Pahn-tin;” as in “ah”), who had been WXXI’s morning-man since WXXI went classical. We always liked Simon, although I could have done without his Sousa marches at the crack of dawn.
But his twisted viewpoints were similar to mine; apparently what drew me to my wife.
Brenda suggested a compromise location, the Distillery in Victor, NY. It would take her perhaps 25-30 minutes to get there from Rochester, and about 20-25 minutes from my house.
I got there before she did — I left too early.
She apparently parked next to me, but neither of us realized who we were. I thought she was some young professional; she had gone inside.
Finally about our scheduled time I called her cellphone, but kept getting voicemail for “Beth.”
Brenda returned my call, calling from inside. By then I had gone into the restaurant’s lobby. Brenda came out to get me, apologizing that a restaurant-employee had not brought me to her table.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Our 1979 Ford E-250 van in South Dakota.

Gift-exchange time: I had brought along an old WXXI bumper-sticker from the ‘80s, and Brenda gave me a bag of recent WXXI goodies.
I explained a similar WXXI bumper-sticker had traveled all the way to Montana in 1987, on the back bumper of our 1979 Ford E-250 van, my all-time favorite motor-vehicle, even though it only got 10 mpg.
That van also did Yellowstone and the Pikes Peak road, which at that time was still dirt.
All through Wyoming strains of Copland’s “Billy the Kid” wafted through my head, a legacy of WXXI.

Karl Haas.

“For that you can blame Karl Haas,” I said. His program was “Adventures in Good Music,” apparently nationally syndicated.
It aired on WXXI during the ‘80s, and significantly expanded my appreciation of classical-music: Stravinsky, Ravel, Rimsky-Korsakov, Gershwin — even Mozart, who I kind of abhorred because of his fluff.
“Yes, we always listened to ‘Adventures in Good Music’ as I was growing up,” Brenda said.
“There were lots of others,” I observed.
Brenda wondered about her programming; her father claimed it was too droll and sad.
“I’ve never felt that way,” I declared.
I concluded by observing that first I called her “Bubbles;” she was too ebullient.
But now I no longer feel that way. Either -a) I’ve gotten used to her, or -b) she’s toned it down.
Although sometimes she plays opera. Pontin had a rule about “no opera before noon.” I can go with that. Hearing opera my wife and I would always comment about the singer being goosed for the high notes.
Once I heard an electronic version of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” as a ringtone on someone’s cellphone.
“If my cellphone ever did that,” I said; “I’d stomp it!”

• “Houghton College,” in western New York, is from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. Houghton is an evangelical liberal-arts college.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Like me she was Houghton Class of ’66. I miss her dearly.

The zipper-problem

I think I finally solved my zipper-problem.
Apply scientific-method = guile-and-cunning.
The zipper of my down winter jacket liked to be dysfunctional. Engaged, it wouldn’t zip.
I tried everything, trying to discern a position in which it would function.
My attempts were to fully engage the zipper-base in the starting-channel, but more than often it wouldn’t zip.
Prior experience with dysfunctional zippers noted the importance of fully-engaging the zipper-base, but that wasn’t working in this case.
Recently I noticed if the zipper-head was rotated counterclockwise it made the zipper work.
Apparently if not rotated the zipper-head doesn’t line up properly and jams. The zipper is thereby rendered dysfunctional.
Rotation isn’t much, perhaps four degrees.
It doesn’t like to rotate, which is why it’s only four degrees.
But apparently that’s enough to line up everything properly, and make it work.
So now I have to remember to rotate the zipper-head, as opposed to fully engaging the zipper-base; what I’m used to.

Has God mellowed?

While I was growing up, God was portrayed as nasty, capricious, judgmental, and difficult, much like my father.
My siblings, what few remain, will dispute this, that my father was a wonderful person, and I am just rebellious.
It’s true in their case. My father mellowed as he got older, but I‘m the oldest, and my remaining siblings are all 13-to-17 years younger than me. So the parents they had were much easier to live with than the parents I had.
The God I grew up with seemed happy to consign you to the flames.
Now He’s become loving and kindly, almost a Santa Claus.
I kind of walked away from religion. I still have the values thereof, but my father lost me when he clobbered me once.
That mellowed my mother quite a bit; she could see I was lost when my father hit me.
Religion at that time was judgmental, or so it seemed.
If I dared question I was portrayed as rebellious, and it wasn’t just my father.
Some rather insane rules were foisted upon me. For example, television was Of-the-Devil. When Kennedy was assassinated I wasn’t allowed to watch his funeral-parade. It was almost as if he deserved assassination.
But it seems all that has changed, that now anything goes.
My sister, slightly younger than me, who died in December of 2011, was married four times, and also drank.
But now none of that seems to matter any more.
What matters is she claimed being (and demonstrated to be) a believer, beholden to Godliness.
Well, good for her. She changed friends returning to the church, thereby making her life less depressing.
What astounds me is how tolerant God has become of previous sins — and current sins.
That’s not the world I grew up in.
God back then was not tolerant of infidelity or drinking.
Now it seems anything goes. For example, Jesus gets high on crack-cocaine. (We now have “Jesus-Rock,” when rock-’n’-roll for me was Of-the-Devil. Jerry Lee Lewis was the Devil personified.)
The God who could consign you to the flames — for example the coal-fired boilers at my elementary-school if you dissed the janitor — is now loving and tolerant.
So now I’m confused.
Plus my pointing out stuff like this is portrayed as rebelliousness.
This is especially true of my blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho Harley-dude, who reminds me very much of my father.
Judgmental.
Our family was hardly functional. I was always portrayed as rebellious and Of-the-Devil because I couldn’t venerate my father. And God at that time seemed to concur.
“Flames for you, baby!”

Stark terror

It was about 11:30 p.m. last night (Sunday, January 6th, 2013).
I had gone to bed about an hour earlier.
I was not fast-asleep yet, but almost.
All-of-a sudden “Bing-Bong!” —Sounded like my doorbell.
Was I hearing things? Dreaming?
I tried to go back to sleep.
“Bing-Bong!”
No disputing it this time.
I got up in stark terror.
I don’t pack a pistol, and I’m now alone since my wife died.
Was someone ringing my doorbell at this hour?
I let my dog out, turning on the backyard lights.
Usually she goes over to the garage if someone rung my doorbell.
She didn’t this time.
I looked toward the garage. No one was at the door, nor was there a car in the driveway.
But I figured I better look out my garage people-door, where doorbell-ringers come.
I went into my garage without turning on the light. I didn’t wanna give myself away.
No one was outside, so why did I hear a doorbell?
My doorbell gives two signals: “Bing-Bong” at the front-door, but just “Bing” at the garage people-door.
What I heard was “Bing-Bong,” so maybe I was looking out the wrong door.
My dog usually goes bonkers at the doorbell, but she didn’t this time.
Was I actually hearing my doorbell?
“Wait a minute,” I thought to myself. “Did I actually turn my cellphone off?” It renders a “Bing-Bong” as its text-alert sound.
I tried it, and I had just received a text from Facebook at 11:30 p.m.
An old friend had posted a comment to my recent wall-post on her Facebook.
Mystery solved! I turned my cellphone off and went back to bed.
Although falling asleep was difficult with stark terror still in my head.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Like me she was 68. I miss her dearly.

Wrastling with HEX-sell®

(Note for camerabanger: Look in the comments for “Happy New Year.”)

Last night (Saturday, January 5th, 2013) I took on what used to be one of the most frightening and exasperating computer-challenges of the year, generation of two Excel spreadsheets for my income-tax: -a) itemized deductions, and -b) income.
My wife, when she was still alive — she died April 17th of last year — used to wonder why I still did these.
They’ve become no longer necessary.
It used to pay us to itemize deductions, although the only deductions we had were -1) charity-giving, and -2) property-taxes.
We never had mortgage-interest, since we owned our house free-and-clear.
But now we get an additional exemption as oldsters.
Charity-giving no longer makes sense; that is, it was better for charity to get it than the guvamint.
My tally of income has also become useless, since it doesn’t agree with my 1099s.
Actually, the pension 1099s agree, but Social-Security never does, and Social-Security’s 1099 is what the IRS goes by.
My tally only came close.
So my income-spreadsheet was never a tax-entry; it was only a comparison.
Itemized-deductions were a tax-entry, but I no longer need it, since my old-age exemption is larger.
So my wife had a point. Why do I even bother doing these spreadsheets, when they involve so much hair-pulling and acrimony — yet I no longer need them.
I continue doing them to remain proficient with Excel, and partly because I can, but mainly to remain proficient.
Generating new spreadsheets has become easier.
I’ve done it so many times.
Yet I’m only doing it once a year.
Okay, fire up this computer, and fire up Excel.
Open my “Itemized-Deductions 2012” spreadsheet, and copy the first row only, the one with all my column-headings.
Paste onto new Excel spreadsheet.
Uh-ohhh; my column-widths ain’t the variables of my 2012. They’re the default Excel width, some too narrow.
And I can’t vary the width, or so it seems.
So how do I get around this?
Apply guile-and-cunning.
Delete all the entries from my 2012 spreadsheet except that first row, then save that as my 2013 spreadsheet. It has the variable column-widths I previously had.
But I notice the rows are numbered wrong. It goes from “Row 1” right to “Row 14;” no 2 to 13.
Okay, expand my outline. Rows 2 to 13 were compressed into a Row 14 sub-total. Outline expanded, I can delete Rows 2 to the end.
Now I’m in business. (Save that!)
This gets into my unknowledge of Microsoft’s most recent Excel application, which saves as .xlsx.
I can’t drive it, but I can drive Excel’s older .xls application.
Microsoft allows me to save as .xls, the older application.
So I save my new spreadsheets as .xls.
Now to get these two spreadsheets where they’re easily accessed.
I saved the new spreadsheets to my desktop, but I also have a desktop spreadsheet folder. It has sub-folders in it that go back to 2008.
So generate new sub-folder in this spreadsheets folder, a sub-folder for 2013.
Open my hard-drive twice, and move my 2013 spreadsheets from my desktop-folder to my 2013 sub-folder.
Now I can update my 2013 spreadsheets just like I did my 2012 spreadsheets — slam-dunk easy.
The whole process, generating my 2013 spreadsheets, and making them easy to access, took about an hour.
Last year it probably took two hours. and I don’t remember how I did it. Although I think I did it differently, although maybe not.
Go back farther, and there’d be frenzied hair-pulling, and using maybe four hours or more.

• My taxes are now done by a professional.

January 2nd

Yesterday, Wednesday January 2nd, 2013, would have been my wife’s 69th birthday.
.....If she’d made it, which she didn’t.
My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th of last year. She was 68 at that time. I miss her dearly.
People called me up and/or talked to me saying “I bet this day is really hard.”
Actually it wasn’t. We never made much of birthdays anyway.
My wife’s birthday would come-and-go, me having forgotten.
Had it not been for the fact my family’s web-site, now defunct, notified me of my wife’s birthday, I would have forgot yet again.
That and my niece calling up to ask if I was okay.
My wife was slightly older than me. I turn 69 February 5th.
“Married an older women, eh?” a friend observed.
“Well technically,” I said; ”although I always perceived us as the same age.”
I’ve always felt I did extremely well.
That I got a good one.
Marriage is always a pot-shot. You think you might have some idea who your mate will be, but you don’t.
Your perception decided who you would marry, but perception can be wonky.
Chemical madness comes into play. Hormones!
Over 44 years of marriage various distractions arose, but I couldn’t leave.
I doubted I could do any better.
“I’m not about to become another notch on your bed-post,” I told one.
Over 19 years ago I had a stroke, and it severely debilitated me at that time.
My wife sprang into action, and in so doing made it possible for me to recover.
But unfortunately we fell into a routine where I depended on her to cover for me.
What I regret more than anything is not conveying how well I recovered, which I’ve discovered on my own.
An example is a recent bill from Thompson-Health in nearby Canandaigua, a supposed “self-pay” for a blood-draw.
I had a hunch my health-insurance was supposed to pay it.
Before my wife died, she would have been making the phonecalls.
If I were still debilitated I would have just payed the erroneous bill; it was only $37.
But I made the phonecalls myself. I’ve gotten so I can do that.
It’s like a similar occurrence just before she died.
I left important papers in the storage-pouch on the back of her borrowed wheelchair at Strong Hospital.
But I figured she couldn’t pursue that search herself.
I called Strong Hospital and got rammed around by various machines, but managed to recover the papers after arduous struggle.
With that, my wife probably figured I could go it alone.
Although that was the only indication she ever got.
She’s no longer here to cover for me, yet I get by quite well.
Is my calling Thompson-Health worth $37?
Sure; it was only five minutes.
Thompson bills my health-insurance — instead of me.
Too bad my wife can’t know.
A lady at my GriefShare suggests her husband had to die for her to start living.
That’s sort of what’s happening in my case.

• RE: “My family’s web-site......” —My siblings established a family web-site at MyFamily.com. Text and pictures could be posted. It is now defunct. It died with Facebook.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where I 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 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester (NY).
• “Strong Hospital” is a large hospital in the southern part of Rochester. My wife’s cancer was treated there. (She also was treated at Thompson-Health.)
• I attended a grief-share last Summer and Fall. Participants are recently bereaved sharing their grief. The advantage to a grief-share is people who understand, being similarly experienced.

“Happy New Year”

Assuming I take my dog to nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin;” as in “wow,” not “boh” or “boo”) Park this morning, that’s what passersby will probably be wishing me.
And I’ll probably say “I only hope 2013 isn’t as sad as 2012, since 2012 is the year my wife died.”
The owner of the Bailey-dog, who I see there occasionally, and a few others are hip. They’re the only ones who will wish 2013 is better for me than 2012.
We were never apprised my wife would die, only that she might.
We wrestled with her cancer five years, actually two cancers, although her breast-cancer seemed to be in remission.
Her fatal cancer was non-Hodgkins lymphoma, although that seemed in remission a few times. But it kept coming back, and it became aggressive. (Fast-growing.)
We tried various chemos, but the only one that worked was the most toxic — the one that causes hair-loss.
We had to stop using it because it could damage her heart.
Complications arose, mainly leg-swelling, caused by blockage of blood-return from her legs.
Her blockage was the cancerous lymph-nodes in her abdomen.
There also was blockage of ureter-tubes from her kidneys, which made one kidney dysfunctional.
We thought we might have to do outside kidney drainage, but that was negated when the toxic chemo reduced the cancerous lymph-nodes.
But her lymphoma kept returning, and when the last-resort hyper-expensive chemo prescription reduced her immunity too much, it was all over.
The lymphoma took her, and in killing its host, so doomed itself.
So 2012 is the year we dispersed her ashes under her father’s sugar-maple tree on our property, as she wished.
I was so stunned doing so I didn’t know what I was doing.
My cleaning-lady tells me I’m doing wonderful, that my wife would be proud.
“You get up every morning and pursue your daily-routine like nothing happened.”
“Well believe you-me,” I always say. “I know something happened.”
Local TV and radio stations are doing things recalling significant events of 2012. They might list 20 events.
In my case I only list one. 2012 is the year my beloved wife of over 44 years died. I miss her dearly.
A friend suggested widowhood sucks.

• I took my dog to the park this morning, and only saw four others. None wished me “Happy New Year.” One was hip, so I said “You know what happened, of course.” “Yes,” she said. “I can only hope 2013 is better than 2012,” I said. —I was unable to hike what I usually do, in that case almost three miles (or possibly more). But almost did all of it, skipping perhaps a quarter-mile. I was unable to hike the West Pond dam-dike. Two geese were on the frozen pond-surface, and I couldn’t risk broken bones after being lunged toward those geese. (My dog is very much a hunter.)