Monthly Calendar-Report for June 2013

Eastbound Train 18N, all auto-racks, climbs The Hill. (Photo by BobbaLew with Phil Faudi.)

—The June 2013 entry of my own calendar is Train 18N, all eastbound auto-racks, on Track One of the west slope of The Hill, at a location where five tracks of the old Pennsy cross under PA state route 53.
The train is on the New Portage alignment. Track Two is to the left of the train, and Main-Eight, a storage-track, is to the right of the train.
Tracks Three and Four are visible in the right side of the picture, and are on the original Pennsylvania Railroad alignment, which is lower.
Pennsy came to own New Portage, a solution to the original Portage alignment over Allegheny Ridge, which included inclined-planes due to poor grading when it was built.
Grading back then was in its infancy, very rudimentary.
Pennsy added New Portage because it included a tunnel through the mountaintop, which could increase Pennsy’s capacity across Allegheny Ridge.
We just managed to catch this train. I was with Phil Faudi (“FOW-deee;” as in “wow”), the railfan I chase trains with in the Altoona area.
He had heard this train coming east on his radio-scanner. (The train-engineer calls out signals on the train radio as the train proceeds.)
We rushed to the route-53 overpass just east of Cresson (“KRESS-in”), and took up position on an old abutment of an earlier route-53 overpass.
This picture is not extraordinary, although I’ve done fairly well at this overpass. April’s picture, looking east, is the same overpass. This picture is looking west.
This picture cannot be repeated (I’ve tried). Shrubbery has grown up obscuring the view.
Engine 9049, in the lead, is a General-Electric Dash 9-40CW, 4,000 horsepower (“40”), three-axle trucks (the letter “C”), and wide-cab (the letter “W”)
The following locomotive (#8429) is a Dash 8-40CW, originally a Conrail unit. Its trucks don’t have the “pants.”
This picture is fairly old, August 6th, 2010. At that time the Dash 8s were still in use. By now they may not be.
Faudi tells me 18N is all auto-racks. One wonders if they’re loaded.



HO-HUM! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The June 2013 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a B-25.
Seems like B-25s are a dime-a-dozen.
That’s because I’ve seen so many. My WWII warbirds site says only 34 are still flying.
The Geneseo Airshow usually gets quite a few. One year it seemed it got about eight.
They do a “pumpkin-drop” competition.
The B-25s fly low over a target-area and drop pumpkins out of their bomb-bays.
The B-25 with the closest pumpkin wins. The pumpkins, of course, smash into soggy smithereens.
Another time I was driving through southeastern PA toward northern DE, and apparently a warbirds show was going on nearby. At least two B-25 roared over, maybe three.
I’ll let my warbirds-site detail the B-25:
“The B-25 was designed for the United States’ Army Air Corps (USAAC) before the Second World War.
The North American company had never designed a multi-engine bomber before. The original design had shoulder-mounted wings and a crew of three in a narrow fuselage.
The USAAC then decided its new bomber would need a much larger payload -- double the original specifications. North American designers dropped the wing to the aircraft’s mid-section, and widened the fuselage so the pilot and co-pilot could sit side-by-side. They also improved the cockpit.
The USAAC ordered 140 aircraft of the new design right off the drawing board. There were at least six major variants of the Mitchell, from the initial B-25A and B-25B, with two power-operated two-gun turrets, to the autopilot-equipped B-25C, and the B-25G with 75mm cannon for use on anti-shipping missions. ... In the end, the B-25 became the most widely used American medium bomber of World War Two.
The B-25 was made immortal on April 18, 1942, when it became the first United States aircraft to bomb the Japanese mainland.
Commanded by Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle, 16 Mitchells took off from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet, flew 800 miles to Japan, and attacked their targets. Most made forced landings in China.
They were the heaviest aircraft at the time to be flown from a ship at sea. (And that was before steam-catapults flung the airplanes off the carrier-deck.)
After the war, many B-25s were used as training aircraft. Between 1951 and 1954, 157 Mitchells were converted as flying classrooms. They were also used as staff transport, utility, and navigator-trainer aircraft. The last B-25, a VIP transport, was retired from the USAF on May 21, 1960.”
My warbirds-site says one B-25 is still extant in Hollywood as a camera-plane.
One wonders if it’s the same B-25 used in the Cinerama movies from the ‘50s, where a triple-camera was set up to record a wrap-around view for display in a theater. A projector was needed for each camera. (Three projectors.)
The triple-camera was set up in the nose of the B-25, the bombardier’s post.
The B-25 was then flown down the East River toward Manhattan, underneath all the bridges, including world-famous Brooklyn-Bridge (which every American should be required to walk — I have).
It was thrilling, but not as thrilling as the next Cinerama movie (Cinerama-II), where the triple-camera was set up in the front of a Coney Island rollercoaster.
Whether the triple-camera was worth the trouble is debatable. The wrap-around view was nice, but synchronization and aiming was flaky. What we watched was the center camera.
A single camera in the nose of a B-25 or rollercoaster would have been as thrilling.
A B-25 also crashed into the Empire State Building on Saturday, July 28, 1945. The Empire State Building still stands; the crash did not compromise the building’s structural integrity.
The B-25 flew into the 78th through 80th floors, killing 14, 11 of whom were in the building. It was foggy, and the B-25 pilot became disoriented.
Damage was fairly severe, but the Empire State Building stayed up.
The Twin Towers of the World Trade Center were also crashed into by airplanes (airliners) back on September 11th, 2001. But both buildings collapsed.



HOOOT-HOOOT-HOOT-HOOT! (Photo by Jim Shaughnessy©.)

—The June 2013 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is another photograph by Jim Shaughnessy, a Pennsy 2-10-0 Decapod returning south toward PA with empty coal-hoppers from the coal-dock on Lake Ontario at Sodus Point, NY.
Shaughnessy was up-and-down this line, Pennsy’s Elmira branch, all because Pennsy was using its Decapod steamers  to deliver coal to the Sodus Point coal-dock.
The Decapod is a fairly old design — it goes back to 1916 — but it was well-suited to this service.
It was so large and heavy when fielded, Pennsy’s crews christened it the “hippo.”
Those coal-trains were heavy, and the line to Sodus Point is torturous. It included steep grades and extreme curvature.
I’ve driven along side it to Penn Yan in NY. It certainly wasn’t the Pennsy main; only one track weaving back-and-forth.
Only the first and last driver-set of a Dek’s five driver-sets were flanged, to make it possible to negotiate extreme curvature.
Those Decapods were immensely powerful, but you had to be careful about steam-usage. I have a recording of a Dek running out of steam. The drive-pistons are huge, yet the firebox is only 70 square feet of grate-area.
And there’s no combustion-chamber. Pennsy’s first locomotive with a combustion-chamber was the M1 Mountain (4-8-2), a Decapod-sized boiler, but with a combustion-chamber. (A combustion-chamber was added space for the fire to burn. They came into wide use after about 1920.)
The Dek also suffered from the bane of all 10-drivered steam-locomotives, namely the heavy weight of its long side-rods, which hammered the rail, and caused vibration at speed.
A Dek was good for about 50 mph, if you could stand it!
Those side-rods shook the cab up-and-down as the driving-wheels rotated.
You could counterweight a driver to offset the vibration, but as a freight locomotive the drivers had to be small. You couldn’t put in much counterweighting, plus the counterweighting hammered the rail too.
So here comes a Dek, whistling for a road-crossing near Watkins Glen, NY, empty coal-hoppers in tow. Back for another trainload of coal.
As I recall, Pennsy freight-locomotives had single-tone hooter whistles.
The Sodus Point coal-dock shipped coal to Canada, and eventually America too, but became moribund. Coal-loading facilities with greater capacity succeeded it.
There also is training mine-to-consumer. My guess is by now the coal-consumer gets its coal directly by train, cutting out the ship.
That coal-dock was abandoned in 1967, and it burned down during dismantling in 1971. It accidentally caught fire.


The Sodus Point coal-wharf. (A Decapod is pushing cars.)

The trestle pictured above, at 60 feet above the water, is 20 feet higher than the original trestle, which was installed about 1886.



440 ‘Cuda. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—The June 2013 entry in my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a 1970 440 Barracuda convertible.
“440” is the engine-displacement, a gigantic 440 cubic-inches.
A hot-rodded 440 cubic-inch engine would strike fear into passengers, perhaps even the driver.

Not my brother’s car, but same model and color. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

My blowhard brother-in-Boston, the macho Harley-dude, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, has a hot-rodded 454 cubic-inch 1971 SS Chevelle.
He took me for a ride in it once. It was frightening.
Everything shook. The hood shook. The front-end shook. The entire car vibrated with each piston-thrust. We pounded the pavement.
Thankfully he never showed me “wot she’ll do.....” I was afraid he would!
We were just going to buy gas. We purchased some 103-octane elixir; it cost over 100 buckaroos to fill his 20-gallon tank.
Coming home we picked up his Harley at a cleaner-guy, and my brother had me drive his Chevelle home.
Thankfully it had auto-tranny, but it liked to soot its plugs. I managed to keep it running, although I think I stalled it once.
But a hot-rodded 454 cubic-inch engine was frightening.
My parting impression is of that hood shaking.
The 440 cubic-inch engine in this ‘Cuda is not the Hemi (“Hem-eee;” not “he-mee”).
At that time Chrysler’s Hemi was 426 cubic-inches, also quite large.
But its advantage was a Hemi would breathe well at high revs.
It had valving aimed at its manifolds. A 440 cubic-inch “Wedge” motor doesn’t aim at the exhaust manifolds.
Its cylinder-valves are all in a row parallel to the crankshaft, aimed toward the intake manifold.
(“Wedge” because its combustion-chambers were wedge shaped, unlike the Hemi, which had hemispherical combustion-chambers.)
The Hemi’s valves were at 90 degrees to the crankshaft. They could be aimed at each manifold. A “Wedge” restricted exhaust-flow due to its contorted passageways, which restricted engine-breathing at higher engine-speeds.
The Hemi was immensely powerful at high speed. The Hemi was so strong, NASCAR outlawed it; both the Hemi and the Ford “Cammer,” a large single-overhead-cam motor Ford brought out to compete with the Hemi. —Like the Hemi it had hemispherical combustion-chambers.


Pennsy T-1 stops at Englewood out of Chicago. (Photo by V.O. Harkness.)

—Next is my All-Pennsy color calendar. The June 2013 entry is #6110, one of the two original Raymond Loewy-designed (“low-eeee”) T-1 duplexes (4-4-4-4).
Pennsy had 50 T-1s, but later T-1s were modified from the original Loewy styling. The restyling was to ease maintenance, and they don’t have that long chamfered prow.
The later T-1s had the chamfered prow, but not as long as Loewy designed.
And I see Loewy’s elegant cow-catcher has been opened up to ease access to that foldaway coupler.
On a duplex the front driver-set is not hinged to the rear driver-set like an articulated. All drivers are on a single frame.
The T-1 wasn’t good at curves. It needed straight track, like through Ohio and Indiana toward Chicago.
Throw a crossover at it and it might derail.
A duplex is not articulated. What a T-1 really is is a 4-8-4 with multiple cylinders, four instead of just two.
Duplex cylinders were supposed to be advantageous. It reduced the heavy side-rod set, which had to be counterbalanced to avoid hammering the rail at speed.
But of course you’re multiplying drive-piston and valve-gear maintenance by two. Plus it was hard to keep one driver-set from slipping. The front driver-set was carrying less weight, so would slip even at speed, like 100 mph. —Madly rotating, and hurling the fire out the stack!
Perhaps that could have been mitigated by individually throttling steam output to each individual driver-set. But that wasn’t done, plus I’m sure metering steam to each individual driver-set would be an immense challenge.
It was hard enough to extract good performance from an ordinary two-piston steam-locomotive.

A non-Loewy T-1

The T-1 was somewhat a failure. It cruised well at 100 mph, but was smoky and hard to start.
Plus there was that tendency to slip a driver-set at speed. If that happened, the whole engine had to be throttled back until footing was regained.
And I’m sure starting was a bear. If a driver-set started slipping the whole engine had to be throttled back. Plus slipping often compromised the fire. With wild slipping your fire might get blown out the stack.
Worst of all, the T-1 came online the same time Pennsy was dieselizing. A set of E-units was easier to deal with than a T-1. The T-1 was Pennsy trying to stick with coal, not dieselize.
A steam-locomotive had to have water and coal. Both required expensive lineside capital building: water and coal-towers.
A diesel only needed lineside fuel storage and a fueling facility.
Plus water used in steam-locomotives (the water boiled) often had to be treated to not compromise performance, for example foam.
The T-1 was doomed at the outset. but Pennsy was hanging on, committed to coal-fired steam-locomotion; they were heavily into shipping coal.
The T-1 was first built as an experimental. For example 6110 — styled by Loewy. Only two T-1s had the Loewy styling; all the rest were the modification.
The Loewy T-1s look best.



Not bad, but a bit strange.

—I consider the June 2013 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar more a custom than a hotrod.
It’s a ’36 Ford, so it starts as a hotrod.
But it has a ’39 LaSalle grill, which would require extensive bodywork.
A hotrod would stick to stock appearance, probably lowered and top chopped.

Stock ’36 Ford.

The front of the calendar-car.

I’ve included a photo of a stock ’36 Ford, for comparison with the LaSalle grill.
The Lasalle is a great-looking car. It’s a masterwork of GM styling, perhaps the best-looking car GM marketed.
It’s the LaSalle grill that does it. Majestic yet simple.
Compare it to some of the turkeys GM marketed at the same time.
The LaSalle was supposed to be a cheaper Cadillac. GM was marketing low-buck versions of its marques. For example, the Pontiac was a low-buck Oakland. Funny, Pontiac lasted while Oakland tanked.
Sadly, LaSalle didn’t last. It’s a shame the best-looking car GM ever marketed was a low-buck Cadillac.
Yet the Buick lasted with its glitz.
Too much chrome in its shiny grill.
And Cadillac seemed to do the same. Overwrought styling, acres of chrome, chrome dagmars up front, and the beginning of fins. The taillight of the postwar Caddy was supposed to mimic the P-38 fighter-plane.
It’s like GM forgot the Caddy was a car.
Perhaps the worst example of overwrought styling is the ’59 Chevy. Massive gull-wing fins on a plebeian car. —Yet the fins of a ’59 Caddy were just as ridiculous, although better-looking.
But to meld the LaSalle grill into a ’36 Ford makes it a custom to me.
It still seems a hotrod with its flame-paint.
And it looks pretty good.
A ’36 Ford hotrod would have a stock ’36 Ford grill.
The only thing that makes this car a hotrod is the 350-Chevy that powers it.



Norfolk Southern stacker passes surfacing equipment on a siding extension on the “Crescent Corridor” in VA. (Photo by Michael Breen.)

—Last is the June 2013 image in my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar, a photograph that falters only because it depicts completion of a siding-extension on the so-called “Crescent Corridor.”
That is, it includes track-maintenance equipment that detracts from the drama of a straight train photograph.
Norfolk Southern is forever trumpeting its Crescent Corridor, a main route south from the northeast. It was cobbled from various old railroad lines which comprised a route south, but wasn’t what the Crescent Corridor has become.
A lot of improvement had to be done to make the route capable of heavy traffic, line improvements and straightening, easing junctions, and in this case lengthening a siding and doubling its speed capability.
Such improvements increase potential traffic-flow.
The Crescent Corridor also takes truck-traffic off a parallel interstate. Imagine all the trucks it would take to move all the containers in that stack-train. There’s probably at least 200 containers; 200 trailers.
The railroads were there before the Crescent Corridor, but not serious.
This is not a dramatic photograph. I get the feeling it’s in the calendar because it depicts improvement of Norfolk Southern’s beloved Crescent Corridor.
As a photograph, it would have worked better without that track equipment.
I see people taking photographs of highway trucks converted to track-speeders.
Not this kid.
What matters are long trains led by gigantic locomotives. Engines that assault the heavens, and shake the ground with their piston-throbs.
Of course, such equipment can’t operate on inferior track.
We rode a tourist-line once, the Arcade & Attica, that was awful. It was in a creekbed, and was good for five mph. We kept bucketing and leaning this-way-and-that.
Track is fragile, and has to be tended to.
But the equipment that does it is nowhere near as photogenic as an actual train.
Yrs Trly had to rotate this picture almost five degrees clockwise.
The original picture was tilted. Not enough to derail the train, but obvious.
I wonder about the calendar-producers, also the photographer. Perhaps the calendar-producers have a rule about reproducing the photographer’s exact image, no matter how bad it is.
Breen’s image was probably shot from a tripod, then opened in Photoshop®. I level occasionally, although never has it been five degrees. Usually it’s less than a degree with a calendar-picture — sometimes more with me, especially grab-shots.
I also color-correct. Old color-slides often fade and need color-correction. An old slide may have gone bluish as the red dye faded or bleached away.
This is especially true of the All-Pennsy color calendar, which often uses old slides — although the steam in a recent All-Pennsy color calendar picture was still bluish. (Add more red and it looked reddish.).
So why couldn’t Breen rotate his image to correct its tilt? Maybe his tilt was intentional to suggest train-movement.
If so, the train is falling slightly downhill.

“This page intentionally left blank”

I know this is serious, and probably required by law to protect Granny and her retirement investments.
But I start laughing every time I encounter a blank page with the above message.
I get it often enough. Most recently was in a thick annual-report for Morgan mutual-funds, which I have through Edward-Jones.
As one who worked in the newspaper-biz, it seems it would be possible to avoid blank pages.
Our newspaper was always an even number of pages; there were no blank pages.
The front outside page was also the back outside page, and page-two was inside the front page, and there was an inside page on the reverse of the back page.
That’s four pages requiring one piece of newsprint.
Inside of those pages might be two pages or four, sometimes six.
Two pages inside was a half-sheet of newsprint; four pages was a full sheet of newsprint, same size as the front and back pages.
We never had any problem filling those pages. Usually there was more than enough, requiring the page-editor to pick-and-choose.
There were never blank pages.
But the annual-report is constructed different than a newspaper. It’s hundreds of pages edge-bound.
That is, none of the pages served as a second page; for example, front and back pages.
So why blank pages in the annual-report?
Seems it would be possible to avoid blank pages, yet here they are, pages intentionally left blank, both sides, at the end of the annual-report.
It seems with planning blank pages could be avoided. Especially with edge-binding.
With edge-binding you don’t have to have a front-page also be a back-page.
With a blank page you gotta have that silly Granny disclaimer: “This page intentionally left blank.”
In which case the publishers look like fools.
I can imagine the noisy tirade we’d get from the tub-thumping Conservatives if the newspaper, the dreaded media, published a blank page.
Cue Limbaugh! —The Oxycontin king.

• My newspaper was the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired over seven years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“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 away.)

“Queen of the West End” versus Allegheny Summit

“Queen of the West End.” (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

First of all, I should say that Nickel Plate 765 (2-8-4), once called “the Queen of the West End,” is by far the BEST restored steam-locomotive I have ever ridden behind.
And I’ve ridden behind a few — some of the best — Union-Pacific Challenger #3985 (4-6-6-4), Norfolk & Western #1218, also an articulated like 3985, but 2-6-6-4, and Norfolk & Western J #611, 4-8-4, semi-streamlined, before the Dismal Swamp derailment, which limited it to 45 mph.
When I rode it, 611 cruised at 80+!
765 is not remarkable like 611 was, but it’s run hard and fast, mainly because it can.
I rode behind 765 through New River Gorge in WV back in the early ‘90s, and we cruised at 70-75 mph!
I will never forget it! That’s goin’ to my grave.
We chuffed lazily out of the yard in Huntington, WV, and Chessie gave us the railroad, green lights as far as I could see.
The engineer, who was probably Rich Melvin, took the throttle to the roof: wide-open.
I clocked it: 75 mph!
We passed a coal-train stopped in a siding; zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom!
I was in the right-hand dutch-door of the first coach, shooting video, and I wasn’t leaving my post.
I had to wear swim-goggles to keep 765’s cinders out of my eyes. I returned to my motel looking like a coal-miner, covered with soot.
A gondola-car was in front of us, between the engine and the first coach. It was carrying a large diesel generator to provide electricity for our coaches.
That gondola was rockin’-and-rollin’ — flexing along its side-panels. That gondola had probably never gone that fast.
On the old Chessie main in WV we crested Scary Hill at 60+. Little kids were at trackside waving just like I was at that age. It started me crying.
And 765‘s whistle is the best I’ve ever heard. I have it as my cellphone ringtone.
A diesel-locomotive air-horn is wimpy by comparison.
765‘s whistle will wake the dead.
It was a semi-religious experience, almost an epiphany. When I called my wife later that night — she wasn’t with me — I started crying again. Never in all my born days had I had such an experience.
Nickel Plate was merged by Norfolk & Western in 1964, and Norfolk Southern is a 1982 merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern Railway, so now the old Nickel Plate is Norfolk Southern.
Nickel Plate, as so nicknamed, is the New York, Chicago & St. Louis Railroad (it never attained New York City). It got its nickname from a New York Central executive, because it was so competitive.
New York, Chicago & St. Louis Railroad was was constructed in 1881 along the south shore of the Great Lakes connecting Buffalo and Chicago to compete with the New York Central’s Lake Shore and Michigan Southern Railway. —Before NYC&SL, LS&MS had a monopoly; it was the only railroad.
The whole idea of NYC&SL was to provide competing railroad-service from the midwest into Buffalo. The railroad still competes to Buffalo, although now the competition is CSX, their old New York Central lines.
Nickel Plate prided itself on high-speed freight-railway service. It was an alternative to NYC (LS&MS).
It was a level and fast railroad. Operation could be quick across Ohio and Indiana.
The Nickel Plate Berks (“Berkshire;” named after the mountains in western Massachusetts, for which it was developed) were a successful attempt at high-speed freight-railway service into Buffalo. They were a final attempt by Nickel Plate to use steam locomotion, and 765 was one of the best.
765 has been around quite a while in railfan excursion service.
Pere-Marquette (“Pair Mar-KETT) #1225, the Polar Express engine, pretty much the same as NKP 765, ran side-by-side trips with 765 in WV, and 765 skonked it royally.
I fact, 1225 crippled.
And I think 765 was pulling a coal-train.
765 can run hard and fast. 3985 can run fast too, we cruised at 60+ when I rode behind it.
But it was pulling only five passenger-cars, although it can pull many more.
When I rode behind 765 we were pulling 33 cars, almost too much train for 765.
Yet we were boomin’-and-zoomin’. —And the grade was .4-.5 percent, not too bad, but all uphill.
765 is a Lima (Locomotive; “LYE-muh,” as in “lima-bean”) SuperPower Berkshire. (Lima also fielded a SuperPower 2-10-4, also a SuperPower 2-6-6-6 articulated.)
Lima’s SuperPower locomotives maximized performance of steam-locomotives: a hot-rodded steam-locomotive.
Steam-locomotion is boiling water into steam used for propulsion.
The limitation is generating enough steam to continue operation at high speed.
Steam-locomotives can run out of steam.
SuperPower was aimed at continuous steam-generation at high speed.
Give it a gigantic boiler, and a firebox big enough to maximize coal-burning.
Nickel Plate was the prime element of the so-called “Alphabet Route” service, which used various railroads to get to the northeast, avoiding Pennsy and New York Central (and Erie and B&O).
The Nickel Plate Berks were extremely successful at high-speed service. They could be hammered hard, yet they kept boomin’-and-zoomin’.
Not only were SuperPower locomotives like the Nickel Plate Berk strong, but they stayed strong at high speed.
Older locomotives might run out of steam at such speeds, but not SuperPower.
And 765 was one of the best Berks on Nickel Plate.
It’s just that quite often speedy railroad-service is a siren-song. Railroads tend to be slow and ponderous.
But SuperPower on Nickel Plate was perfect. The route was easy and flat enough to allow fast operation.
And that was despite limitations, like street-running through Erie, PA. And Nickel Plate’s route was not that easy either. There were hills and grades near Erie not on parallel New York Central, yet NYC seemed limited by its size and grandeur, old and bloated and over-managed and fustian.
When the Berks were finally retired in 1958, #765 was donated to the City of Fort Wayne, IN, and put on display renumbered as 767, a significant engine to Fort Wayne.
It deteriorated on display, so a group of railfans, the Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society, rescued the locomotive and renumbered it back to 765.
Restoration began in 1972, and operation began in 1975, and I’m told the motivating force was Rich Melvin, who wanted 765 to run like it did in revenue service, hard and fast.
So restoration was aimed at more than just getting the old dear running, which is all most steam-locomotive restorations can afford.
Melvin wanted 765 to run like it did in service.
So I’m told.
If so he succeeded. 765 is the best-running steam-locomotive I have ever seen. It’s not babied. It runs hard and fast just like it did years ago.
As a railfan I witnessed many steam-locomotives in revenue service, and Pennsy’s K-4 Pacifics (4-6-2) on PRSL were impressive.
“PRSL” is Pennsylvania-Reading (“RED-ing,” not “READ-ing”) Seashore Lines, an amalgamation of Pennsylvania and Reading railroad-lines in south Jersey to counter the fact the two railroads had too much parallel track. It was promulgated in 1933. It serviced mainly the south Jersey seashore from Philadelphia. —As a child I lived not far from PRSL, and PRSL is why I’m a railfan.
But I was blown away by 765. Never in all my years as a railfan have I heard anything operate like 765.
K-4s were impressive, but 765 was all over ‘em.
765’s exhaust is crisp and authoritative.
No pussyfooting! Hammer down, pedal-to-the-metal.
765 was scheduled to run employee-appreciation trips May 18th and 19th, Altoona to Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”), then back.
That’s the old Pennsylvania Railroad’s Allegheny-Crossing, and includes world-famous Horseshoe Curve.
765 is not a Pennsy engine. It doesn’t have the trademark square-hipped Belpaire (“bell-pair”) firebox characteristic of Pennsy steam-locomotives.
Yet it can run just like a Pennsy K-4, hard and fast.
And of course the old Pennsy is now part of Norfolk Southern, which includes the old Nickel Plate.
So running 765 on the old Pennsy Allegheny Crossing is intriguing.
In fact, I’d say running 765 on Allegheny Crossing is more attractive than a restored K-4.
There aren’t any operable K-4s any more.
There are only two K-4s. One, #1361, the engine displayed at Horseshoe Curve years ago, is completely apart, and may never be reassembled enough for operation.
#3750 is assembled but on static display at Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania in Strasburg, PA. 3750 is not operable.
1361 operated years ago, but crippled. The restoration was just enough to get it operable. It couldn’t boom-and-zoom like 765.
So here it is, 765, a SuperPower locomotive unlike anything Pennsy operated.
If anything, SuperPower was a waste on Pennsy. With its grades, trains couldn’t boom-and-zoom.
765 would take employee-appreciation specials up to Allegheny Summit, but with a diesel-locomotive on the tail pushing.
That diesel was a Norfolk Southern Heritage-unit, #8102, painted to look like a Pennsy diesel.
765 would lead up The Hill, and then 8102 would lead the train back down The Hill — dragging 765 along behind.
765 is always worth seeing. Similarly the old Pennsy Allegheny Crossing. For me that’s a five-hour drive down.
My brother-from-Boston would also attend. For him it’s a nine-hour drive.
I had to pull teeth to get him to see 765 his first time years ago, but he became a 765 enthusiast.
765 is impressive. What we always say is it’s the real thing — the BEST restored steam-locomotive on the entire planet.
My brother drove to Altoona on Thursday, May 16th, his 56th birthday. I drove down Friday, May 17th. (I’m 69, and have been a railfan since age-2.)
765 had arrived earlier in the week, Monday May 13th I was told.
My brother was therefore able to scope out 765 in the yard where it was being stored.
765 came out to get its train. My brother moved and got the following photographs:


Coming. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)


Going. (765 has an additional water-tender.) (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

There would be two employee-appreciation trips on Saturday, May 18th.
The train would move to Altoona’s Amtrak station to load passengers.


To the station. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

765 had a GPS transponder, and you could get an app to tell where it is on your SmartPhone.
My brother got this, but I couldn’t because my iPhone wanted an Apple password, which I don’t know.
“It’s leaving the station,” my brother cried. We were set up in Gallitzin, top of The Hill, to get it bursting out of the tunnel at the top.


Off we go (through Slope Interlocking, into The Hill). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

We could hear it coming. It whistled for the tunnel.
It burst out of the tunnel whistle shrieking.
What a thrill that was. 765’s whistle is the best-sounding whistle I’ve ever heard. (“Stand back; behind the guardrail please.”)
The train stopped past Gallitzin, and then backed down The Hill, 8102 in the lead.
765 triggered a hot-box detector as it descended.
Steam-locomotives often do that. The firebox triggers a hot-box detector.
(A hot-box is a wheel-journal overheating, like it’s out of lube.
Wheel-journals now are roller-bearings. They rarely go dry and overheat. That’s the first time I’d heard a detector give an alarm.
Years ago the wheel-journals weren’t roller-bearing, and a person in the train’s caboose looked for smoke indicating a hot-box. Cabooses are no longer used.)
My first shot at Gallitzin had a photographer blocking it, so I tried again the second trip.


STAND BACK! (Photo by BobbaLew.)

765 would make two more employee-appreciation trips on Sunday, May 19th.
My brother and I scoped out a trackside location no one else would use. Fans were everywhere, often blocking a photograph.
By then we also had a Norfolk Southern photographer with us. He had shared my room Saturday night, since otherwise I would be only one person in a suite with two single beds.
The NS photographer joined us to our fan-free location. He was thrilled. A photo-location without fans.
So there we were, trackside Sunday morning, fighting mosquitos.
Yet here it came. We could hear it whistling a grade-crossing in Altoona. We were about two miles out of town into The Hill.


(Photo by Brent Lane.)

765 hove into view, about 45 mph, which I think is track-speed for passenger-trains on The Hill — although it could be 30.
Roaring yet cruising, just bopping along.
My brother left for home after that, and the NS photographer took me back to my bed-and-breakfast in Gallitzin.
I returned to being alone, not as lonely as earlier trips, but still somewhat alone.
A Sunday afternoon trip would still occur, but I stayed too long in my room to permit driving down into Altoona for a picture, so I set up in Gallitzin, actually on an overpass.
It was a location my brother had used, but not me.
But it was foggy, up in the clouds.
The top of The Hill, Allegheny Ridge, is over 2,000 feet above sea-level, so can be up in the clouds.
I photographed 765 when it appeared, but it was too foggy. My pictures lack definition.

• “Jack Hughes” is my younger brother John Mark. He was born in 1957; me in 1944 (I’m the first-born).
• RE: “.... being alone....” — My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly. She accompanied me on many railfan jaunts, and was very tolerant of my railfanning. This was despite her not being a railfan. (“Chasing trains beats chasing women,” she always said.)
• “Brent Lane” is the Norfolk Southern photographer.

Wrastling with Sync

My new car, a used 2012 Ford Escape, is Bluetooth-enabled, which means I can make and receive hands-free cellphone calls from my car.
They play through the car-radio, that is, the cellphone audio plays through the radio-speaker, and apparently there’s a microphone (mouthpiece) somewhere.
My cleaning-lady can clean my house while I’m away; I showed her the secret key to my house — she knows where it is. She was going to clean my house last Thursday (May 16th, 2013) while I worked out at the YMCA.
So here I am bopping along in my Bluetooth-enabled car returning home from working out.
I figured she might still be at my house, so I figured I’d call her up in case she wanted to hang around and get paid.
My car has “Sync,” a special application of computer-software included by Ford.
My Bluetooth cellphone works through “Sync.”
So I fire up Sync through a media-button on my steering-wheel.
“Sync; please say a command.” (It’s voice-recognition software.)
“Call cleaning-lady,” I say. “Cleaning-lady”is what I have her as in my contact-list. Sync has memorized my contact-list.
“Calling Leif’s,” it says. “Leif’s” is my mower-man. They are also in my contact-list.
Oh, for Heaven sake!
Fortunately I managed to end that call before Leif’s answered, although it rang twice.
I let Sync die back to zero.
I fired it up again; try again.
“Call cleaning-lady,” I commanded.
“Did you say ‘call Leif’s?’”
“No.”
“Sync; please say a command.”
“Call cleaning-lady.”
“Did you say ‘call Leif’s?’”
“No.”
“Sync; please say a command.”
“Call cleaning-lady,” my third attempt.
“Calling Leif’s.”
I managed to kill it immediately.
Oh, for Heaven sake!
I gave up! Sync is determined to call Leif’s, despite “cleaning-lady” being in my contact-list.
I guess I’ll call cleaning-lady when I get home.
I motor along, and think maybe Sync can only handle a one-syllable command.
I fire it up again.
“Call Clean, I say.”
“Calling Faudi.” That’s Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow,” although Sync mispronounced it as “Faw”), the guy I chase trains with in Altoona, PA. (I’m a railfan, and have been since age-2.)
I managed to kill that phonecall too, before it even rang.
Sync is supposedly some whiz-bang computer app that makes Ford cars desirable.
Although it isn’t helping me any; all it’s doing is tossing me into the ozone.
Funny, Siri (“cere-eeee”), the voice-recognition software on my iPhone, calls “Cleaning-Lady” when so commanded.
In fact, that’s how I called “Cleaning-Lady” when I got home.
So much for Sync.
I’ve made other cellphone calls via Sync, but it can’t crunch Cleaning-Lady.
I considered Sync included the curse of Bill Gates. “Sync” is a Microsoft application.
I’ve been loudly told Microsoft is venerable, vastly superior to anything Apple, which is Of-the-Devil.
That Jesus used a PC with Microsoft Windows.
Yet Siri works on my Apple iPhone, while Microsoft’s Sync doesn’t.
Reminds of the foolishness my wife and I got every time daylight-savings-time switched on or off.
My Apple MAC always made the boogaloo without my doing anything, yet my wife’s PC was always an hour off.
She dickered with various Windows settings, but in the end forced her PC to agree with my MAC.
And we were both using the same time-server, National Institute of Standards (NIST).

• “Bill Gates” is the head-honcho of Microsoft.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. At the time she was 68. I miss her dearly. (I’m now 69.)

Pig-Out!

Chomp-chomp-chomp! (Photo by Ron Palermo.)

Yrs Trly attended another gathering of the so-called “Transients.”
“Transients” is what the guy who daycares my dog calls us retirees of Regional Transit Service.
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 environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability.
Despite there being a fair likelihood I’ll be interpreted as negative about these get-togethers, I’ll say I always feel a bit out-of-it.
“That because you’re not the bus-driver type?” my doggie-daycare friend asks. “Not macho hard-driving?”
To my mind, one couldn’t be “hard-driving” and succeed as a bus-driver. Be that you’ll likely get fired.
You had to be meticulous and conscientious. Loose cannons got mugged or they had accidents. They didn’t last.
My wife used to say I was perfect for the job. Cantankerous yet meticulous, and smart enough to use guile-and-cunning to get away with quite a bit yet avoid mugging.
The “Transients” are not an official organization. We’re just people that worked at Transit during the ‘80s and ‘90s and beyond, and share the common experience of having worked there.
It was a difficult job. We were driving rattle-traps on streets amidst driving insanity: “oh look Dora, a bus. PULL OUT, PULL OUT!”
And I gotta stop nine tons of hurtling steel without tossing my passengers out of their seats.
We were also negotiating an upper management that was difficult. We were always at war with them, and they with us.
There also was our clientele, which could be threatening. The idea was to not get mugged, or worse yet shot.
95 percent of those you carried were okay, but there were always the others.
I could tell stories.
I had one run I hated because I feared a passenger. I couldn’t refuse him — I had to pick him up.
I suppose if I felt threatened I could pass him up, but I loathed doing that, having once been a bus-passenger myself.
Plus he’d probably blow me in, and management, safely sheltered in their Administration-building, could fire me.
The Transients is comprised of both retired bus-drivers and management, although lower-level management, those that parried street madness.
I brought along my camera, but never took anything. (I’m using another guy’s picture.)
It would have been just another photograph of us Transients pigging out in a buffet.
I’ve done it before, “Gathering of Eagles.”
HO-HUM! Sit quietly and listen to others jawing.
It’s somewhat pleasant. Occasionally I interject remarks about our shared experiences.
Time passed.
I was eating nowhere near as much as my old cohorts.
For me it was just baked-beans, a slice of pizza, and macaroni-and-cheese.
The guy across from me had a gigantic plate of food. Chicken-legs and mashed potatoes and stuffing. He ate a lot, but a lot went uneaten.
Not this kid! My mother survived the Depression. Little children are starving in China. Clean your plate!
Would I continue to attend these gigs?
More than likely!
I’m out-of-it, but in my humble opinion all of us were.
It seems like all of us were social outcasts, the losers of society.
My 12th-grade Social-StudIes teacher told me I’d never amount to anything; my sixth-grade teacher bemoaned so much wasted potential.
So I became a bus-driver. It was supposed to be temporary, but I did it 16&1/2 years.
And it paid for this here house I’m in.
And left me with old coworkers I consider friends.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.

I may now be a widower.....

....But I’m still a stickler about my money.
I was before my wife died, which is why I own my house, my car, and am loaded.
No boats, no Corvettes, no RV campers. In our past we ended up saving instead. —We also had no kids to put through college.
I wasn’t about to borrow money, or lend it either.
If I ever meet my wife’s old college roommate, the first thing I’ll say isn’t “It’s good to see you,” but “you owe me $40.”
While I worked as a bus-driver, a fellow bus-driver wanted to borrow $100 off me. I refused “If there’s any way to ruin our friendship,” I told him; “it’s for me to lend you money.”
A few cars involved borrowing, but -a) my first was to establish a credit-rating for installment loans — I could have paid cash, and -b) was a home-equity loan to help buy a new car. I (we) eventually paid it off.
Our new house involved a mortgage, but that was only about one-third the value of the house.
That too was paid off. I own the house free-and-clear. I don’t owe anyone anything.
The other day, probably Monday, May 6th, I got a landline call from Alliance Security.
Firmly engage hand around wallet!
Why do I even get calls like this?
I think I’ve received at least six “last-chance” calls over a month to lower my credit-card interest-rate.
I don’t even borrow on my credit-card. I pay it off in full every month. Always have, always will! I know, that makes me a poor credit customer.
At least five minutes were wasted determining the source of the call. I thought he said “Lyons Securities.”
“Hi! I’m Pete from Alliance Security. I’m not a salesman. I won’t be trying to get you to buy anything.
Apparently someone from this address inquired about a security-system.”
“I’m the only one here!” I shouted; “And I never inquired about no security-system.”
Pete recited my landline number.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said; “but I’ve been the only one here for over a year. My wife died. It’s just me and my dog.”
By now Pete was frantically looking for a diplomatic exit. Instead of merrily handing over my wallet, I was giving him an argument.
“And the best security-system I’ve ever had,” I said; “has four legs and barks.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Pete said; “will your four-legged security-system dial 9-1-1 if you have a medical emergency?”
With that I hung up.
To me that’s a practiced sales-pitch. So much for not being a salesman.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. At the time she was 68. I miss her dearly. (I’m now 69.)
• 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 environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability.

Hacked?

Facebook, in its infinite wisdom, emailed me an alien computer in Georgia had accessed my Facebook; that is, not this here laptop.
Was it me? Did I recognize the ‘pyooter?
I only access Facebook with this laptop. My SmartPhone always wants a login. That never works! I guess I’m using the wrong password. This laptop has memorized it (I’m permanently logged in). I also have it on a local sticky-note.
They “locked” my Facebook, which meant I couldn’t access it.
Not that I ever do much with Facebook. Were it not for their email, I’d never know they “locked” it.
I was led into a link-generated maze.
Was the ‘pyooter in Georgia me? Well of course not. I haven’t left this area in over a year. Only a couple trips to Altoona, PA, to chase trains. —I’m a railfan, and have been since age-2 (I’m 69).
Ho-hummm! Wherein is my Facebook of any value?
There is no bank-account information or Social-Security number.
My birthday is February 5th, I graduated Brandywine High-School and Houghton College (“HO-tin;” not “how” or “who”), and like Bach and “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” and “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” zippity-doo!
Well, I guess someone could steal my Facebook to perform dirty-deeds under my name.
A news-report about such activity surfaced recently.
Some ne’er-do-well issuing terrorist threats under the imprimatur of a stolen Facebook.
In which case the local police SWAT-team storms my house, throws me in jail, and confiscates this laptop.
Until Facebook notifies them my Facebook was hacked. At which point the all-knowing authorities release me saying they’re deeply sorry for tossing me in the slammer.
Since it was my Facebook, I became a “person of interest.” Not charged, but in the slammer. This is America, damn-it, Land of the Free, Home of the Brave!”
“I nearly gave my life on the beaches at Normandy protecting your right to free speech, so you better shut up!”
I don’t even know if “hack” is the right terminology.
Except “hack” was in Facebook’s email link.
Well, back to good old Facebook.
My Facebook was “unlocked” when I clicked I didn’t recognize the ‘pyooter in Georgia.
So back to the silly inanities I have no attraction to; the “burps” and “farts” and “U go gurl.”
The balloon-boobed lassies trumpeting interest-rate reduction.

• “‘Pyooter” is computer.

Crying again

(Photo by BobbaLew.)

Yesterday (Thursday, May 9th, 2013) I’m returning to my big empty house with my dog from working-out at the YMCA in Canandaigua and shopping the grocery-store.
I turn in my driveway and see what’s illustrated above.
It starts me crying.
I’m not even sure what it is, but I think they’re sweet-peas.
My wife planted ‘em, probably dug up from some roadside.
My wife died in April of last year.
I was told it was anniversaries that would upset me, like birthdays and wedding-anniversaries.
I disagreed.
I said it was the many flowers she planted, that they would flower again.
The other day I was mowing my front yard.
I noticed the bridal-wreath was flowering, so here I am on my gigantic mower crying.
That bridal-wreath was flowering when she died last year; it may be the last beauty she noticed.
The bridal-wreath was early last year, it had been warm.
The whole hedge is wrapped in white, and it’s a long hedge, about 30-35 feet.
Our (my) entire yard is awash in color. There is the bridal-wreath and the weeping-cherry. Out back is a dogwood covered with white blossoms. Behind my bedroom-window is a red-bud tree.
The daffodils are done, and the magnolia-tree is about done.
There are at least five forsythia-bushes awash in yellow. Tulips are flowering in random locations.
And I am surrounded by lilacs.
Some were started by us from plantings about a foot tall, and now surpass 15 feet.
I pass the location of an old farmhouse taking my dog to the park. That farmhouse was torn down, but the surrounding lilac bushes are still there, a testament to their long-ago owners.
Similar testaments to my wife are all around my house.
They start me crying.
Yesterday I encountered the sweet-peas, which I didn’t even know existed.

• “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. I work-out at the Canandaigua YMCA.
• I’ve been told, by other than “CG,” the flowers pictured are bleeding-hearts. I remember that. —It prompts fond memories about “bleeding-heart Liberials.” (My blowhard brother-in-Boston, the know-it-all macho Harley-dude who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, loudly insists the word “Liberal” is spelled “Liberial.” He’s a tub-thumping Conservative, and Liberals are Of-the-Devil.)

Blogging on the back-burner

Yrs Trly does four things to distract from the dreadful fate that’s befallen me, namely the death of my beloved wife of over 44 years April 17th of last year.
People tell me now that a year has passed I should just “get over it!”
Would that I could. It would make my life a lot easier.
Especially to stop all my crying.
But I can’t just shove aside 44 years of marriage to the person that ended up being the best friend I ever had.
The four things are:
—1) Mowing our huge lawn.
—2) Walking my dog.
—3) Working-out at the YMCA, and
—4) Blogging.
All take time, and offset my sadness.
The lawn has become pre-eminent.
I mow by sections, but often that section may have to mowed every 4-6 days.
Especially in May, when the grass grow like crazy.
Blogging, much as I like to do it, has become back-burner.
It’s not the actual composition that takes time.
It’s keying those compositions.
I sling words together as I eat breakfast. —It usually works; there’s little editing.
Keying-in and publication may not take place until a day-or-two later.
I feel it’s more important to -a) mow, -b) walk my dog, and -c) work out at the YMCA.
It used to be I was blogging just about every day.
I enjoy writing = slinging words together.
Back then my wife was here to do things I now must do myself.
Like laundry and baking.
Every morning I make my bed; something my wife used to do.
There goes 15-20 minutes, another 10-15 minutes to fold laundry I had in my dryer.
My wife was walking the dog at least half the time.
Now it’s just me.
My wife also kept the dog while I worked out at the YMCA. Now I must daycare my dog.
It may seem all these adjustments cause me sadness, but not really.
They just add to missing my wife.

• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara), 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.)
• 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.)

Weeping-cherry

The weeping-cherry tree. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I look outside my bathroom window, and I see what’s illustrated above, our weeping-cheery tree in full flower.
I know that now I’m a widower, it’s my tree, but even though my wife died over a year ago, I still feel it’s our house, on our lawn with our weeping-cherry.
But the weeping-cherry is my doing. Other plants are my wife’s doing, but the weeping-cherry goes back to my driving bus for Regional Transit Service.
For four years I drove 1703, a run from Rochester out East Avenue to the ritzy eastern suburb of Pittsford on the fabled 1700 line.
I’d get a different bus every day, but “1703” was the run-name. I always had the same schedule over the same route.
During the morning rush-hour only two buses covered the route, although there was probably a morning Park-and-Ride for Pittsford.
Two buses covered the line all day.
But during the afternoon rush, a third bus was added, 1703.
It was a nice ride, almost a Park-and-Ride to the boonies.
It was three trips to Pittsford, linked to an early afternoon school trip.
My clientele was great, totally unthreatening.
It was mostly commuters who worked downtown yet lived in Pittsford.
There was Wendell, who worked at the local gas & electric utility, and Ted, who worked at a bank. There were others, but Ted and Wendell are the ones I remember.
Wendell would hold court in the back of my bus, discussing politics and religion (gasp).
They loved having me. Unlike some bus-drivers I was dependable and always on time.
The 1700 being a premier line, I always got good equipment.
Plus I got them all home no matter what. That’s because I was once a bus-passenger myself, and I hated delays.
If a rear-view mirror became loose, I had tools to tighten it myself.
I wasn’t waiting 45 minutes for no mechanic to come out and tighten it. I wasn’t delaying my passengers.
There would be Wendell’s wife waiting at the bus-stop in Pittsford in their beige-metallic Honda Accord.
Wendell and Ted and I always shot the breeze.
Wendell was older than me, but still rode motorcycle like I did.
Often he’d pass me on East Avenue on his motorcycle going home. Sometimes it would be raining, so he’d wish he was with me.
There goes Wendell, no rain-suit, soaked to the bone.
Ted, like me, was a history-buff. He lived on an old trolley right-of-way, so we always jawed the many railroads and trolley-lines that once traversed Pittsford. —I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two.
Pittsford also has the Erie Canal.
Ted also told me about his son graduating Vanderbilt University, and also about his flying down to New York City and back in a day on bank business.
I saw Ted not too long ago. He was old and creaky and could barely walk. He was probably in his 50s when I drove 1703, and me in my 40s.
I’m now 69. I wonder if Ted is still alive?
One afternoon we had a horrendous accident. Somebody turned in front of me, and I tee-boned him. My bus rode up on the side of the road, and snapped utility-poles like match-sticks.
The car’s driver got tossed around so much it knocked him out. His car, a Chevrolet Citation, was totaled; bent like a drum — which is what it sounded like when I hit it.
But Wendell and Ted, etc. were more concerned with my welfare, that I was alright — which I was.
And amazingly I wasn’t fired. Often Transit fired anyone involved in a serious accident, his fault or not. —Even the head-honcho came.
I was saved by a truck-driver that passed just before I had the accident. He told my bosses there was nothing I could have done.
(I guess the Citation-driver had awaited the truck’s passing in the left-most eastbound lane; oblivious to my being hidden by the truck in the right-most eastbound lane.)
Wendell and Ted had to be taken home to Pittsford by an extra bus, so my bus could be safely extricated.
I still have the plastic grill-insert from that Citation in my basement. It had been sent flying, so I went back and got it.
Out along East Avenue in Pittsford was a weeping-cherry in a streetside front yard.
Every Spring it would flower and become beautiful.
So when we moved from Rochester to our (my) current home out here in West Bloomfield, I wanted a weeping-cherry.
It’s not an actual weeping-cherry tree.
It’s a graft of a weeping-cherry top, probably on a regular cherry-tree trunk.
A few branches are not weeping-cherry.
That top-most branch is not weeping-cherry. It doesn’t weep, and hasn’t blossomed yet.
But mostly the tree is weeping-cherry.
And to my mind it looks better than the one along East Avenue in Pittsford, which got messy, and wasn’t as big.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012.
• 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 environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability.
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban or rural end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester.

Traffic-insanity worth blogging

Yrs Trly has gotten away from blogging traffic-insanity.
I probably get almost as much as I previously did, but I gave up blogging it.
Used to be I was blogging some incident of traffic-insanity every week.
I probably drive less than before my wife died, when I was taking her to the cancer-center in Rochester almost every week.
Even then I wasn’t blogging traffic-insanity like I used to. And I was probably getting as much traffic-insanity as previously.
There were incidents I blogged:
-a) One was the near-accident I witnessed in front of me on an interstate, as my leader tried to merge without looking. It was almost a side-swipe, but the approaching car blew its horn.
The would-be merger did a giant feint to the right, as if to say “where did you come from?”
Well, perhaps you should have looked before merging.
-b) There was the lady towing a horse-trailer that pulled right in front of me at an intersection.
Like stop-signs don’t apply to ladies towing horse-trailers. Then she gave me a sheepish look as I passed.
-c) There was the rusty white Ford pickup that pulled right in front of me at that same intersection.
No one was coming from the left, so I guess I’ll pull out. I doubt anyone is coming from the right, like me, for example.
His passenger saw me, and was terrified. He had looked right.
I managed to avoid all these potential accidents, but in each case I found myself saying “thank goodness I drove city-bus.”
With a bus you had to learn defensive driving; you got driving insanity all the time.
“Oh look, Dora, a bus. PULL OUT! PULL OUT!”
Right in front of me, and I gotta try to stop nine tons of hurtling steel without tossing my passengers on the floor.
Certain incidents stand out:
—1) was the black Jetta that ran me off the road on my way to work.
All because its driver was applying mascara, while reading her Demagogue & Comical, and yammering to her mother on her cellphone.
Like honey you’re supposed to approach me head-on in the opposite lane, not my lane.
“But I’m busy multitasking. And mother my husband is a bum.
So I just sent some opposing driver off into a field. That’s his problem. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
—2) was the white Ford Fiesta passing me on the sidewalk, blowing his horn while shaking his fist at me, and yelling obscenities out his open window.
The fact I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to stop for a traffic-light impeded his progress.
—3) was the clapped-out gray Chevrolet Astrovan that cut in front of me.
A bumper-sticker announced “If Rapture occurs, this van will be unpiloted.”
I wondered if Rapture had occurred.
—4) was the time a black Jeep Grand-Cherokee blasted in front of me at a “yield” intersection.
I doubt he even looked, and then was surprised when he almost clobbered me.
I guess “yield” means “pedal-to-the-metal.”
—5) was the BMW that turned right onto a country road I was turning onto.
This wasn’t a possible accident. The BMW pulled off on the right shoulder, and then everyone inside looked at the dashboard.
“Well Gosh, Hans, the GPS says turn right here, but I don’t know this road. Do they even know what they’re talking about? Do we follow it or not?”
People keep entreating me to get a GPS, and tell me I’m obviously stupid, technically-challenged.
“The GPS is in here,” I always say, pointing to my head.
They get a GPS and question following it. Who wins, them or Garmin? The one in my head didn’t cost me anything.
It ain’t that hard to Google driving directions to an unknown location.
I ain’t havin’ no GPS yelling at me. The Keed likes to know where he’s going before he sets out.
The other day’s traffic-incident is worth blogging.
I turned into the small shopping-plaza that has the pet-grooming emporium that daycares my dog.
They daycare the dog while I work out at the nearby YMCA.
I moved to the left to begin a big swing right into a parking-slot in front of the pet-groomer.
Out of the corner of my right eye I saw Granny accelerating her black Jeep to pass me on the right.
I stopped my right-turn; thank goodness I once drove a bus.
Granny blasted past, hammer-down, through all the unused parking-slots, one of which I was aimed at.
Granny broke a slew of laws, and thank goodness I didn’t hit her. She would have been incensed to do an accident-report.
By passing me illegally on my right she saved maybe two seconds.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. At the time she was 68. I miss her dearly. (I’m now 69.)
• 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 environs. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability.
• “The Keed” is me, Bob Hughes, BobbaLew.

Uh-duhhhhh!

At Tops Supermarket in nearby Canandaigua I use “Easy-Scan,” a self checkout.
I only use it because it’s a technical challenge, and I’m attracted to technical challenges.
Everything has to be done just so, lest the device flag you a ne’er-do-well trying to abscond with groceries.
The are four Easy-Scan terminals, and an attendant monitors all.
The challenge is to get through your order without the dreaded “Please wait for attendant,” a black-and-white screen signifying you’ve committed some unpardonable sin.
The attendant is just there to reverse such messages, since they are usually caused by some innocent faux pas by the user.
“Please wait for attendant.” “NOW WHAT! What did I do to prompt that?”
Blink; back to “Please scan your next item.” The attendant reversed Armageddon. Immense powah!
I shopped Tops yesterday, Tuesday, April 30th, 2013.
I used Easy-Scan.
I completed my entire order without “Please wait for attendant.”
Amazing; I usually get at least one “Please wait for attendant” per order.
I passed the attendant as I walked out.
“Amazing,” I said. “I got through my order without ‘Please wait for attendant.’”
The attendant twisted her face into a grimace.
“Uh-duhhhh. Did you need an attendant? Why are you walking out? Must I call Security?”
Ever get the feeling what you say falls on deaf ears?
The guy who daycares my dog while I work out at the YMCA is a preacher candidate.
He tells me he gave a sermon once, and a parishioner told him he had spoken right to him. This was while he shook hands with his listeners filing out of the sanctuary.
The parishioner detailed how my friend had spoken to him, and my friend’s reaction was “When did I ever say that?”
I get that in this blog. People read it, and read what they want into whatever I wrote. I get reactions totally unrelated to what I wrote.
And so it was yesterday at the supermarket. I interrupted the attendant’s country-music reverie. “—If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all......” (twang!)
What I said made sense to me, but not to the attendant.
I gave up, and walked out, thinking I shoulda said nothing.

• “Tops” is a large supermarket-chain based in Buffalo I occasionally buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua. (“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 in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)