Monthly Calendar-Report for November 2015

UPS-train charges up The Hill at Brickyard. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

—The November 2015 entry of my own calendar is the westbound UPS-train — 21E — charging The Hill at Brickyard Crossing.
It’s my November picture, but was actually taken in March of 2014; my so-called “stealth-trip.”
I told no one I was going, neither my brother-in-Boston, nor Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”), the Altoona resident and railfan who helps me chase trains.
I was on-my-own; with only my railroad-radio scanner, and what knowledge I gleaned from Faudi.
Brickyard Crossing is actually Porta Road. It’s the only remaining crossing-at-grade of the old Pennsy main through Altoona.
The line is busy, but Porta Road isn’t. There used to be a brickyard adjacent, but no more.
It’s now warehouses and truck-docks.
No matter; the railroad and railfans still call it “Brickyard Crossing.”
Pennsy is of course gone; now operated by Norfolk Southern, a 1982 merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern Railway.
Various companies operated the old Pennsy main. First was Penn-Central, a merger of Pennsylvania Railroad and New York Central in 1968 — which went bankrupt after two years.
Then there was Conrail, at first a government attempt to sort out the eastern railroad mess, then later privatized as it became profitable.
Conrail was broken up and sold in 1999. Part went to CSX Transportation, and part went to Norfolk Southern. CSX’s portion is mainly the old New York Central; and Norfolk Southern got the old Pennsy main across PA.
I was doing okay, although not as well as with Phil.

#8102, the Pennsy Heritage-unit, in Gallitzin. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I managed to snag the Pennsy Heritage-unit leading an eastbound unit coal-train up Track One on the west slope of The Hill.
My scanner made that possible. I had already waited over an hour in Gallitzin (“Guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”) in the cold. But then I heard the engineer call out a signal.
So I stayed put.
Norfolk Southern’s “Heritage Units” are new locomotives painted in the schemes of predecessor railroads.
There are 20.
The Pennsy Heritage unit is painted Tuscan Red (“TUSS-kin;” not “Tucson,” AZ) with five gold pin-stripes.
They are used like regular locomotives, so are often seen.
I’m sure I went to other places after that Heritage-unit, and one was Brickyard Crossing.
It’s a famous location. Next to the tracks is an embankment, and I’m on it.
Brickyard doesn’t work from that embankment in morning-light; it’s too backlit.
Even afternoon light is challenging. A westbound approaching on Two or Three will have its front lit.
So I’m shooting the wrong direction. An eastbound down One won’t work in afternoon light.
I’m shooting a westbound going away.
Afternoon light illuminates the locomotive-sides, but the cabs are in shadow. It’s called “modeling.”
The UPS-train is special, mostly UPS trailers-on-flatcar, and perhaps some FedEx or Postal Service.
The railroad must deliver the UPS-train on time — I think to Chicago, where another railroad would deliver it to the west coast.
If the UPS-train is late the railroad gets penalized.
The UPS-train gets a lot of reliable power, and in this case has a shared Union Pacific locomotive.
My guess is this photo is a pot-shot: just shoot and see what ya get!




A Stearman trainer. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—I don’t like biplanes. (“BYE-plane;” not “BIP-lane. I only say that because for a long time I was mispronouncing it).
If a biplane was in my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar I usually ran it last.
Compared to a Mustang they were turkeys.
But photographer Makanna made the old girl look pretty good.
The November 2015 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a Stearman “Kaydet” trainer made by Boeing.
Boeing purchased Stearman in 1934.
I’ll let my WWII warbirds site weigh in:
“Even though the Army Air Corps needed a new biplane trainer in the mid-‘30s, it moved slowly to acquire one because of the service-wide lack of funding for new airplane purchases.
In 1936, following the Navy’s lead the previous year, the Army tentatively bought 26 airframes from Boeing (the Model 75), which the Army named the PT-13.
With war on the horizon, this trickle of acquisition soon turned into a torrent; 3,519 were delivered in 1940 alone.
Originally built as a private venture by the Stearman Aircraft Company of Wichita, this two-seat biplane was of mixed construction. The wings were wood with fabric covering, while the fuselage had a tough, welded steel framework, also fabric covered.
Either a Lycoming R-680 (PT-13) or Continental R-670 (PT-17) engine powered most models, at a top speed of 124 mph with a 505-mile range. An engine shortage in 1940-41 led to the installation of 225-hp Jacobs R-755 engines on some 150 airframes, and the new designation PT-18.
The Navy’s early aircraft, designated NS-1, eventually evolved into the N2S series, and the Royal Canadian Air Force called their Lend-Lease aircraft PT-27s. (The Canadians were also responsible for the moniker “Kaydet,” a name eventually adopted by air forces around the globe).
The plane was easy to fly, and relatively forgiving of new pilots. It gained a reputation as a rugged airplane and a good teacher. Officially named the Boeing Model 75, the plane was (and still is) persistently known as the “Stearman” by many who flew them.
By whatever name, more than 10,000 were built by the end of 1945 and at least 1,000 are still flying today worldwide.”
When I was a child, late ‘40s, many Stearmans had been sold out of war surplus.
The original Philadelphia Airport, in south Jersey, was near where I lived.
That airport is long-gone. It couldn’t be expanded = runways lengthened to accommodate more modern airliners than the DC-3.
But at that time a banner towing-service flew out of that airport (as did RCA’s Twin Beech).
They were using Stearmans at first.
They’d fly over my neighborhood towing long advertising banners.
“Smoke Lucky-Strike cigarettes,” or “Look for the three-ring sign: Ballantine Beer.”
I always enjoyed watching. Sometimes two would fly at once; they had to make sure they didn’t hit each other.
Probably the first words I wrote (slung) were “Banner Biplane Antics.” I was about 10 or 11, and pretty much had to make it up. I had no idea how things worked.
Eventually the Stearmans were retired, and the service converted to Piper Cubs.
When’s the last time you saw an airplane towing an advertising banner? I only see ‘em at the seashore, advertising a radio-station to beach-goers.



1970 Trans-Am Pontiac.

—Everything from now on is not inspiring; except my Jim LePore muscle-car calendar.
The November 2015 entry is a 1970 Trans-Am Pontiac Firebird, perhaps the greatest ponycar ever made = the one I’d want.
The shape is perfect, one of the best-looking cars of all time.
And unlike Chevrolet’s Z-28 Camaro, it avoids the Ferrari grille.
About the only thing wrong with this car is size: it’s a little too big — and its gigantic sedan doors.
The Trans-Am makes a few styling mistakes, like that vent on the side of the front fenders, and those add-on fiberglass wheel-pants.
Supposedly they had worthwhile function. The Trans-Am had good aero. The hood-scoop faces rearward. It scooped air pressurized by hitting the windshield.
But I don’t know about that fender-vent. I doubt it’s functional. It looks like plastic filigree.
The 1970 Trans-Am had a rip-roaring 400 cubic-inch engine, same as the G-T-O.
345 horsepower, it claimed. And it had the reputation of being a stormer.
Hopefully it wasn’t as heavy as that boat-anchor 455 that came later, although that engine was a stormer too.




All auto-racks. (Photo by Eric Johnson.)

—Time to move on — although I’m not inspired from here on.
The November 2015 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is an all auto-rack train passing through Homestead, PA on its way to Newark with new autos from Fostoria, OH.
The auto-racks probably have three decks inside, and are fully enclosed.
At first they weren’t, but miscreants would rock out car-windows and dent sheet-metal.
The photographer used such strong telephoto the track curves are compressed into spaghetti.
Which is what ruins the picture for me.
Ya gotta be careful with telephoto. To me the aim is to see what the eye sees.
Spaghetti-curves are not what the eye sees.
Auto-racks are “high-cars.” I doubt you could run ‘em on Baltimore & Ohio’s “West End,” its original line to the Ohio River.
I’ve seen the “West End;” it’s very difficult, so is no longer a mainline to the Ohio River. The only reason B&O built that way is because Pennsy wouldn’t allow them to Pittsburgh, although that was in the 1800s.
B&O finally attained Pittsburgh, so its main became its line to Pittsburgh.
The “West End” still exists, and was part of B&O’s line to St. Louis. But now it’s mainly heavy coal-trains, and coal-cars aren’t “high cars.”
The “West End” attains Grafton, WV, where many coal-branches fed it, including the original line to the Ohio River.
One wonders if the “West End” will be abandoned if coal becomes a dinosaur. It crosses two mountains on horrible grades.
I remember seeing a highway overpass in Oakland, MD, and it wasn’t the Pennsy main. It was two tracks, but they were close, and clearance through the overpass was tight.
But this line through Homestead looks like a main. It has the clearance to run doublestacks and wide loads.
Studying this picture I see a forested hillside behind. It looks like the train may have just exited a tunnel.
So I fired up Homestead in my Google-maps, and I don’t see a tunnel.
Homestead is near Pittsburgh, so there are railroads galore. Homestead is on the Monongahela River.
I’ve never been there.




The way it was. (Photo courtesy Joe Suo Collection ©.)

—I was gonna run this photo later; but decided I shouldn’t. After all this is the way railroading was when the picture was taken back in 1959.
The November 2015 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is the tail end of a northbound train about to tackle infamous Madison grade.
Look at that ’59 Ford, and that ’57 or ’58 Plymouth. The ’57 and ’58 Plymouths are identical except for the taillights in the huge fins. And I can’t remember which was which.
My beloved wife, now gone, learned to drive in a ’57 Plymouth, and she hated it. Big as a barge; and it started to rust almost immediately.
Try to imagine parallel-parking that thing!
Madison grade, at 5.89 %, was the steepest mainline grade in America.
Even Saluda (“Sa-LOO-duh”) in NC, which I’ve seen, is not as steep. Madison is 5.89 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
I’ve seen various percentages for Saluda; from 4.7 % up to 5.1%. Whatever, it looks steep.
I have a hard time imagining a side-rod steam-locomotive holding the rail, not slipping on Madison grade, especially if the rail is wet.
Diesels would do better; constant torque from their electric traction-motors, instead of piston-thrusts.
I also can’t imagine a train not sliding down the hill with its brakes locked — but probably it would hold.
Plus I don’t imagine a train being very long or heavy.
Trains up Saluda had to triple the hill; break the train into three manageable segments.
Saluda is inactive, although the tracks are still there.
I’ve never seen Madison grade, but I did see Saluda. What I remember most is its start at the top of the hill. The tracks suddenly drop like a rollercoaster.
You see that in Gallitzin where Track One begins “The Slide.” Suddenly the tracks drop, but that’s only 2.28%.
And steep grades were just as bad going down. Saluda had at least one runaway track — two at first. And it was routed into the runaway track — a train had to be under control and stop so a brakie could throw the switch.
17-Mile Grade on Baltimore & Ohio’s “West End” also had runaway tracks, but trains weren’t routed into them. The switch to the runaway track only threw if the train exceeded a certain speed descending. 17-Mile-Grade maxes at 2.28%.
I did some poking around with Google, hoping to find Madison grade.
At first I was looking at Madison, OH on Google-maps — wrong state.
I then tried “Madison Grade” in my Google-search, and found it was actually IN.
Some historical artifact was written about “Madison Grade;” it goes back a long way. It was started in 1836, and finished in 1841. It was climbing up out of the Ohio River valley, and had a lot of near-impossible challenges.
At first it was built as an inclined-plane railroad, with stationary steam-engines winching cars up the grade.
An attempt to make an adhesion locomotive that could climb the grade failed, so the grade was converted to rack-and-cog, just like the Mt. Washington Cog Railway.
Eventually a locomotive, the “Reuben Wells,” went into service in 1868 that successfully climbed the grade by adhesion.
Eventually the grade allied with Pennsy, and in the picture we see a PRR train about to attack the grade.
Apparently the grade still exists, used as needed by the Madison Port Authority. But it’s almost grown over.
If I look carefully at my Google-map, I see a railroad out of Madison.
Indianapolis is now the capital of IN, but in the early 1800s it was a mere hole-in-the-wall compared to Madison.
I also note that caboose is wood. Pennsy called ‘em “cabin-cars,” and replaced their wooden cabooses with steel.
But the train will climb Madison Grade with a wooden cabin-car.
I did Mt. Washington Cog Railway back in 1968; and back then it was all-steam.
The rail was very tiny; it didn’t need to support much.
But Mt. Washington Cog Railway has since converted to diesel.




Old-looking. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—The November 2015 entry in my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a 1933 Ford hotrod.
It’s a hotrod, but very old appearing.
It’s those wheels, the fact they are spoked.
And they look rare; the fact they appear to be knockoffs. (A hammer applied to one of those wings takes the wheel off its center-stud; it’s not bolted.)
I’ve never seen such a thing. Apparently they are “Wheelsmith” custom wire wheels. So says the calendar.
The car is based on a ’33 Ford roadster. Not bad, but not as desirable as the ’34. It looks pretty much the same; I thought it a ’34 at first.
This car has what I consider two mistakes:
—First, the motor is a 350 Chevy SmallBlock. I feel it should be a FlatHead Ford V8; those wheels make it appear very old, like ‘40s.
—Second is the two-piece DuVall windshield. I feel like the standard one-piece stock Ford windshield, chopped, looks better.
The tiny Carson top also looks too minimal; a tiny top on a bigger-looking car.
Carson tops were very popular, but in this case too spare. —Something tells me you’re gonna have to remove the top to drive this thing; it’s not a convertible top.
And if you can’t drive it — if it’s only a trailer-queen — what fun is that? As my old friend, since deceased, once said: “If ya can’t drive the bitch, ya can’t enjoy it.”
The car also has a Halibrand Quick-Change differential. A Quick-Change allowed you to quickly change differential-gearing — a racecar application, to allow changing rear-gearing to maximize performance for an individual track.



Three “Sharks” lead westbound coal-train on the Pennsy main across PA. (Photo by Fred Kern.)

—The November 2015 entry in my All-Pennsy color calendar is a westbound coal-train at Perdix on the Pennsy main across PA. It’s November of 1959.
The train is bound for Altoona, and it’s powered by three Baldwin RF-16 “Sharks.”
The Sharks are considered the prettiest cab-units. They were styled by Raymond Loewy, a take-off of his T-1 (4-4-4-4) steam-locomotive for Pennsy.
But even the Shark couldn’t save Baldwin. Other railroads beside Pennsy purchased Sharks, and they were much better-looking than Baldwin’s initial “baby-faces.”
There were even passenger-Sharks, but only Pennsy, 2,000 horsepower.
But Sharks weren’t reliable. EMD’s plain-Jane F-units were more reliable — the locomotive that dieselized the railroads.
If a Shark crippled, it blocked the railroad. You can’t just drive around a cripple. You gotta send out rescue-locomotives to bring in the cripple.
Baldwin was a long-time supplier of steam-locomotives to our nation’s railroads. Pennsy, even though it built its own locomotives, was one of Baldwin’s biggest clients.
But with dieselization Baldwin declared bankruptcy, and went out of business. All that remains of its giant plant in Eddystone, PA is the administration-building.
My guess is that coal-train is empty, but that’s looking at it from today’s viewpoint.
Three locomotives seems like a lot of power to move a empty train, so it may not be empty.
Most westbound coal-trains now are empty, going back to the mines. Two units unassisted can pull 100 or more empty coal-cars over The Hill.
Those RF-16s were 1,600 horsepower. Road-units now average 4,000 horsepower or more per unit.




1968 Mercury Cougar 427 GT-E. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—The November 2015 entry in my Motorbooks Musclecar calendar is a 1968 Mercury Cougar 427 GT-E.
At least it looks quite a bit different from the Mustang, on which it’s based.
But the roof is Mustang.
I always had a hard time thinking of the Cougar as a ponycar.
It was a little too glitzy.
Later the Cougar was moved up to Ford’s intermediate platform. No longer was it based on Mustang.
But before Bud Moore Engineering started racing their fabulous Boss-302 Mustangs, they raced Cougars in the SCCA (Sports Car Club of America) Trans-Am series.

A Bud Moore Cougar.

Moore was an old NASCAR racer. He’d modify his cars per his NASCAR experience — his Boss-302 Mustangs were probably the fastest car.
He also had Parnelli (”par-nell-EEEE”) Jones driving for him. Parnelli won the Indy 500 once.
The most important thing Moore did was firmly locate the car’s rear-axle with a Panhard rod and track-bars. With that the car didn’t boogaloo when drifting.
Putting a 427 mega-motor in a glitz-wagon is a bit of a stretch. And the engine was the notorious 427 side-oiler.
The side-oiler was essentially a NASCAR racing engine. It wasn’t very streetable.
Ford was phasing out the side-oiler in 1968, replacing it with its new 428.
But this car is the side-oiler.
Good luck driving it on the street!