Monthly Calendar-Report for November 2016

Barcode. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

—The November 2016 entry of my own calendar is Norfolk Southern train 67K, a long train of empty crude-oil tankcars, being led by a single locomotive, #1111, the so-called “barcode engine.”
We’re on the Riggles Gap Road overpass over the old Pennsy main, north of Altoona (railroad-east).
It’s still October, the time we got the previous fall-foliage picture.
It won’t snow here for another month.
From Tyrone (“tie-RONE;” as in “own”) to Altoona the old Pennsylvania Railroad went down a long valley with Allegheny Mountain to the west.
In the early 1800s Allegheny Mountain was the barrier that impeded trade with the nation’s interior.
From Altoona the railroad took on the mountain. Its route was laid out by John Edgar Thomson, and includes the Mighty Curve (Horseshoe Curve), Thomson’s trick that made conquering the mountain possible.
Thomson’s route is still used, although the railroad is now Norfolk Southern.
The train is westbound on Track Two. Track One (eastbound) is next to it, although both tracks can be signaled either direction.
Next to that is a controlled siding, meaning it’s signaled.
Pennsy through here was four tracks (the “Broad Way”). It’s been reduced to three.
Locomotive #1111 is the so-called “Barcode” unit, an EMD SD70ACe.

(Photo by Roger Durfee.)

On the cab-side are four vertical stripes signifying the engine-number. Railfans decided that looks like a barcode.
In my opinion Norfolk Southern is railfan friendly. Some railroads aren’t; often they’re downright nasty.
Norfolk Southern painted 20 new locomotives in the colors of its predecessors, the “Heritage units.” They attract railfans.
Railfans are often obnoxious. Railfanning can be dangerous; get hit by a train and you’re dead.
So far my brother and I have never been harassed by railroad employees.
“There they are again.”
We make it a point to not do anything stupid.
At Allegheny Crossing there are plenty of places to get dramatic photographs without trespassing, although I suppose we have occasionally.
We don’t walk on the tracks or right-of-way; we don’t invite harassment. We are on a highway-bridge.
I’ve been to this location before, at first with my railfan friend Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”) from Altoona. At that time I decided this location wasn’t photogenic: the tracks were too straight and long.
But my brother has done good here on two occasions. First this picture, plus a second the other direction.
My hairdresser has my calendar.
“Look at the length of that train,” he exclaimed. “It goes back as far as the eye can see.”
“It’s probably over a mile long,” I said. “But it’s empty, which is why they get by with only a single unit.”
That first car is not a tankcar. It’s an “idler,” there to protect the crew if the train crashes.
The following tankcars have momentum, especially if loaded. The train is unit crude-oil, returning empty to the oil fields in ND and Canada.




Climbing The Hill. (Joe Suo Collection.)

—We are in the cab of a General Electric U25C, 2,500 horsepower, six axles, climbing the 1.75% grade over Allegheny Mountain toward the Mighty Curve (Horseshoe Curve).
The October 2016 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is the essence of Pennsy, the climb over Allegheny Mountain.
It’s 1966, and a passenger or mail train is descending The Hill. It’s led by EMD E-unit #4265, renumbered from 5765 in preparation for the Penn-Central merger.
This photo is exciting to me, since I’ve been here so many times, and ridden this line.
The climb over Allegheny Mountain is what Pennsy is all about.
Allegheny Mountain had been a barrier to trade from Philadelphia to our nation’s interior.
Pennsylvania railroad conquered it when it was laid out, an engineering marvel by John Edgar Thomson.
His master-stroke was Horseshoe Curve, doubling back across a valley to ease the grade. It made conquering Allegheny Mountain possible.
Helper locomotives would be needed, but 1.75% was easy compared to 4 or 5%.
And the line was continuous. No switchbacks or inclined planes. That meant trains didn’t hafta stop.
A previous Allegheny Crossing had inclined planes, a portage railroad, part of PA’s Public Works, meant to compete with NY’s Erie Canal. Public Works was part canal and part railroad, since Allegheny Mountain couldn’t be canaled.
Public Works was so slow and cumbersome, Philadelphia capitalists founded the Pennsylvania Railroad.
Pennsy put Public Works out of business, bought it for peanuts, and abandoned everything except the tunnel and right-of-way of a new portage railroad built by the state to make Public Works more attractive — no inclined planes.
It was later reactivated to add to Pennsy’s capacity over the mountain.
New Portage’s tunnel became double and then single track. That single track is now Track One, eastbound.
We are climbing Track Four. The E-units are coming down Track Two.
You can see the uphill (westbound) tracks are covered with sand applied by locomotives sanding the rails.
Pennsy went on to become one of the major conduits of trade with the east-coast megalopolis.
The other was New York Central’s Water-Level route across NY state. “Water-Level” because it more-or-less paralleled the Erie Canal, and also the Hudson River. No Allegheny Mountain to cross.
Pennsy’s route was more challenging, but with marketing savvy and stellar operations they more-or-less out-competed New York Central.
Pennsy merged many feeders and outlets into its original line from Harrisburg to Pittsburgh. By so doing it became a powerhouse, the largest railroad in the world.
Pennsy, of course, is no more. It merged with New York Central in 1968, and Penn-Central quickly went bankrupt.
Railroads had become a tax cash-cow for political jurisdictions, and were saddled with HUGE commuter costs. Especially Pennsy and New York Central.
And the Interstate Commerce Commission, an earlier reaction to railroad power, had become a barrier to railroad competition with trucking.
Every rate-proposal had to be debated and approved.
Beyond that the government was subsidizing trucking by building an Interstate Highway System. Railroad right-of-way was owned by the railroads.
The bankruptcy of Penn-Central spurred the government to action. Northeastern railroading had to saved.
Conrail was founded out of Penn-Central and other eastern bankrupts, at first as a government entity, but later privatized.
Expensive commuter-districts were shed to local and state governments, and railroad passenger service was turned over to Amtrak.
In fact, the old Pennsy New York City to Washington DC line is now part of Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor. Plus the old Pennsy line from Philadelphia to Harrisburg is now Amtrak.
Conrail designated a new route to the New York City area, comprised of ex-Pennsy to Harrisburg, then ex-Reading (“redding;” not “reeding”) etc. toward New York City.
Railroads never crossed the Hudson to Manhattan Island. They terminate in northern New Jersey across from New York City.
Pennsy did tunnel under the Hudson, but that was passenger only. Those tubes won’t clear freightcars.
Congress passed the Staggers Act in 1980, deregulating the railroads, and ending the Interstate Commerce Act of 1887. Railroads could thereafter better compete with trucking.
Railroading has advantages. Capacity is enormous, and right-of-way is minimal.
Limitations are they can’t be steep, and can’t go around obstacles — everything is on the same track.
Trains are also hard to stop = momentum. Trains can also run away downhill.
Conrail became successful, so was broken up and sold in 1999.
Most of the ex-New York Central lines, especially the Water Level, went to CSX Transportation.
Thomson’s ex-Pennsy route across PA went to Norfolk Southern. All might have gone to CSX, but Norfolk Southern wanted part.
So here we are hammering up The Hill, speed-limit 30 mph.
Our locomotive is probably in Run Eight, assaulting the heavens.


The restored Bennett Levin E-Units. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

A few years ago I did same behind restored E-Units in Pennsy colors.
As we climbed toward the summit our train slowed.
The entire trip was dramatic, including the Mighty Curve.
That’s goin’ to my grave.
My ashes will be distributed along this railroad.
“Somebody’s on top of the rocks takin’ pictures,” I heard on my scanner.
“You’ll be an Internet sensation tonight.”


(What to do here, when none are inspiring? Rank ‘em by how pretty they are.)


Soon to be one of the prettiest cars of all time. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—The November 2016 entry in my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a hot-rodded 1937 Ford five-window coupe.
Basis for one of the prettiest cars of all time: the 1939 Ford five-window coupe.

One of the prettiest cars of all time.

Ford didn’t have a styling department. Not like General Motors and Harley Earl, head of GM’s Art and Color Section, started by GM president Alfred P. Sloan with Earl as head-honcho.
Old Henry (Henry Ford) thought styling a waste. His son Edsel disagreed, but Old Henry badmouthed Edsel.
Fortunately Edsel had a hand in producing some of the best-looking cars ever, especially for hot-rodding: the Model-A Ford, and the Deuce (’32).
1937 was the first year Ford did a two-piece windshield.
I bet Old Henry was angry: “What sense does that make?”
Old Henry thought the Model-T was all America needed.
The styling of the coupe began before 1937, but by 1937 they were getting it right.
All the coupe needed were better-looking fenders, which came for 1939.
Along with ditching that hood side-vent.
Both the ’39 and ’40 Ford five-windows are pretty much the same. But the ’39 has the better-looking grille, used on the ’40 Ford “Standard,” the el-cheapo model.
Ford’s styling was essentially E.T. Gregorie (Bob) — just him, Old Henry skrimping.
But oh what great-looking cars Gregorie styled, although his Ford sedans were BeetleBombs.
This car has a 350-Chevy crate-motor, hot-rodded to 400 horsepower.
Years ago my brother (from Boston) and I saw a ’39 five-window coupe returning from a show. Full boat: 350 SmallBlock with auto-tranny and air-conditioning. Triple deuces.
That brother is also a car-guy.
When I was in high-school a neighbor had a black ’40 Ford coupe out back on blocks, devoid of its front clip.
An Olds V8 was rumored to be in its future, but I don’t know if he ever built it.
Old Fords were a dime-a-dozen, and many had Old Henry’s FlatHead V8 which rendered sprightly performance and sounded great.
So a ’37 Ford is no surprise.
But the car is so low it doesn’t look drivable.
Although my friend Jim LePore (“la-POOR”) clued me in.
Airbag suspensions are available that jack up a car when pumped up.
Then you let it back down when parked.
Okay, but a ’37 five-window ain’t a ’39 five-window, one of the best-looking cars of all time.




Like son, like father. (Photo by Dave Ori.)

—The guy who took this photograph is the father of the guy who had the previous (October) picture in my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar.
The November 2016 entry is Norfolk Southern’s Veterans unit.
The guys in the paint-shop at Juniata Shops (“june-eee-AT-uh) north of Altoona, are having a field day.
20 Heritage units, this Veterans unit, and also a First Responders unit, #911.
That’s all I can think of at the moment. There are others.
Last time I passed Juniata Shops, a slew of Armour Yellow Union Pacific road locos were lined up outside.
Norfolk Southern buys excess locomotives for rebuilding in Juniata Shops.
6920 is a rebuilt EMD SD60E.
Norfolk Southern’s SD60Es are rebuilt SD60s from itself, other railroads, leasers, etc., uprated from 3,800 horsepower to 4,000 by installing a newer 710G3B engine — that’s 710 cubic inches per cylinder, which came after 645. (The original EMD engine was 567 cubic-inches per cylinder.)
SD60s also used a 710 engine but 710G3A.
I never liked the appearance of these locomotives. They have that brow over the windshield — Norfolk Southern’s “Crescent Cab,” named after its new “Crescent Corridor” into the south.
The “Crescent Cab” is manufactured by Curry Supply of Curry, PA., and meets current standards for crash-worthiness.
To me the best-looking locos are the GE Dash-9s. Essentially anything GE wide-cab, like their new Evolution Series.
There are Dash-7 and Dash-8s with a hood nose.
Here I am finding fault with the appearance of a locomotive.
Belly-button picking.
Norfolk Southern is not obligated to reproduce the Mona Lisa.
When a train approaches my viewfinder I don’t get to pick and choose.
I can’t see if its one of these browed SD60Es.
Just shaddup and shoot, and hope it’s not an SD60E when I preview it.
If it is, sometimes the setting offsets that brow.
I’ve yet to do an SD60E in my calendar.
Interestingly photographer Dave Ori’s first winning picture years ago in the Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar was the same location as his son’s October photograph.
Plus the picture is a slide — not digital.




Silly! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

— The November 2016 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a B-25 bomber reconfigured as an attack plane. Close off the bombardier’s post and load up with machine-guns.
There was an earlier model, the B-25G, that had a 75 mm cannon — the largest cannon ever installed on an aircraft.
The airplane pictured is a B-25J, just the machine-guns. It also was the final B-25 iteration.
Most B-25s were produced as bombers.
The B-25 wasn’t a long-range strategic bomber like the B-17 or B-24. They weren’t used to bomb Germany from England.
They were “midrange.”

There’s the cannon; a B-25G. (It also has a shorter nose.)

B-25s were used in Billy Mitchell’s Tokyo raid.
But off the aircraft-carrier Hornet, and they crash-landed in China afterwards.
They couldn’t return to the Hornet, and landing on it was out-of-the-question.
They could barely take off. Aim the carrier into the wind, and hope for the best. I doubt there were steam catapults back then.
In 1956 I saw the carrier Ticonderoga at an airshow in Philadelphia. It had steam catapults.
The crew set up a bedraggled ’49 Plymouth convertible, then fired the catapult.
That Plymouth out-accelerated Don Garlits’ fuel dragster, then flew a quarter-mile before splashing into the sea.
The B-25 as an attack-bomber was okay, but it wasn’t the Douglas A-26 “Invader.”
Same concept: medium bomber as an attack-bomber. Two high-horsepower radial engines and lots of machine-guns.
(The A-26 was 2,000 horsepower per engine; the B-25 was 1,700.)

A-26 at Geneseo airshow in 2014. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I saw one a few years ago at the nearby Geneseo airshow, an assemblage of historical airplanes.
B-25s attend the show too — there are still plenty around. They bomb the grass-strip with pumpkins. Closest to target wins.
But the A-26 was probably better at taking out tanks.
Back in the early ‘50s, a B-25 was used as a camera-plane in the first Cinerama movie. Cinerama had triple cameras and three projectors onto a HUGE wraparound screen.
It was supposedly more realistic filling your peripheral vision.
The triple cameras were mounted in the bombardier’s compartment. Then the B-25 flew down the East River next to Manhattan Island under each bridge — I think there were three, one being the Brooklyn Bridge.
Verrazzano hadn’t been built yet.
My guess is that growling attack-bat on the plane’s nose wasn’t there originally. Most B-25 attack-planes I’ve seen had nothing.
To me that attack-bat looks silly.




Hark-hark, a Lark! (Photo by Dan Lyons©.)

—The November 2016 entry in my Tide-mark Classic-Car calendar is a 1960 Studebaker Lark.
Lark, introduced for 1959, was the one of the first small cars by an American manufacturer.
Introduced in 1958 was the Rambler American, a rehash of a Rambler compact introduced in 1954, sold by Nash and Hudson.

Rambler American.

The so-called Independents thereby skonked the Big Three. They didn’t get around to smaller offerings until the 1960 model-year: Ford’s Falcon, Plymouth’s Valiant, and Chevrolet’s Corvair.
And Corvair was a misstep by Chevrolet chief engineer Ed Cole, after stunning success with Chevrolet’s SmallBlock V8 of 1955.
Chevrolet should have marketed a compact more like Ford’s Falcon, and eventually did with the Chevy II.
Instead of being a Volkswagen wannabee, the Corvair ended up being a Porsche (“poor-sha”) wannabee. Porsches were air-cooled and rear-engine too.
Smaller cars are anathema in the American market.
Gas was cheap, so bigger cars could guzzle without breaking the bank.
The Lark was timely. 1958 was a strong recession, so car-buyers were pinch-penny. Lark dragged Studebaker into making money.
But given a choice American car-buyers buy bigger cars. They want added roominess, etc.
Lark lasted until the end of Studebaker in 1966.
The car pictured is first generation. Larks were restyled for 1962, slightly for 1963, and again for 1964.

Glitz!

Studebaker’s Starliner coupe, one of the best-looking cars ever.

That final generation succeeded in making a small car glitzy.
Studebaker was first a wagon maker — founded in 1852.
Stude switched to making cars, and did fairly well until WWII.
After the war Stude never got a foothold. It’s Starliner coupe is one of the prettiest cars of all time, but compared to the Big Three it looked weird.
The Lark was perhaps the best car Studebaker ever marketed.




I’m sorry; not a locomotive. (Photo by F.E. Simpson.)

—How can they call this thing a locomotive?
I hope the month passes quickly.
The November 2016 entry in my All-Pennsy color calendar is a rubber-tired switcher for moving cars. It was built by Pennsy in their shops.
We’re in Baltimore, MD, probably the harbor district, where the railroad had trackage serving piers.
Earlier the railroad built tiny 0-4-0 switchers to switch the tight curvature found therein.

Pennsy’s A5 0-4-0 switcher.

Maintaining a steam-locomotive is costly.
A steam boiler can explode.
There are inspections and complete teardown to avoid that.
The boiler can also leak — water or steam or both. Leakage into the firebox or exhaust flues will degrade the performance of the locomotive.
And everything has to work, especially water-supply.
Let the boiler-water drop below the top sheet of the firebox, it melts, collapses, and the boiler explodes.
Often with enough force to tear the boiler from the frame, and hurl it hundreds of feet. Crew-members are usually killed.
I’ve seen pressure inside the boiler as high as 300 pounds per square inch!
The A5 pictured looks modern; a tiny steam-engine built to modern principles. —”Modern” for the ‘20s.
But even then it was a bit much for shunting a car or two. A railroad switcher is also confined to railroad track. It couldn’t just drive across the street to shunt another car.

A TrackMobile.

Car-movers are still in use.
A car-mover can quickly amble to another location. A railroad locomotive confined to track might hafta move all over creation just to couple a car.
Diesel switchers, as trolley-motors, can handle tight curvature better than that 0-4-0 steamer. But they have to stay on track.
Equipment like a car-mover saves time.
I watched a video once of an ancient car-mover pushing a loaded coal-hopper into a shed. The car-mover barely ran —but made a railroad switcher look silly.
I have friends that do model trains. HO gauge is 0.65 inches between the rails; N gauge is 0.354 inches between the rails.
I always say my favorite gauge is 4 feet 8&1/2 inches between the rails, standard-gauge for a full-size railroad.
Model trains are fun; I had Lionel trains as a child.
But there’s nothing like the real thing, especially steam-engines.
Even diesels are okay. Giant throbbing motors assaulting the heavens in Run Eight.
That’s what I prefer. No dinky model trains for this kid.
And no dinky car-movers.
Interestingly, the car-mover pictured is captioned as battery-powered.
If so why the muffler on top, and what looks like a radiator-screen on the side?

---

What a turkey!

—What a disaster these things were after the ’55-’57 Chevys.
At least it’s an Impala — 1958 was the first year for “Imps.”
Triple taillights instead of two; the gigantic swooping body of GM’s cars for ’57 and ’58.
The November 2016 entry in my Jerry Powell “Classic-Car” calendar is a slightly customized 1958 Chevrolet Impala convertible, nosed and probably decked.
Jerry Powell is my niece’s boyfriend. He’s a car-guy like me. He got it for me as a Christmas present.
I remember how smitten I was by these cars.
Triple taillights in scallops, and quad headlights.
A slave to GM styling.
1958 was the first Chevy with quads, even the cheaper models.
Quads were a styling fad; the ’57 Chevy didn’t have ‘em. Compared to this boat, the Tri-Chevys were small.
As a teenager I rode in the ’58 Bel Air two-door sedan of a guy from my church. It was his parents’ car, 283 PowerGlide. It was fairly strong: a fabulous motor lugging a giant barge.
When that guy finally got his own car, it was a ’55 Bel Air two-door sedan with 265 three-on-the-tree. He was a part-time student in my high-school = one of the kids who probably woulda dropped out.
Every afternoon he’s leave school at 1 p.m., revving that ’55 to the moon! I looked forward to it: a fabulous sound.
After 1957 came this ’58, more a custom than a hotrod. It reminded me of the ’57 Mercury, all flash.
I liked that Mercury, especially customized with cruiser-skirts; rear fender skirts extended to the rear bumper. —The Mercury pictured has cruiser-skirts.

Cruisers for a ’58 Impala.

’57 Mercury with Cruiser-Skirts.

Wretched excess, but it has Cruisers.

The ’58 Imp also looked good with Cruisers, but this car has the stock Chevrolet skirts.
I’ve pictured Cruiser-skirts, also a ’57 Merc with Cruiser-skirts, plus a ’59 Chevy that looks ridiculous but has Cruisers.
Anyone who reads this blog knows I think Chevrolet’s ’59 is the ugliest car they ever marketed.
And looking at this ’59 I wonder how you’d drive it.
Again my friend Jim LePore (“luh-POOR”) gave me the solution: air suspension that pumps the car off the pavement.
So now the ’58 and ’59 Chevys mean nothing to me.
Give me a ’55 with 350 SmallBlock crate-motor and four-on-the-floor.
The car I lusted after all through high-school, college, and after; first at 283, then 327, and now 350.
Jim notes at our age (I’m 72) such cars are dreamin’. “Playtime is over!”

Make-up

Y90, a unit coal-extra, returns to the original Pennsylvania Railroad alignment atop Allegheny Mountain after descending “The Slide,” PRR’s 2.28% ramp up to New Portage Tunnel. Two helper-sets (four units) help hold the heavy train back as it descends the mountain. The train is going away. Lots of fall-foliage. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

“I’m retired, nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!” I said to my railfan brother-in-Boston. “I can do this.”
Much as I didn’t look forward to another jaunt to Altoona, PA, since I had just done it the previous weekend.......
I made a mistake of thinking our Altoona trip was a previous weekend, so when I called my brother he was at work.
Altoona is where the Pennsylvania Railroad took on Allegheny Mountain back in the 1800s.
Pennsy is no more. Now it’s Norfolk Southern Railway, but the same track.
Our intent was fall-foliage, which was thin that previous weekend.
My brother was also expecting the death of a friend, but “Let’s go!”
“Oh Jack,” I thought, but all I had to do was get my ducks in a row: arrange dog-boarding, reserve a motel in Altoony, try to not forget anything.......
And hope my camera didn’t lob some mysterious curve at me. My earlier Nikon D100 did sometimes, but my Nikon D7000 hasn’t yet.
Thursday is the day I drove. Anything we shot that day, me after I arrived, is all we got.
It poured rain all day Friday, so we  left.
My brother drives there Wednesday, so he can photograph all day Thursday.
Sometimes the weather in Altoona is awful. It’s happened before.
My wife and I were planning to chase trains with Altoona railfan Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”), and it started snowing.
Another time my wife and I rode the funicular alone up to the Horseshoe Curve viewing-area, but it was pouring and wind was howling like a hurricane.
We turned around and rode back down right away.
My wife died over four years ago.
Most photographs are by my brother, since it was him alone while I was driving down.
Allegheny Crossing is five hours south of where I live.
The sun was out, but I arrived about 3 p.m., which gave me about two hours — 2&1/2 pushing it.
My brother began at Brickyard Crossing in Altoona. It’s actually Porta Road, but a brickyard was once nearby.
It’s the only mainline grade-crossing of the PRR in Altoona.


35A at Brickyard. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

At that time of day, Brickyard only works east of the tracks. West is too backlit.
He also got Amtrak’s eastbound Pennsylvanian — the only passenger-train left on this storied line.
There also is westbound late afternoon, but Pennsy once flooded this line with passenger-trains.


Amtrak’s eastbound Pennsylvanian at Brickyard. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

My brother then chased 35A up the mountain, beating it to Gallitzin, top of the mountain, where Pennsy dug its original tunnel. That tunnel has since been enlarged to clear doublestacks, and two tracks instead of one.


35A crests The Hill in Gallitzin. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

From there he drove down to “The Slide,” 2.28%, the ramp Pennsy built to get up to New Portage Tunnel, part of a new portage railroad the state built to make its Public Works System more attractive.
Public Works was a combination canal and railroad installed by the state to compete with NY’s Erie Canal.
Since Allegheny Mountain couldn’t be canaled, a portage railroad was installed, and originally had inclined planes.
Canal boats got put on railroad flatcars, for winching up the planes.
That new portage railroad was devoid of planes.
Pennsy put it out-of-business, bought if for peanuts, and abandoned everything but the tunnel and New Portage right-of-way.
But New Portage Tunnel is slightly higher than Pennsy’s original tunnel.
That tunnel and right-of-way were reactivated to add to Pennsy’s capacity over the mountain.
The railroad was again abandoned, but the tunnel is still in use. It now contains Track One eastbound. Since that tunnel is higher, a ramp had to be built to get back to the original Pennsy alignment — that ramp is called “The Slide.” At 2.28% it’s steeper than Pennsy’s main up the east slope, which averages 1.75%.
My lede picture is Y90 coming off The Slide to the original Pennsy alignment.
My brother then drove north (railroad east) toward Tyrone to Gray Interlocking, hoping to beat Y90.


Y90 heads east through Gray, helper-set still upfront. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

Gray Interlocking is where a controlled (signaled) siding merges back into Track One.
He got Y90, and also an empty coal-train off the Nittany & Bald Eagle.


537 comes off the Nittany & Bald Eagle. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

NBER is the old Pennsy Bald Eagle branch, now a cast-off shortline, but Norfolk Southern has trackage-rights. A coal-fired electric plant is up that way, and NS also uses those trackage-rights to get mixed freight to and from Northumberland.
NBER is built like a mainline — to support those heavy NS coal-trains. 120-ton coal gondolas.
My brother then drove back toward Altoona for lunch, which was about when I arrived. He went to 24th Street overpass in Altoona, which is over Slope Interlocking.


67T (empty oil) moves through Slope Interlocking. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

We met at Brickyard, and both shot 23Z, a westbound.


23Z approaches Brickyard Crossing. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

My brother’s picture was better. I had forgotten to take a lens-filter off, and it seems to flatten color.
We then drove over to UN (telegraph address), just west of Gallitzin, where Pennsy had a loop back toward Altoona.


23M charges through UN. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

That loop was so helpers could loop back to Altoona.
Now helpers continue west, since as diesel-electrics they can provide dynamic-braking.
The traction-motors get turned into generators, and they provide braking to help slow a train downhill.
But the loop is still there, since the railroad can use it to turn trains.
For example, Norfolk Southern’s Executive Business-Train is parked in Altoona aimed west.
But it needs to go east.
Up The Hill it goes to that loop at UN, so it can come back aimed east.
It’s not like model-trains, where a big hand drops from the sky, flips the locomotives 180°, then reassembles the train.
We then headed toward Bennington Curve, just east of the top of the mountain, where Pennsy’s Red Arrow cracked up in 1947.
It came down The Slide too fast, and flipped into a ravine next to Bennington Curve. 24 died.
I wasn’t sure we could get to it. We have to use the abandoned New Portage right-of-way, which is now an access-road to the mainline, and is sometimes locked.
It wasn’t locked this time, but you have to use a long dirt-track not portrayed in Google satellite-views, nor marked.
So down the dirt-track we flew. My brother had never been to Bennington Curve.
We knew Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian was coming, but about 5:30 = minimal light.
My brother turned off on a small access before Bennington Curve. We argued which was better, his location or Bennington Curve.
“You shoot there, and I’ll shoot Bennington,” I said.


Westbound Pennsylvanian just above Bennington. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

His picture was better, since mine at Bennington blurred from slow shutter-speed due to low light.
We hung around for one more train, me now with my brother.


21M continues up The Hill above Benny. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

His point-and-shoot versus my fiddle-dee-dee. His camera is probably automatically upping the ISO to offset low light, whereas mine requires input.
What his point-and-shoot won’t do is set the shutter-speed fast enough to stop a train. I shoot shutter-priority, 1/400th or faster.
He might shoot the same view as me, but the fronts of locomotives are blurred.

*** ******

I wonder what became of *** ******?
(No names. I don’t wanna get sued.)
*** was a tall, thin, tawny girl I lusted after in 11th grade.
*** was Class of “64; I’m ’62.
Which means she hit 70 if still alive. I’m 72.
*** was very much into horseback riding, as was I, since I was a riding instructor at my summer camp.
But I rode western, and she rode English. We had an English saddle I used often, but our horses were neck-reiners = western.
I got fairly good at it. The fact I was a stablehand meant I could ride a lot.
So I hoped we could share experiences, and thus become friends.
Didn’t happen, and I doubt it could have.
English tends to be hoity-toity. Western is perceived as inferior.
*** was also in love with her horse — like going steady.
I don’t remember if she actually owned a horse. It may have been the horse she was assigned, owned by someone else.
I used to drive home from Wilmington passing her house, which was on a residential street in a nearby development. We lived north of Wilmington, DE at that time.
Horses aren’t men. They don’t belch or spit or badmouth your mother. Nor do they guzzle beer while pigging out on wings, watching NASCAR or football. (“That little cheater!”)
She showed up in her riding outfit once. Very pretty in knee-high boots, cropped dark coat, and velvet riding-cap atop her tawny brown hair.
I think I tried to talk to her, but at mention of the word “western” I crashed mightily.

Mixed signals

“Okay, where are ya?” I asked my brother-from-Boston via cellphone. “I’m approaching Tyrone.”
I was expecting him to be in Altoona already, photographing trains.
“Yer a week off,” he said. “I’m at work.”
“That’s wonderful,” I thought. “No money. No scanner.” All-of-a-sudden my trip to Altoona became just a vacation from reality.
Fortunately the railroad is busy enough to not hafta wait too long flying blind.
Normally I use a railroad-radio scanner to know where trains are, and my scanner needs to be replaced.
My brother always brings his.
There had been a misunderstanding. Our trip to Altoona was to be this coming weekend. I had it as this past weekend.
I didn’t get many photographs: only five worth sharing.
I wanted fall-foliage shots, but trees hadn’t turned much. Fall-foliage was almost nonexistent at lower altitudes.
I thought it might be better up on the mountain, and it was, sometimes.
My schtick was to be where light was good, and that’s only about 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. this time of year. —5:30 if I push it.
I also wanted to try new locations, and I knew the light would be right at those.
My first photo is off Oak Street overpass toward Ehrenfeld (PA) north (railroad east) of South Fork.
In back is the sewer-plant, and the train is hauling containers of trash.
All trash; a unit-train of trash.
The train was beastly long, and rated help up The Hill. Those two 6300s up front are a helper-set.


All trash. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Not much fall-foliage.
My second picture is around 1:45. Any later and shadows become a problem — earlier is backlit.
The picture is in Gallitzin, top of the mountain.


Westbound stacker in Gallitzin. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Still not much fall-foliage, even atop the mountain — at least not here in Gallitzin.
The tunnel is the original Pennsy tunnel enlarged to clear doublestacks. And it used to be only one track; now it’s two (Three and Two).
Track One is on the other side of town in New Portage tunnel.
The lead locomotive is one of the SD60Es, which I think are ugly.
It’s that brow over the windshield; the 6900s and 7000s are a Norfolk Southern rebuild of an SD-60, repowered with a new 4,000 horsepower engine. (Originally 3,800 horsepower.)
Plus it also has the new so-called “Crescent Cab,” which has that brow.
The sun was out, and pretty strong. Only thin cirrus.
The third photo is strong telephoto of a westbound stacker emerging from the old Pennsy tunnel in Gallitzin.


Oh well..... (Milepost 248, top of The Hill.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I don’t think much of this photograph; telephoto often bombs.
The next photo is at UN (telegraph address), where a helper-loop looped back toward Altoona, so helpers up The Hill could go back down.
UN is just west of Gallitzin.


Only one red tree. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

This is my best shot, but only one tree is changed.
The westbound on Three was passing an eastbound on Two.
“Was it a wide-cab?” my brother asked.
“Yep.” I said.
It’s a calendar-picture, but fall-foliage I don’t know.
My final picture is at Bennington Curve, where Pennsy’s Red Arrow cracked up in 1947. It came down “The Slide” too fast, then flew off the track into a ravine at Bennington Curve.
The Slide was 2.36% at that time — now it’s 2.28% — not too steep, but fairly. It’s a ramp up to New Portage tunnel, part of a new Portage railroad put in by the state to make its Public Works System more attractive.
Public Works was a combination canal and railroad meant to compete with NY’s Erie Canal.
Allegheny Mountain couldn’t be canaled, so was portaged with a railroad. That railroad originally had inclined planes.
Canal boats got put on railroad flatcars that got winched up the planes.
A new portage railroad was later installed devoid of inclined planes.
New Portage tunnel is slightly higher than the original Pennsy tunnel.
Pennsy put Public Works out of business, bought it for peanuts, and abandoned everything but the tunnel and New Portage Railroad’s right-of-way.
Later both were reactivated to add to Pennsy’s capacity over the mountain.
The railroad has been again abandoned, but New Portage tunnel is still used. First it had two tracks, but now only has one: Track One eastbound.
I didn’t know whether I could get to Bennington Curve. Phil Faudi (“FOW-dee;” as in “wow”) and I went there a few years ago, but you hafta use the old Portage right-of-way to get to the road to it.
That right-of-way is now an access-road, and is sometimes locked.
Phil is the railfan from Altoona I once chased trains with.
The road to Bennington is not fully visible in Google Satellite-views, nor is it marked.
The access-road wasn’t locked this time.
Down the dirt-track to Bennington I charged. It was after 4, but I knew the sun would be directly into the curve.
I also knew Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian was coming, so I waited at Benny.
The sun was still out, shining directly into the trees, which were stridently colored.


Amtrak 07T, the westbound Pennsylvanian. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Finally Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian appeared. It was nearing 5:30. The sun was still on the trees, but the train was falling into shadow.
The picture has color, but I think it’s stupid. A mere side-elevation which shows how plain Amtrak’s GENESIS© units are.
Supposedly they’re more crash-worthy, and have fuel-tanks where they won’t rupture.
But I think they look stupid.
As I understand it (I may not be right), the people that styled these things also styled the recent Cadillacs. Chisel it!

• “Reality” is the fact my wife died over four years ago, so I live alone (with our dog). It ain’t easy.

Train trip

Our ex New York Central Alco RS32 #2035. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Those locomotives were built back when men were men, and women were men,” said one of our hosts on an Alumni train trip.
“Hardee-Har-Har-Har!”
I will only say our host was head-honcho at the Medina Railroad Museum in Medina, NY.
The so-called “Alumni” are the union retirees (Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union) of Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, and environs.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit.
The Alumni was a reaction to the fact Transit management retirees ran roughshod over union retirees — a continuation of the bad vibes at Transit: management versus union.
Transit had a club for long-time employees, and I was in it. It was called the “15/25-year Club;” I guess at first the “25-year Club.” But they lowered the employment requirement, and renamed it “15/25-year Club.”
The employment requirement was lowered even more; I joined at 10 years.
My employ there ended in 1993 with my stroke; and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then. The Alumni is allied with our bus-union — you have to join.
The museum has two E-units, I think E-8s, painted in New York Central colors, stored unserviceable, I think. They were originally New York Central, but eventually became Amtrak.

New York Central lightning-stripe Es.

Then Medina Railroad Museum got them when they were retired, and painted them back into New York Central colors, mainly gray with the lightning-stripe scheme.
Our car was an old Chesapeake & Ohio dining-car, so they said, repainted into New York Central colors, outfitted inside with tables and chairs to be a dining-car.
We had assigned seating, me with retired union vice-president Gwindell Bradley and his significant-other. We also sat with a retired bus mechanic who said hardly anything.
The railroad is the original “Falls Road” from Rochester to Niagara Falls.
New York Central merged it in 1853 and it became its “Falls Road Branch,” diverting from the NYC main in Rochester.
Into Rochester was abandoned, but from Lockport still remains to serve an ethanol plant in Brockport, NY.
Falls Road had a gigantic station in Medina, and that became the Medina Railroad Museum.
Falls Road wasn’t very challenging. It’s pretty straight over flat land.

The Falls Road bridge over the State Barge (Erie) Canal.

Perhaps its greatest challenge was to get the railroad over the Erie Canal in Lockport.
From the bridge you can see the multiple locks to get the canal up the Niagara Escarpment.
At the bridge the railroad is 80 feet above the canal.
Medina Railroad Museum does dinner-train excursions, except ours was a lunch-excursion, sandwiches supplied by the museum.
Ours was also supposed to be a fall-foliage excursion, except local foliage was only about 30-40%.
My question was whether the E-units would be restored to operation.
The guy claimed they’ll pull excursions next year, recreating New York Central’s Twentieth Century Limited, it’s premier New York-to-Chicago train, using cars the museum already has.
Dream on, baby! Medina Railroad Museum is not a railroad shop. What’s done is done by volunteers.
You don’t just fully overhaul four giant diesel-engines (two per unit) with volunteers.
I predict those E-units will eventually be put on static display, cosmetically restored. —That is, repainted for outdoor display.
If they can get ‘em runnin’, great! But I doubt they’ll ever run.

The Levin Es. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

A few years ago I rode excursions from Altoona (PA) with E-units restored by the Levin brothers of Baltimore.
They were originally Conrail’s Executive Es, rebuilt and restored in Conrail’s Juniata Shops (“june-eee-AT-uh”); that is, they have new diesel-engines — two per unit.
Both were repainted in Pennsy colors, although I think one was originally Erie-Lackawanna.
The Levin brothers got locos in good shape. I doubt Medina Railroad Museum’s Es are anything other than wore out.
The Levins did an exemplary job to get those Conrail Executive Es back in service. But they had good locomotives to start with.
The host moved over to the table adjacent. He noticed the veterans hat on a retired bus-driver.
“Where did you serve?” he asked.
“Korea,” the driver said.
“That was back when men were men, and women were men.”
“Hardee-Har-Har-Har!”
The host then moved to the table across from us.
“That was back when men were men, and women were men.”
Again, “Hardee-Har-Har-Har!”
“I swear that guy said that to at least three tables so far,” I observed.
I could hear it being said again at a fourth and fifth table.
“Hardee-Har-Har-Har!”
Sadly, I think Bradley might have degraded some. He didn’t seem as sharp as I remember.
We’re all getting older. Bradley is older than me — I’m 72.
“This train goes any faster,” he said; “and we’ll be in Rochester soon.”
The Falls Road no longer goes to Rochester, and we were doing about 30-35.
Pretty good for a shortline railroad — that is, a cast-off from a much larger railroad.
The line was probably funded by government authorities to keep supplying rail service to lineside businesses.
I’ve ridden shortlines limited to 5-10 mph, bucketing this-way-and-that over rudimentary track.
Often an outside operator is brought in to operate the railroad, in this case Genesee Valley Transportation.
I guess the museum rented a locomotive and crew to come out and pull its cars. GVT also now owns the railroad.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.

The dreaded P-word

Yrs Trly has finally figgered The Donald’s P-word.
It’s in the 11-year-old recording of The Donald reflecting his opinion of women.
The TV-News plays it over-and-over, and every time The Donald gets to the P-word, the networks bleep it, and substitute P****.
I decided it’s “privates,” although that ain’t what I think it actually is.
This blog believes in taste and decorum, apparently more so than The Donald.
Every time I hear it, I think “For cryin’ out loud, Donald. I’ve made too many female friends by not grabbing their privates.”
Of course, I ain’t a billionaire.
Is that what it takes; lust for demeaning all-and-sundry?
If this is what “Making America great again” means, a return to barbarism, pillage, and intimidation, I don’t want it.
I make it a point to not discuss politics or religion in this blog. I don’t wanna lose friends — I expect to lose friends over this blog.
But I worry about our country; that our 240-year experiment with democracy may be drawing to a close.
Can anyone reunite us? Perhaps the Russkies or Kim Jong Un.
Not Hillary. Not when so many want her in prison.
The other day I passed a lawn-sign altered to read “Hillary for prison.”
The honkies may be so mad they rebel. Sidearms unleashed.
Stoked by Limbaugh and The Donald, although I think Limbaugh has been Trumped.

“Excusez-moi”

....Or perhaps I should shout Hex-KYOOZE me! For applying pencil to paper to prove my brain ain’t failing.
I had a horrible dream the other morning, that I was at the Town Clerk’s Office, and couldn’t remember why I was there.
The clerk tried to humor me into remembering, but it wasn’t working.
I explained I had a stroke and sometimes have difficulty getting words out.
It’s called aphasia. It can make people unable to talk at all.
With me it’s slight, but enough to make people say “Wassa matter? Cat got your tongue?”
This didn’t seem like aphasia. It was a brain-fart, a so-called “senior moment.”
I woke up worried my brain was failing.
I remember what a thrill it was to come home after my stroke and find I could still write.
Certain things got vaporized.
Nine years of classical piano training went away. I can no longer play piano.
I suppose I could, but I’m not interested. Too much trouble.
I used to have perfect pitch. I may still have it; but I can no longer hold a tune.
People were horrified I wasn’t singing as my father was lowered into the grave, but I couldn’t do it. I had to explain to the pastor I couldn’t hold a tune.
I also can no longer draw. In college I drew ’55 Chevys until I was blue-in-the-face. A feeble attempt to get proportions right.
What I needed was a side-elevation photograph I could section.
My ’32 Ford five-window looked pretty good, done that way.
But now my hands are too spastic to draw a straight line, even with a straight-edge.
Again, not interested. Too much trouble.
What I can do is sling words = write. Although I have sloppy keyboarding. But word-processor computer software helps.
Mistypes get flagged as misspells.
What a joy it was to find word-processing could let me write = something I enjoyed doing anyway.
I may be wrong, but I consider my ability to still sling words indicates my brain isn’t failing yet.
But I am getting older. “Now why did I open this refrigerator door?”
“What did I do with the cereal? Maybe it’s still in the carton — I’m capable of that.
Nope; not there.
Why there it is, on top of my chest-of-drawers. Right were I dropped it.”
I don’t go out without checking the stove first.
Brain-farts all, that come with advancing age. But I can still sling words.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty finding and putting words together.)

Another tree falls in the forest

“According to the Paperwork Reduction Act of 1995, no persons are required to respond to a collection of information unless it displays a valid OMB control number.
The valid OMB control number for this information collection is 0938-0990.
The time required to complete this information collection is estimated to average eight hours per response initially, including the time to review instructions, search existing data resources, gather the data needed, and complete and review the information collection.
If you have comments concerning the accuracy of the time estimate(s) or suggestions for improving this form, please write to: CMS, 7500 Security Boulevard, Attn: PRA Reports Clearance Officer, Mail Stop C4-26-05, Baltimore, Maryland 21244-1850.”

—If you were able to read all of the above, without -a) falling asleep, or -b) throwing up your hands in horror:
CONGRATULATIONS!
My first reaction was WHA-A-A-?????
It’s added to a notification from my former employer, Regional Transit Service. I can join a Medicare Part-D prescription coverage plan, if I wish — I guess.
Or I can stick with what I already have, so-called “creditable coverage.”
What, pray tell, is that?
Right now my prescription copays don’t break the bank.
I don’t expect to become diabetic, and my blood-pressure medication is minimal. I don’t have a cholesterol problem, and don’t expect I will.
My health insurance is a benefit of having worked at Regional Transit.
When I had my stroke 23 years ago hospitalization was paid in full, including hospital rehabilitation.
Recently my prostate was removed, and that was paid in full too. My knee replacement was also paid in full.
My bus-union was loudly badmouthed, but thanks to them I ain’t in debtors prison.
Fat-cats had to share. They couldn’t just parade their Mercedes telling us little guys to eat cake.
So what do I make of this note on my letter?
I’ve seen stuff like this before, often on a separate piece of paper.
Or perhaps “This page intentionally left blank.”
Looks like the Paperwork Reduction Act generates more paper.

• “Regional Transit Service” is the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.

Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!

“I like your shirt,” said a pretty young lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA’s pool.
“What is it about this Three Stooges tee-shirt?” I thought to myself. “That’s the third person today.”
Yrs Trly is doing aquatic therapy in the YMCA pool.
My balance is dreadful, like non-existent.
I catch myself tipping over.
I don’t know if it’s advancing age, or hobbling so long before my knee-change.
I’ve had total replacement of my left knee. I now have a metal knee.
I’m more inclined to think it’s advancing age, since my balance got worse over the past year.
My knee was replaced almost a year ago.
“I grew up imitating the sounds Curly made,” the girl said.
“Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!” I said.
“Oh, a wise-guy, eh? Here, see this.” POINK!
A few years ago I watched an interview with Moe, the last remaining Stooge.
All-of-a-sudden “A smarty-pants, eh!”
I’m 72; I doubt this lifeguard was over 20.
The Stooges are 1930s I think; most of the cars are late ‘20s or early ‘30s.
All the time I was in high-school, Stooge movies played on our TV. That’s 1960 or so.
That was back when TV only got three channels: the three networks out of Philadelphia. At that time I lived in northern DE.
A local program from Philly played Stooge movies. That program was for kids = entertainment after school.
I had a kid brother with Down Syndrome my parents never institutionalized. Classiest thing they ever did.
I remember his dismay when Nixon resigned. The Stooges were preempted.
“Where’s ‘Tooges? I want ‘Tooges!”
Apparently the Stooges are still playing. A girl 50 years younger than me venerates the Stooges.
“Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!”
No wonder The Donald is running for prez. I hope Hillary-dillery says the following in the next debate:
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”

Sam Patch

“Let’s hope the boat don’t sink,” I said to no one in particular as we pulled away from our dock in Pittsford on the Erie Canal.
We were riding the Sam Patch, a reconstruction of a passenger canal packet, except steel (packets were wood), powered by a diesel engine, not a mule.
My brother from northern DE had come to visit. He got Sam Patch tickets online.
“Sure,” I’d said. “My sister and brother-from-Boston did the Sam Patch with me long ago, and you guys didn’t.”
The canal we were on was no longer the original canal, which was only four feet deep.
We were on what used to be called the “State Barge Canal,” the third improvement, now 17 feet deep and much wider.
The original canal went through Rochester, and crossed the Genesee (“jen-uh-SEE”) River on a heavy aqueduct. That aqueduct still exists with a street bridge atop it. Rochester’s subway used the old canal bed as its right-of-way.
That subway closed in 1956, and the canal bed east out of Rochester now holds an expressway.
You can see remnants of an old canal lock.
The original Erie Canal opened in 1825; Buffalo to the Hudson River at Albany.
The Erie Canal was a public work, dug at taxpayer expense. Many New Yorkers were aghast, and called it “Clinton’s Ditch” — the governor at that time was DeWitt Clinton.
As soon as it opened, shipping costs tumbled about 95%.
A feeder canal down Genesee Valley south of Rochester opened in 1840, so vast quantities of grain could be shipped to Rochester, then east on the Erie.
The Genesee Valley was our nation’s first breadbasket, and Rochester became known as the “flour city.”
It could be said New York City became the east coast’s premier port because of the Erie Canal.
The Erie Canal was a public work (dread!), but vastly succeeded.
The canal movement was quickly scotched by railroading, which was quicker and didn’t freeze. Now we have an Interstate Highway System, government subsidization of trucking.
But the Erie still exists, used primarily for recreational boating — including canal cruises like Sam Patch.
At first we headed for Lock 32. Lake Erie is almost 600 feet above the Hudson, so the canal is climbing.
The original canal had many more locks, since the average lift was 10-12 feet.
Lock 32 would raise us 25.1 feet.


Into the lock chamber. (The gates leak.)

We cruised into the lock, the rear gates closed, and the lock-chamber slowly filled with water from the upper level, raising us 25.1 feet.


On to the next lock.

Equalized to the higher level, the front gates opened, so we could cruise to the next lock, 1.13 nautical miles west.


Back east into Lock 32.

We turned right around to return down to the Pittsford level.
The original canal through Rochester diverted just east of Lock 32; it was marked by a buoy.
Through Pittsford we cruised east toward Bushnell’s Basin, a low area that had to be crossed  with the canal on a high fill.
Residential areas are beside the canal, but below it.
In 1974, a contractor digging a sewage tunnel under the canal  broke the canal embankment causing flooding in that residential area. Homes were damaged or lost entirely.


Control-gates.

Which happens to be why drop-gates were installed long ago. So parts of the canal could be blocked off and drained  for repairs.
Back toward Pittsford we cruised.



The bridge in the picture is State Route 31. A railroad once crossed the canal near the repair gates. You can see abutments.
Our cruise was about two hours; speed-limit 10 mph.
A train passed nearby doing about 50.
Railroads are what skonked canals.
And now we drive to the canal cruise, not horse-and-buggy.
We lucked out. Our cruise was at 2 p.m., but radar had rain coming. The 4 p.m. cruise would get drenched.
We rode the whole time outside in the front of the boat.
Driving home the skies parted: rain to the east, sun to the west. A strong rainbow appeared. I photographed it. That rainbow was only about 100 yards from my car.



• “Sam Patch” was  a long-ago local daredevil who twice jumped Niagara Falls. but lost his life trying to jump the High Falls of the Genesee River through Rochester.
• The “Genesee River” is a fairly large river that runs south-to-north across Western New York, runs through Rochester, including over falls, and empties into Lake Ontario.
• All photos are by BobbaLew with his dreaded iPhone camera. (I’m impressed.)

Monthly Calendar-Report for October 2016

(It’s October. Break out the Fall Foliage pictures)


Autumn splendor. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

—WOW!
The October 2016 entry of my own calendar is one of the BEST we ever got.
It was taken last Fall by my brother. I took the same, but everything I shot hand-held (not on tripod) was blurred.
It has to be the best fall-foliage picture we ever snagged.
It’s a Norfolk Southern stacker on Track Four westbound just west of the Route 53 overpass north of Cresson (“KRESS-in”).
The train is coming down from the summit of Allegheny Mountain.
We spent the previous evening looking for a photo-location used by photographer Don Woods in 2015’s Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar.

Woods’ attempt. (Photo by Don Woods.)

I needed a fall-foliage shot for my calendar. I needed orange leaves.
We knew exactly where his picture was shot. It’s on the 1898 bypass between Portage and Cassandra on the old Pennsy main across PA. It’s just before the line enters the giant rock cut near Cassandra.
We trekked around through woods in gathering gloom trying to find that location.
We didn’t find it. We decided photographer Woods took advantage of employment with Norfolk Southern to use a company truck to get to this location from an access-road. —Like he got on the right-of-way far down the bypass, then drove the mile or two to the location.
We were far west in South Fork the next afternoon taking pictures. We knew from Phil Faudi 23M was climbing The Hill.
First we shot in Gallitzin, but it was late enough to render a shadow problem.
We then headed toward the Route 53 overpass. It has five tracks underneath. “We’ve shot there so many times,” I said. “Why don’t we go down that side-road north of Cresson. It’s next to the tracks, which would be above our location, but the light is right.”
We went to the side-road. We pulled into what looked like trackside access.
“23M, 249, Track Four, CLEAR,” the engineer said on our scanners.
Here it comes! 249 is the signal just before the Route 53 overpass.
BAM! Got it! Sun is out, orange leaves, the whole kibosh.
In my opinion we did better than photographer Woods. It’s late afternoon.
But no shadow problem here. The sun is directly illuminating the engine, plus the trees.




Can there be an All-Pennsy calendar without a GG-1? (Photo by John Dziobko.)

—The October 2016 entry in my All-Pennsy color calendar is GG-1 #4900 rushing a commuter-train through Metuchen, NJ.
The train is probably southbound (railroad westbound, I think) out of New York City.
It’s into late afternoon sun.
4900 has the second paint-scheme, not Loewy’s (“LOW-eee”) cat-whiskers. It’s the scheme I saw most.
Loewy’s cat-whiskers were costly to reproduce. The single-stripe at least follows Loewy’s lines.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again.
In my opinion Pennsy’s GG-1 is the greatest railroad locomotive ever made.
As a resident of northern DE in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, I was lucky enough to experience ‘em.
And it seemed every time I did they were doing 90-100 mph!
Time to trot out my GG-1 pictures; I’ll only post four.

STAND BACK. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Over the entrance to Edgemoor Yard. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Over Shellpot Creek. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My computer desktop wallpaper. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

—In the first I had set up trackside in the old Claymont (DE) commuter station.
I was expecting a GG-1 passenger express on a middle of four tracks.
Not so. Here it comes: 90-100 mph on an outside track I’m only 10 feet from.
YOW-ZUH! Had I not had my arm hooked around a light-stanchion I woulda been sucked into the train.
—Second is a GG-1 express on the flyover just north of old Bell interlocking.
The flyover bridges the entrance to Wilmington’s Edgemoor Yard.
At that time I lived north of Wilmington.
—Third is another flyover picture, except this time the GG-1 is bridging Shellpot Creek, also north of Bell interlocking.
—GG-1 #4896 is the desktop picture on my computer.
4896 is the only GG-1 I ever went through, and this picture is the only one I ever got of 4896, although I saw it many times.
The engine is at Wilmington Shops. Pennsy serviced its GG-1s at Wilmington Shops.
The track in the foreground is electrified access from the main.
4896 was scrapped.
A single GG-1 could temporarily put about 9,000 horsepower to railhead, great for rocketing heavy passenger-trains out of stations.
In 1959 my neighbor and I took a railfan trip to Philadelphia. We rode back home to Wilmington on Pennsy’s Afternoon Congressional, 26 cars led by a GG-1.
Within minutes we were cruising at 90.
The GG-1 used 12 of the same traction-motors used in the MP-54 commuter car. You could overload ‘em a few minutes, to leap a train out of a station.
Do that too long and the traction-motors overheat.
Current road diesels are good for 4,400 horsepower.
A single GG-1 might pull a heavy passenger-train from Philadelphia to Harrisburg, where electrification ended, and the GG-1 had to be swapped out for non-electric power.
Four EMD E-units were often needed to power the same train the GG-1 delivered.
Enginemen poo-pooed those diesels compared to a GG-1.
Pennsy knew they had a good one when they developed it in the ‘30s. They engaged industrial designer Raymond Loewy (“LOW-eee”) to improve the looks of the engine.
He didn’t do much. Mainly he convinced Pennsy to ditch the riveted shell for welded. Only one GG-1 has the riveted shell, #4800, “Old Rivets,” the prototype.

Old Rivets.

He also rounded the top of the front door to match the headlight (the “Cyclops” eye).
He also improved the paint striping.
Quite a few GG-1s were saved. #4935 was repainted into the original Loewy cat-whisker scheme.
It’s stored inside unserviceable at Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania in Strasburg, PA.
Not too long ago it was dragged to Washington DC to participate in a Loewy memorial.
It can’t be operated, nor can other GG-1s. Their transformers were filled with cancerous PCB-based fluid, so were filled with concrete or sand.
The Northeast Corridor and line to Harrisburg, both originally Pennsy but now Amtrak, are still electrified. But I think the wire current is no longer what the GG-1 used.


#4935. (Photo by Tom Hughes.)

(Tom Hughes is my brother’s son, very much a railfan.)




Imagine going to the grocery in this. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—It looks like you could. It looks drivable.
The October 2016 entry in my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a hot-rodded 1932 Ford four-door sedan.
It has a ’60 Corvette motor and four-on-the-floor.
Looks pretty butch. Stick yer foot into it, and hang on fer dear life.
The only body-modification was chopping the top three inches.
Doff yer fedora!
By 1932 auto-manufacturers were realizing they had to get the rear-seat passengers off the rear axle.
Ford had not gotten to it yet, was moving toward it for 1935, and got to it for 1937.
Having the rear-seat passengers atop the rear axle makes a bouncy ride, but also makes a great-looking car: close-coupled.
A few years ago I saw a great-looking Model-A four-door hotrod.
It hadn’t been parked yet; it was driving in.
The only thing wrong was the Model-A grill-surround. I prefer the ’32.
The guy’s entire family was inside, Pa driving, Ma in the passenger seat, and two small children in back.
The car had a SmallBlock Chevy, probably four-on-the-floor. It wasn’t automatic.
Everyone was smiling. Rumpita-rumpita. The car leaped from pillar to post.
The common feeling is four-door sedans don’t make hotrods, but everyone was happy.
Four-door sedans make great hotrods.
Over-cammed Camaros that barely idle seem more for posturing.
“Hey man. My hood-bulge is taller than yours.”
Such a Camaro would creme this four-door ’32.
But I’ve seen Ma in an over-cammed Camaro: cowering and uncomfortable. Where’s the joy?
Years ago I saw a friend, since deceased, riding with another friend in an open Deuce hotrod, a roadster. 32 degrees. He was shivering but smiling. Both were smiling.




Orange leaves; it must be Fall. (Photo by Kyle Ori.)

— The October 2016 entry in Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a Norfolk Southern grain-train crossing the trestle in Rocky River, OH.
Anyone who does a scenic calendar, like me for example, knows the rules. Snow for January, February, December, and maybe November, melting snow for March, orange leaves in October and maybe November, and green foliage otherwise (except not that green in April and May).
So the calendar-guys at Norfolk Southern say we need orange leaves for October.
Photographer Ori provides same.
Except to me this picture is too complicated. The river is full of watercraft docks. They distract.
The area is near Lake Erie. The boats would head out to the lake.
Rocky River is west of Cleveland. Traffic volume on this line is low.
I can’t help wondering if this is the old Nickel Plate Chicago line. Lake Shore & Michigan Southern, which became New York Central, built lakeside, and what became Nickel Plate built slightly inland, up on the plateau overlooking the lake.
That meant it had to cross gorges that emptied into the lake.
That inland line was built to end Lake Shore & Michigan Southern’s monopoly on Chicago/Buffalo traffic. Also St. Louis.
Nickel Plate’s name is “New York, Chicago & St. Louis.” It never attained New York City.
Trestles galore, just like this one. But it may not be Nickel Plate’s Chicago line — my 1948 railroad atlas indicates it might be.
I did some Google satellite-view research, and many lines enter Cleveland. None are identified.
Photographer Ori’s father, Dave Ori, a Norfolk Southern yardmaster, told his conductor son this grain-train was coming, and would be on this line.
So photographer Ori got the picture. Perfect light, which it would be south of the trestle.
Look carefully and you’ll see a a highway bridge just north of the trestle. But the train masks it.




“There will always be an England.” (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—Herewith the airplane that won the Battle of Britain.
Not the Supermarine Spitfire.
The October 2016 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a Hawker Hurricane.
After July of 1940, Hitler began sending waves of Luftwaffe bombers to get Britain to agree to a negotiated peace settlement.
Prime Minister Winston Churchill responded thusly: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, we shall never surrender.”
German bombing at first was convoys and ports, but gravitated to terror bombing of civilians.
The Brits sent legions of Hurricanes to greet the German bombers, and blast them out of the sky. The Battle of Britain was the first major campaign fought entirely by air forces.
It wasn’t quick or easy. German bombing gravitated into The Blitz. Hitler had to give up his plan to invade Britain, and resort to unpiloted V1 and V2 rockets to terrorize the citizenry.
I’ll let my WWII warbirds site weigh in:
“In 1933, Hawker’s chief designer, Sydney Camm, decided to design an aircraft which would fulfill a British Air Ministry specification calling for a new monoplane fighter.
His prototype, powered by a 990 horsepower Rolls Royce Merlin ‘C’ engine, first flew on November 6th, 1935, and quickly surpassed expectations and performance estimates.
Official trials began three months later, and in June 1936, Hawker received an initial order for 600 aircraft from the Royal Air Force.
The first aircraft had fabric wings. To power the new aircraft (now officially designated the ‘Hurricane,’) the RAF ordered the new 1,030 horsepower Merlin II engine.
The first production Hurricane flew on October 12th, 1937, and was delivered to the 111 Squadron at RAF Northolt two months later.
A year later, around 200 had been delivered, and demand for the airplane had increased enough that Hawker contracted with the Gloster Aircraft company to build them also.
During the production run, the fabric-covered wing was replaced by all-metal, a bullet-proof windscreen was added, and the engine was upgraded to the Merlin III.
August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane’s shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain.
RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses.
Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated.
The Hurricane was undoubtedly one of the greatest and most versatile fighter aircraft of WWII, and it remained in service with the RAF until January 1947.”
The Spitfire was a fabulous airplane.
But it wasn’t the airplane that won the Battle of Britain.
“I don’t know how you can purchase a German car (a Volkswagen Rabbit),” growled an English friend long ago.
“After what they did to us in London. Air-raid shelters, innocent civilians killed, buildings reduced to rubble.”
I can still see that oily black pillar of smoke TOWERING above the Arizona.
Four Japanese motorcycles and three Japanese cars, plus two German cars.
I currently own a Ford, but it’s essentially a Mazda = Japanese.




Mt. Carmel ore-train or not? (Photo by Robert F. Collins©.)

—I don’t think it is.
The October 2016 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a Pennsy freight charging out of Northumberland (PA) Yard, through the parallel twin bridges over the Susquehanna.
It’s led by Decapod (2-10-0) #4315, one of the engines Pennsy crews hated.
They were hard to fire, and rode rough. As a small-drivered freight engine they couldn’t be well counterbalanced. As a 10-drivered engine the side-rods were heavy.
Pennsy tried aluminum side-rods to reduce weight, but the application needed steel.
The picture is May 10th, 1957, and Deks were kept at Northumberland for the heavy Mt. Carmel ore-train.
But I don’t think this is a Mt. Carmel ore-train. Mt. Carmel ore-trains usually had double-headed Deks up front, plus two more pushing the rear.
It’s identified as train #390, and 4315 was probably what was available.
So the train was assigned a Dek, wildly bucking if it got any speed.
The Mt. Carmel ore-train ran iron-ore up Pennsy’s Mt. Carmel branch for delivery to Lehigh Valley Railroad. It was probably headed for steel-mills in Bethlehem.
Pennsy was always conservative about motive-power until after WWII. The Dek is a 10-drivered Consolidation (2-8-0), what Pennsy had so many of, especially in PA.
In PA Pennsy was a mountain railroad with stiff grades. Its mainline crossed Allegheny Mountain, especially challenging.
Speedy locomotives wouldn’t do. What were needed were down-and-dirty, nothing but drivers, with all the engine-weight on those drivers.
Ergo: Consolidations, then the Decapod.
Growling diesels began displacing steam, but Deks were well-suited for the Mt. Carmel ore-train, and also heavy coal-trains up to the wharf at Sodus Point (NY) on Lake Ontario. That line was difficult.
Deks were used on Pennsy until the end of steam in late 1957.
In fact, the last train on Pennsy pulled by a steam-engine was led by a Dek.

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The most collectible car of all time.

—Another case of my Jerry Powell classic-car calendar being better than my Dan Lyons Classic-Car calendar.
But not by much.
The ’57 Chevy picture is not very good.
Jerry Powell is my niece’s boyfriend. He’s a car-guy like me. He got it for me as a Christmas present.
But my Tide-mark Classic Car calendar is one of those dumb-looking ’40 Buick woody stationwagons.
HO-HUM.
Everyone wants a ’57 Chevy.
Which is amazing since Ford outsold Chevrolet that year, first time in years.
Detroit was obsessed with bigger equals better, so the ’57 Ford was an all-new bigger car. Prior to 1957, Ford was based on the 1949 Shoebox. Significantly rebodied and re-engineered, but still the Shoebox underneath.
The ’57 Chevy was essentially the ’55 rebodied, plus a lower firewall. It wasn’t upsized.
That didn’t happen until the 1958 model.
My family had two ’57 Chevys at first, plus a third later to be restored.
One was a Bel Air four-door sedan, with the ancient Stovebolt Six.
The car was a pig. Even our ’53 Chevy with PowerGlide Six was faster. (Be careful with that Stovebolt link; the Stovebolt was the early four-main bearing six available through 1962.)
The resto was also a six; a two-door hardtop I think.

The Wagon. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Best of all was our Bel Air stationwagon. It had a 283 Power-Pak four-barrel, Chevy’s new SmallBlock V8 of 1955.
It also had duals. (“What sense does that make? That’s two tailpipes to replace.”)
It was fairly strong, and I had fun with it — the first decent car our family ever owned = not a pig.
A secret quarter-mile drag-strip had been marked on a local country road.
80 mph in PowerGlide Lo; air-cleaner off.
I goosed it once making a left-turn into an intersection and almost slid into a tree.
The ’57 Chevy went on to become one of the most popular used-cars of all time.
And now it’s the most collectible classic car, although the early Mustang would be competitive.
A convertible like this, in perfect shape, might command $150,000.
I look and wonder what anyone saw in this? A mish-mash of styling themes. Tailfins, WrapAround windshield, goofy appendages on the hood, fake exhaust outlets, Caddy-like grill heavy with chrome.
How many ’57 Chevys did I see with that center medallion bar broke?
I prefer the ’55 with its Ferrari grill.
Yet the ’57 Chevy had that fabulous SmallBlock V8 — even at one horsepower per cubic-inch! (Phenomenal at that time.)
A friend was street-racing his father’s ’54 Oldsmobile, and blew the tranny or something.
“No ’57 Chevy for you!” his father exclaimed. “You’d destroy it.”

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Woody! (Photo by Dan Lyons©.)

—The October 2016 entry in my Tide-mark Classic-Car calendar is a 1940 Buick “Woody” stationwagon.

1949 Plymouth Suburban.

1946 Chevrolet Suburban.

The thing to say here is that prior to 1949 all car-based stationwagons had wooden bodies. The Chevrolet “Suburban,“ all-steel, was truck-based.
Some body manufacturer would take a car chassis and front end, and construct a wooden body on it.
I don’t think stationwagons were made by the car manufacturers. They were called “stationwagons” because they were used by hotels, etc. to cart passengers and their luggage from a train-station.
Plymouth’s all-steel wagon was a capital idea. Soon all the car-manufacturers were making all-steel stationwagons with wood-looking applique.

Country-Squire (this is a ’57).

Ranch wagon (this is a ’56, with custom wheels).

Chevrolet’s early ‘50s stationwagon (a ’54); note wood appliques.

No more wood applique; a ’55 Two-Ten Chevy.

Ford was very successful. It’s “Country Squire” was all-steel with wood applique and separation-bars.
Ford was also successful without appliques, its all-steel “Ranch Wagon.”
The all-steel stationwagon became very popular, the family car before the minivan.
The test of a wagon was whether it could swallow a 4-by-8 sheet of plywood laid flat on the floor.
Many stationwagons had seating for nine. You could also camp out; put your sleeping-bag on the floor.
For me, riding in a stationwagon was adventure. My first was a ’51 Plymouth Suburban.
My summer-camp for boys used a ’50 Dodge Suburban as its camp car. I was taken to the hospital in it after a horse stepped on my foot.
By 1955 Chevrolet was making all-steel stationwagons without the appliques.
My family had a ’57 Chevrolet stationwagon — see photo above.
What a great idea! A car you could sleep in.
So for me the stationwagon became even more desirable than convertibles or hardtops. A ’55 Chevy wagon with 327 four-on-the-floor.
Didn’t happen. Minivans scuttled stationwagons, and now we have SUVs (Sport-Utility-Vehicles).
SUVs started out as trucks, but now are more car-like but with All-Wheel-Drive.
I drive a 2012 Ford Escape SUV, small, but perfect for chasing trains (see lead calendar-report).
I can’t sleep in it; not big enough.
My camping days are over.
Up until 1949 stationwagons were like this Buick. Wooden bodies on a car-chassis and front-end. Ash with mahogany veneer inlays.
“Woodies” became very popular with the surfer crowd on the west coast.
To me that’s just a fad.
Put a rack on top and take your board to the beach with your woody.
If no rack, open the rear window, and stuff your board on top of the tailgate.
You could also do that with a minivan, SUV, or pickup.