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.
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| (Photo by Roger Durfee.) |
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.
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| One of the prettiest cars of all time. |
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.”
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| There’s the cannon; a B-25G. (It also has a shorter nose.) |
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.)
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| A-26 at Geneseo airshow in 2014. (Photo by BobbaLew.) |
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.
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| Rambler American. |
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.
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| Glitz! |
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| Studebaker’s Starliner coupe, one of the best-looking cars ever. |
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.
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| Pennsy’s A5 0-4-0 switcher. |
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.
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| A TrackMobile. |
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.
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| Cruisers for a ’58 Impala. |
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| ’57 Mercury with Cruiser-Skirts. |
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| Wretched excess, but it has Cruisers. |
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!”
Labels: Monthly Calendar Report
posted by BobbaLew at 6:00 PM
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