One little incident tells all

—Or things are much different than they were even six months ago.
Yrs Trly, a lifelong railfan, has been chasing trains ever since 1948.
I won’t bore you with where this has taken me: Californy, North Carolina, Colorado, West Virginia, western Maryland, Wyoming, etc.
Most recent has been chasing trains with my kid brother near Altoona, PA.
Altoony is where the old Pennsylvania Railroad crossed Allegheny Mountain about 1850.
In the early 1800s, Allegheny Mountain was the barrier between the eastern colonies and the newly-opened midwest.
That railroad still exists, but now it’s Norfolk Southern.
The railroad is still extremely busy, as it’s one of two railroad corridors from the midwest to the upper eastern megalopolis (New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington DC).
What my younger brother and I do is chase and photograph trains around Altoony. —He’s become a railfan himself.
That section of railroad is a great location to chase and photograph trains. Getting over that mountain requires maximum fuel usage = “assaulting the heavens.”
Then there is getting back down the mountain: maximum braking, plus additional braking techniques, to not have the train run away downhill.
Pennsy often added additional locomotives (“helpers”) to get up the mountain.
Now it’s diesel-electric helpers, and they can add additional braking going back down.
So now the helper locomotives run through from Altoona to Johnstown adding Dynamic braking. Helpers used to turn at the mountain-top.
For years I considered a trip to Altoony to be escaping reality.
“Reality” being the continual madness of self-loathing and mistakes here at home.
Trips to Altoony were escaping home, so that as we started back home I would say to my wife “well, back to reality.”
My beloved wife died almost nine years ago, so my most recent trips gravitated toward being with my younger brother.
Even then, it was still “back to reality.”
I’d pull out of our Motor Lodge onto Plank Rd., then get onto I-99 saying “back to reality.”
“Reality” has become much more pleasant over the past few months. And if I dare say so, it’s because of all the lady-friends I accumulated.
A few days ago my brother and I went to Altoony to chase and photograph trains.
Frigid-cold in snow, but I needed snow photographs for our annual train-calendar. January, February, and December should be snow.
This time “back to reality” wasn’t as depressing as it’s been in the past. I’m returning to all my wonderful lady-friends. They distract from how unpleasant life was before.
My lady-friends talk with me, and smile at me. Readers, this is all-new to me; I have a dreadful childhood.
70 years late I discover I should not be scared of women, and that includes gorgeous young cutie-pies.
My silly dog, who I had to put down six months ago, got me used to meeting pretty ladies.
So now I strike up conversations — take incredible risks — with pretty ladies I woulda previously avoided.
No one has smacked me yet, nor have I been MACED.
And much to my surprise, those ladies seem to really like my striking up a conversation with them, i.e. I considered them attractive enough to strike up a conversation.
They don’t act like they’re faking it, and so many pleasant encounters with women have occurred, I just get more and more confident.
Due to it being cold, my brother and I stayed in one of those gigantic four-story motor-hotels that cost a fortune. We were on the second floor.
I had to use an elevator to get back down to the lobby. I stepped inside the elevator followed by a pretty young girl, probably in her early 30s, but alone.
It was she that struck up a conversation, but once it began I wasn’t backing out.
“Been outside yet?” she asked.
“Once,” I said.
“Is it still cold out?” she asked.
“Not too bad,” I said; “unless you’re standing there for a long time, like my brother and I were yesterday waiting for trains. Hours at a time in bitter cold; fingers and toes frozen!”
(“YIPPEE; he’s talking to me! And he’s not hitting on me!”)
Off we went: “yack-yack-yack-yack-yack-yack!” We continued talking to each other even after we got off the elevator.
Six months ago this wouldna happened — maybe even a month ago. I would have avoided that girl = scared to death to say anything to her at all.
That’s not how it is anymore: “back to reality” is much more pleasant than it was previously.
Engage what little experience I have dealing with women: I noticed she had a pretty eyes, not gorgeous, but pretty blue smiling eyes. Eye-contact; that’s what it is, and she was looking right at me.
“No pretty girl will look at you, Bobby!”
Don’t say anything = don’t tell her she has pretty eyes. Do that and you’ll ruin the mood; you’ll put her on the defensive.
Let ‘er talk.
Enjoy it dude; she wants you to talk to her.

• My brother and I photograph trains down near Altoona PA, where the old Pennsylvania Railroad crossed Allegheny Mountain. The railroad is now Norfolk Southern. Every year I take 13 of our 89 bazilyun photographs to assemble into a calendar — I do it with Shutterfly. I give those calendars as Christmas presents.