The N-Trak guys know how to clear the yard in the final minutes of the session.

nother day railroading in the hectic month of October, packed between a Deland show and an NMRA convention. I mean, hell, do guys who fish have months like this? Or do I have a problem and need help?

So anyway, Kyle and I toodled over early and met up with the crew, most of us sitting around and talking about old-people ailments we suffer (Kyle was, of course, silent). I thought I had a pretty exciting month but got beat by everyone. I guess if you’re going to lose a competition like this, well, that’s fine.

Anyway, we survivors (the non-sissies) grabbed up throttles and got the WVN moving. My first run was the Clifton Forge local to Harris. I was feeling cocky – done this a bunch of times and can clean it up toot-sweet. Even noted that it was  a “Monday” session so I held, as ordered, in the clear until 11 (the Speeder) came through. It was pretty damn early, I’ll note that, but it opened up my switching so I won’t complain.

Tuf railroad men in Darby. I went through without stopping, windows up. Scary.

Okay, I’ve heard of old people wandering off or forgetting something obvious and that hasn’t happened to me quite yet, but when I stated working the methodical instructions from Harris east side, I don’t know what came over me. It was a railroad Silver Alert. I shifted my entire cut of inbound to an empty track. It’s like that murder-trope where a person comes out of a daze, blinking over a dead body. “Good Lord! What have I done?” Well, in this case, there was my little steam engine and a cut in a wrong track and I had no idea of why I’d done it. And since the owners were working about me, I sure didn’t want this noticed (after the fact and in the blog, sure, that’s fine). I took a moment and remembered that 244 (the return local) takes Clifton-bound cars with it. Somewhat off-card, I tossed the caboose back down the passing track then capped it off with the Cliftons. That done, I could look over the card, regain Gail’s intent and get the rest of the yard sorted. Gave my tea-kettle a spin on the turn table, pumped up and rolled out after 140 (coal) was by. So yes, a good recovery off the springboard of stupidity.

The chairman of the Orlando N-Trak Rolling Stock committee gets help putting a car on the track.

In the second part of the session I took another favorite, the Asbury hostler. This was my first WVN love, and I really enjoy it. But this time I brought a train out of the sheds and trundled towards the west side of the yard, clearing my passage with Kyle. That’s when it was pointed out that this was a westbound to Huntington. I was going the wrong way. So back to the table for another spin.

Given the yard loading, it’s almost time for lunch. You can smell the hot dogs cooking up! (Kyle S)

Robert manages to get a locomotive hostled in the right direction. Hey, I’ve got a 50% chance of getting it right.

At this point, something very ironically funny occurred, a story that would make this blog shine. But a press blackout was thrown over it. My credentials and my operating ticket could be revoked. So, sadly, I cannot relate it. I can only suffer the slings and arrows of my own mistake and not rebuttal it. Oh well.

Given that unjust trampling of the rights of the press, I decided to screw up most of the Komar’s equipment. I don’t know what happened but, in the final minutes, I knocked out the sounds for two different engines, with two different controllers. It was probably unwise that I’d joked that I was going to sabotage all their diesels to reverse-transition back to steam. And that’s another murder-trope – threatening someone in act one who ends up dead in act two.

Having demolished the WVN, Kyle and I still had to get home. Something like nine wrecks were reported on I-4 but we tried it anyway. Turns out every wreck was a false report, some of them ten hours old. We rolled home at about fifty MPH. I wanted blood on the pavement, and all I got was distant history. What a disappointment.

But thanks to the Komars for having us over. Fun time, even if whatever happened happened.

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All photos uncredited are courtesy of Greg Komar

Another day at the saw mill. It’s a lousy backbreaking job, but the setting is nice.