So I’m sitting in my little yard goat, chugging up the passing siding with four cars in front. All I gotta do to finish this job oh-so-slick is to take the four cars and the engine out the other end, run down the length of my train, shove everything back together, and home-we-go. So I’m pushing into the tail track off the end of the passing track, pushing in, watching the space between the front car’s coupler and that bumper drain away. And now it’s close, close, and the brakeman in the front swings his hands out – cut! No more room. I turn, lean out, and see that the back truck under my tender is sitting right on the turnout. I’m about six feet from making the perfect move but I’ve boxed myself in. This isn’t going to work after all.
Now I know I’ve got to go to Plan B, which is way too much shifting about, just a roayl pain, way too much to do.
And, really, that’s going to be my railroading life over the next few weeks. Because of some miss-scheduling, I’ve got club ops Wednesday, a series of four sessions in Asheville this weekend (ten hour grueling drives on either end) and Tehachapi (in San Diego) the week following that.
Then I have to write up all those blogs, another six or so pieces.
And then there’s the divorce, the nervous breakdown, and the early grave.
So watch this site and see if I can pull it off. Like my adventure tonight, I think I’m trying to push too much where it won’t fit.