ecky was sitting in the back of her parents’ overloaded Buick, rolling out of some Pennsylvania backwoods town, Tuskawhosit or something. Her dad had to stop for directions (again). They were trying to find the town Becky’s mom’s sister lived in; Westly. Staying two weeks with her coal-mining relatives did not excite her at all.

Mom: “They have a canoe.”

Becky: “The river is sludge.”

Mom: “You can watch all the trains.”

A busy day at the junction, the Martin train getting ready to follow the coal into town (Photo: Zeus H)

Becky: “I hate trains.”

Mom: “Look at the fall colors on the trees!”

Becky: “…”

They were just rumbling down the beat-up two lane road out of town, passing some stinky gasoline place, wooden grade crossing signs marking the tracks ahead when it happened – suddenly a massive black engine came blowing around a tight turn at something like fifty miles per hour, not a toot, no warning at all. As Becky’s father laid on brakes, Becky looked up the impossibly high flank of the blurring locomotive, seeing the engineer clenched up, hauling back on his brakes as he flew through town, out of control. A succession of loaded coal hoppers rattled past, tossing off dislodge lumps, blue smoke wafting off glowing brakes. Then the little red caboose flew past, the conductor hanging onto his brake wheel, adding in all the resistance he could. And then the train was past, rattling around the corner, leaving a trail of blue haze.

Westly tipple tops another load. The prep plant st Emerald Mine played a key role (Photo: Pete F)

Across the way from the gently rocking Buick, Becky noticed a tower-like building. Next to it was a tiny shake where a man with a stop lollipop sign was looking to the tower where a cigar smoking man with a hoop stood, paper fluttering on the string, the two silently exchanging glances.

Becky: “Well, SOME trains are cool.”

Yes, so after three months, we finally got another Tuscarora Branch Line up and running. Besides myself (as dispatcher), we had the Late Zeus (he wasn’t dead – he just was late) (as towerman). Shemp was his station operator. Terry first-timed the scheduled trains, and new-guy Joe worked as Easton Brakeman, master of the announciator, and UN observer.

It was a bit rocky in places – I’m going to improve the part on the train orders that tell you EXACTLY what all that railroady stuff means (we gotta learn these things). Mike did a super job keeping the station paperwork in order, but I need to insist in OS reports in future. When you forget to call me, I forget to update the trains. There is a rhythm that gets established between Easton, Westly and TUSK that we need to keep going. If you don’t do it, then maybe we’ll go back to Kyle’s “line clear?” scripts (kinda a threat, but I WOULD like to try it again sometime).

I really want to thank the guys for picking up the session after dinner and finishing up (even with all those knobs coming in for club). We ran the rest of the session, even after an electrical storm knocked out the signals and even took the sound effects out (well, that was an accidental lever pull). But we wrapped it up, even with the coal train interrupting the Pee Dee, and the bother of the hopper car and the depressed flat (no wonder it was depressed – everyone hated it).

But otherwise, a great session with a tight group, which was exactly what this coal hauler was made for.

We’ll run another one soon!

A hapless crossing watchman tries to keep the fatalities down (Photo: Pete F)

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Reverend Jim huffs and puffs and shoves another cut towards Easton (Photo: Zeus H)

The Reverend snaps off a signature crossing melody. No orders. (Photo: Jim M)

Great shot! (Photo: Jim M)

My first caboose lost a coupler thumb. The replacement got tossed into the signal masts. I was afraid a third might end up in the toilet bowl or something. (Photo: Zeus H)