yers.

According to our host Doc Andy, it’s a little nowhere place whose only reason for existence is to get Portland-Seattle rail traffic by each other. But I like it.

People with kids (tired people, with no money and sleep) will tell you that having kids is a way for you to gain posthumous fame. My one answer to that is “Name your four grandparents.” I guess that matters to some, that you are remembered and made a difference.

Well, for me, it’s Ayers. See, on the WAZU RR, it was jammed right next to another town. It wasn’t rare to have trains miles apart look like they were passing. As the usual dispatcher on the line, that was a common ghost story I’d be told. So, one debrief I told Doc:

“You should bump up Ayers a quarter inch.”

Oh, an I also told him that the original name, “Ayers Siding”, was a disaster waiting to happen. It becomes a who’s-on-first sort of thing, with me ordering a train to Ayres Siding. “Ayres siding-siding?” “No, Ayers siding main.”

So we came into the session today and Ayers (only Ayers, nothing more) was elevated above the other track. Trains still passed within six scale feet, but suddenly they were miles apart.

And that’s important to me, saying something and making a change in the world. And I’m not talking about something as small as a wiggling poop-squirter; I’m talking model railroading here.

Anyway, thanks for all the solids for showing up for Docs session, and especially Bruce Metcalf for dispatching. When I was giving the chance to “simply run trains”, I “reluctantly” took it, all while mentally throwing my hat in the air. I dispatch enough (read yesterday’s piece). I wanted to run. Through Ayers. A little higher up.

Great fun!

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