Train Blog
OpsLog - FEC - 2/25/2017 PDF Print E-mail
Written by Administrator   
Saturday, 25 February 2017 20:27

o, the long drive home. Great op session on the Florida East Coast - so good I'm not sure what to comment on. I'd run 920 through Palm Bay to Pinetta, quietly doing my work and advising the dispatcher of what I'd do next so she could set mainline turnouts my way. Even that detector I'd hit was a methodical fix - dropped the car into the closest and most efficient siding and then...

That's when, at Crystal Lake offramp, I almost got creamed.

To get off westbound 408 here, you need to merge across two lanes of onramp, with cars winding up from a brief stop at the toll plaza. Usually they are putting along at 45mph, not accelerating to freeway speed. I checked my right mirror and rearview. Nothing. But there was a guy coming up the far right quickly, shadowing my blindspot and not caring that I had a right signal flashing and was coming over.

When he buzzed down my right side, 10mph faster then me and seemingly out of nowhere, I started in my seat. Gah! My ease-right shift following a perfect day of doing just about everything right ended with me jerking the wheel left and opening distance. I'd simply not seen him in my blind spot and had not fully scanned.

My fault.

But, damn.

And that made me think about my session. The point of ops is to move smoothly and elegantly through your various jobs, making the outcome better than expected. You might help another crew with a difficult-to-reach turnout or uncoupling. You might phrase your call to the dispatcher with more than what you need - perhaps noting an arriving train or denoting the correct track you'll need at your next destination. And for me, the day had been perfect. I'd realigned every turnout, I'd spotted every car, I'd run 920 and 105 the way they were intended to be run. I didn't bug the superintenant once, or cause the dispatcher to have to ask something a second time. I even blew at every crossing, broke my train when parked across a road, handled the bad order by-the-book and even latched onto and towed in a disabled car left by another train.

Hey, I've been operating for three decades. But I've been driving for four. And I still got jumped by a hot head in my blind spot.

Looks like there is always room for improvement.

Look for more ops logs (with more humiliating stories) to follow.

(one thing I did do wrong - the dispatcher called for 920. I listened to two calls for this train, then turned and addressed the others in the room. "Which of you is 920?" Everyone shrugged. They told me their train numbers. "Someone's gotta be 920!" Then Ken walked up. "Aren’t you 920?" I blinked. "Oh yeah, I guess I am...")



Last Updated on Saturday, 25 February 2017 20:54
OpsLog - LM&O - 2/22/2017 PDF Print E-mail
Written by Administrator   
Wednesday, 22 February 2017 23:08

eah, it’s been a week.

A few days ago in a prolonged Go game, I pulled a stupid move that likely cost me the game. I'm so upset about this that I sulked all weekend.

And then there was the meeting at work where I was so popular in my regulatory position that everyone who came in sat as far down the table as they could. The only people to sit near me were the last in the room. A friend on the call said she thought I must have felt like Sean Spicer. I mean, shit.

Today was ops. For the last four hours while I'm trying to detangle from work, I got three calls from people who couldn't make it. This was sounding like another loss. Another failure. I didn't know what to expect.

It's 6:40 pm in the wending LM&O mainline through Zanesville. The local is just finishing up its duties. Passenger 95 is due in shortly. Then the Silver Bullet, backed by another drag freight. A coal move is holding off west at Carbon Hill, wanting access. To the east, at nearby Mingo, the local there wants to return home. The river valley is packed with rolling iron, and everything is moving, but we are just a step away from total gridlock. Diesel fumes hang heavy in the mountain dusk.

And that's when a crew working Zanesville's west end sees the drawbar of the primary turnout bend under twenty years of constant loading under those cursed stall motors. Bwang! Out of service. They call me and advise that my mainline is down. Everything is going to have to cut over to the siding. I've just lost 30% of my passing capacity, and every through train will need a warrant to get onto the siding, and another to get off. My paperwork load has doubled. There are trains waiting at the division points and not enough crews to run them.

So I'm creating an <OUT OF SERVICE>marker to flag the Zanesville main display while calling coal X810 to hold in Carbon hill until I can cut him a new order. The railroad is a crowded, confused mess, one mistake from a flaming wreck. We're teetering on the brink of crisis.

I'm having a blast.

And that's the thing.

Harris Local between a lump and a high place (Mike Anderson photo)

Yeah, we're short-handed. Yeah, we have had a layout issue that we'll have to work around. But the crews are running sharp, and I'm trying to pay that off by kicking out warrants fast and getting people over the iron as quickly as possible. Yeah, I dogged Mingo Local in a hole while a parade of westies rumbled past. Harris Glen Local also got delayed as I dug through the to-dos. But we got everything run (thanks to Frank, the train-running machine!). In the end we did it. Great session! I drove home and chalked up a singular win for an otherwise damnible day. Thanks, guys! It was a hoot!


Last Updated on Wednesday, 22 February 2017 23:41
OpsLog - WBRR - 2/4/2017 PDF Print E-mail
Written by Administrator   
Saturday, 04 February 2017 20:20

ust another day on the railroad.

Was aboard 391, a mixed through freight out of Alamosa, creaking its steamy 1936 way up to the high slopes and eventually to Durango. I was conductor - boss man of the movement. In the cab, young Eric, still new enough at railroading to have a spark in his eye (and I knew he was aiming at moving east to high stepping Pennsy eventually). Richard slumped in the crummy, sucking at a bottle of rot gut, occasionally stumbling down the steps to realign the turnouts behind us if Eric blew the whistle long and loud enough.

We were into Navajo late - the Alamosa hostlers had been slack and now we were tucking up behind 123, another working freight that was just clearing. What a bottleneck and we'd only been on call for less than an hour.

Leaving Eric in the cab of our teakettle, I crossed the rusty rails to the tiny railroad office, snatching the phone out of Cook's hand and rattling the cradle, calling for the dispatcher. Once I raised him, I told him that I wanted to bring my engine across the main to fetch out a box car, then ease up to water on the main. "Okay," he replied unconvincingly. "Main and siding. We'll call when clear." A pause. "Okay."

Shaking my head, I tossed the phone back into Cook's lap and stepped out onto the rickety platform. There was a neat little pin-pusher of a woman standing there, and in her shadow, her hen-pecked husband.

I should have thought about this more, but being a freight guy, varnish-hoppers didn't factor into my day. Lighting a smoke, I crossed to the east end switch and shouldered it over. Then, a wave to Eric to bring it forward. He tried to toot twice but it came out as one long warble. Still learning.

Everything else went like clockwork. He rumbled past me - I threw the turnout back to the main then walked down the line, aligning the spur and stepping clear. Our steamer rumbled across the points, easing back down the turntable lead where the box car waited (I tossed another look at the distant reporting mark, confirming the pickup against two copies of paperwork. This railroad was red-tape happy these days). Then Eric brought her forward, missing the spout. Frowning, I gestured to him to back. It was then I heard wheels pounding rail across the bridge just east of Navajo, down Ute Junction way. Turning, I found train 2, the passenger those nice folks on the platform were waiting for, highstepping down the Placerville grade into town. And here we were jutting onto the main. Eric was up on the tender, both hands on the scoop, gaping over his shoulder. Richard was, I supposed, drunkenly sleeping in the crummy. I pulled off my hat and waved it, hallooing them to stop.

Train 2 ground its wheels, back-spinning desperately. In the end, she threw cinder grit all over our cow catcher, she came so close. For a moment there was silence, both crews, the two passengers and Cook, all staring at each other.

And then Train 2's conductor was swinging down, swarming towards me with murder in his eyes and a timetable in his hand. "What are you four-flushers doing on the main? We're scheduled through! You're on our time!"

Truth be told, I hadn't even thought to glance at the timetable, having gotten direct (if hesitant) authority to occupy. So I snarled back, saying just that. And back and forth we went, stomping and arguing, but it was really a sparring of kittens. Nobody was really mad. This was model train operations. It's all in fun.

Only later did the Superintendent mention that two trains collided under the tunnel past Ute a session ago and that this was a reoccurring theme of bloodshed on his railroad. One train had been the hapless Train 2. "It's a wonder anyone would ride the Western Bay," he fumed.

"What else can they do?" Richard observed, not as drunk as I'd imagined him for the fantasy. "Ride a mule? A buckboard?"

Good point.

But all in fun. Already I'm circling my trains not to pilot. 391? Check. 2? Check.

Safety first, right? But fun a close second.


Last Updated on Saturday, 04 February 2017 21:05
OpsLog - FEC - 1/28/2017 PDF Print E-mail
Written by Administrator   
Saturday, 28 January 2017 21:38

retty easy going session (especially since that last medical-emergency turnout-runner we had at the club). Left my mid-vacation to run over to Palm Bay for a little train running on the FEC.

Not much to say. No realizations about the spiritual nature of things trainish or otherwise. no deep insights. Got there after everyone else and so I got the last train out. But that's fine - it was a fun local that worked up through Palm Bay to Pineallis, just switching the industries and getting clear of the occasional passing train. This sort of work is actually pretty fun, just focusing on the job and doing it clean.

Later I goofed on my second train, running out before getting the departure signal. But since I'd spotted a potential cornfield and saved the dispatcher, he was willing to overlook my screw-up (is this how the real FEC runs?) I guess what happens in Bowden Yard stays in Bowden Yard.

Good session overall. Thanks for having us out, Ken!


Last Updated on Saturday, 28 January 2017 21:51

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