Spending eight hours a day in front of the computer working on the latest book got to the point where my eyes were glazing over, and I was going stir crazy. The Tuesday weather forecast called for perfection. I decided to call in sick and make the ninety-minute drive up to York, PA. Once the capital of the US, it’s a fascinating town, and the switching action up there is intense. Everything unfolds in a fairly small area, so you’re virtually guaranteed of seeing something cool every trip.
As usual, the rail gods decided to dick with me and play a game of cat and mouse. I would get to location A only to see the train leaving for B. I’d go to B, and it was heading back to A.
I finally caught up to the York Rail job switching E3 Logistics, a food supplier. It brought home again the vast disconnect between the pace of actual railroading vs. how model railroaders do things…slot car style. The job was to spot a massive reefer inside the structure.
I have a bad habit of getting into mission mode sometimes. I wanted a passing shot heading to the west, where the lighting would be perfect. Not so fast. Railroading doesn’t work like that. I had to remind myself that the weather was perfect, I had a train in front of me, and no schedule or place to be.
The entire process took a good fifteen minutes. They backed up to the fence. The conductor had to walk a quarter mile and unlock the gate. I think he had to unlock and throw a switch, also. Then the rollup door had to be opened. Wow, those suckers are slow! Finally….they backed in…and stopped. I waited…and waited….and waited. What the hell are they doing in there? Finally, they pulled forward beyond the gate. More waiting….and waiting. I saw the door close. Through the telephoto, I could see him lock the gate. More waiting. What is he doing back there? Finally, I could see him walking the quarter mile back to the loco. Walking, not jogging.
After what seemed like an eternity, bossman gets back to the train.
Fifteen minutes later, they were moving again and, finally….I got the passing shot I wanted. Real railroaders aren’t slot car racers.