After the family moved to North Carolina, it became something of a tradition to spend a week in a rental house out on Cape Hatteras in the early summer. When I was going to school in Colorado, I would make the 1680 mile drive from Boulder to Greensboro, and then continue on to the beach in the Dodge van. After I started work at GE in Binghamton, the tradition continued but the trip was much shorter.
The second summer in Binghamton, I must have taken off late and driven through the night. By the time I got to Virginia, I was sleep-deprived and kept making mistakes. The temperature gauge in the Mazda kept climbing dangerously: I had already rebuilt the engine twice due to overheating, so I kept a close eye on it. By the time I got to Petersburg, I concluded that I would have to stop and change the thermostat.
I found the Mazda dealership and parked on the shoulder in front, assured that it was only a short walk to the parts department. I had gotten a short way into the project when a salesman suggested that I should bring my car around back. (Doing repair work in front of the dealership is apparently bad for business.) I was happy to oblige, but when I parked out back, I found that I had left my tool kit sitting on the shoulder. I returned in time to see a guy in a red pickup truck heft my tool kit into the bed and drive off. Grrr.
But I still had a backup tool kit in the Mazda, so I finished replacing the thermostat and head off south on I-85. I hadn't gotten 10 miles before it was overheating again. So I cut north to the old highway and followed it back into town, stopping at the first auto parts store I encountered. I jumped out and went inside to see if they had the right thermostat for me. While I was there, a guy came in in a cowboy hat, with gold chains and a ring on each finger. He left before I did, and when I returned to the car, I found that my camera and watch were missing.
God damn the whole city of Petersburg and its fine, upstanding citizenry! I was ripped off twice in one day, and both times by people who were as white as me and could afford to leave my stuff alone. The red Dodge pickup of the first thief was almost brand new. Mr. Bling drove a white Cadillac, and could have bought my camera with what he wore on his pinky. The watch was a $12 K-Mart special: why did he have to take that? I decided to label Petersburg "The City of Thieves", but that didn't make me feel much better. I was depressed, and I needed a way to put the nasty business behind me. "All right," I said to myself, "if people are going to take my money, I'll find a way to give it away before they get the chance."
A short time later, I picked up a pair of hitchhikers. At that point, I didn't have much left to steal, aside from a failing automobile and a bunch of dirty laundry. I felt pretty impervious to further insults. I decided to stop at the next truck stop and offer them lunch. Both accepted gratefully, but ordered modestly (I noticed) -- not taking undue advantage of my generosity. That little token of respect did a lot to restore my faith. (Neither of them was from Petersburg.) My riders were going to Goldsboro, so I let them off in Durham. Then I headed west to Greensboro.
By the time I arrived home, I found that my small act of giving completely erased my feeling of loss from earlier in the day. Since that discovery, an act of kindness has served as my sure cure for depression.
I joined the family and we had a fine week at the beach. Some time later, I found that the real problem with the temperature gauge was that the temperature sensor had failed. I had never needed to replace the thermostat at all, and certainly not twice. After returning to Binghamton, I bought a new Minolta XG-M to replace the old one, and that was that.
Tools seem to come and go. A lot more come to me than my fair share, since commuting by bike lets me stop to pick up shiny things. I'm sure that the balance swung in my favor long ago.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Friday, May 29, 2015
Tunnel Vision
After we moved to Boulder, my brother obtained a paper route for the Rocky Mountain News. The Rocky Mountain News was a morning paper, which meant that the stacks of papers were delivered between 3am and 4am, and were expected to be delivered by 8am at the latest. It seemed like the best idea to set about delivering them as soon as they arrived, and the task often fell to me to fill in during my brother's various absences.
I was already aware that there were some train tracks south of town, and while delivering papers early in the morning, I would sometimes hear the thrum of a freight muscling up the four percent, and spy the headlight -- seemingly high above me on the face of the front range. The headlight would disappear and then reappear many times, finally exiting stage-right as the steady thrum faded off into the night.
This romantic picture lured me in, and I resolved to investigate. As a family, we had been up to visit the east portal of the Moffat Tunnel several times, and my dad had purchased a copy of "The Moffat Road". So I had a suspicion that my hillside dragon and the tunnel were somehow connected. I wanted to make the connection in person.
Some idle Saturday not long after, I walked down to the margin of the open space south of town, climbed through the barbed wire, and set off on a bee-line for Eldorado Peak. I crossed the familiar road leading to Eldorado Springs, and climbed through another barbed-wire fence emblazoned with the logo of Colorado Fuel and Iron and sundry warnings which I chose to ignore. CF&I had a coal mining operation along the east face of Eldorado Peak, so the warnings were probably strongly urged by their lawyers. Between two ridges on the CF&I lands, I had to choose my path carefully, so I didn't have to descend into the open pit mine on either side. But clear of that impediment, I was able to scale the northeast ridge of Eldorado Peak.
I climbed up some ways, until I thought I was about level with the railroad grade. Then, I started heading south to intercept it. When I got a view, I found to my dismay that I was looking down on the grade: I had climbed right up over the top of a tunnel. I picked my way back down on the uphill side, and read on the masonry that I had rediscovered Tunnel No.8.
Having come into the middle of things, I thought I might go down the grade and try to visit tunnels 7, 6, 5, and so on down to 1. I went downgrade through a few short tunnels, and was heartened to find a "derail" sign and the derail proper placed on the mainline between Tunnels 4 and 5. A short ways further on, I came upon a gang of gandy dancers at work swapping out rotted cross-ties. I gained from them the assurance that no trains would be coming through for another 4 hours at least -- plenty of time to explore some of the longer tunnels along the route.
I walked all the way down through Tuinnel No. 2, but since I couldn't see Tunnel No. 1 from there, I decided to turn around and retrace my steps. I went up-grade until I had passed through Tunnel No. 8. Then retreated and dropped down into Eldorado Springs. From there, I lit out cross-country, and eventually ended up in South Boulder and home.
Somewhere in there, I came up with the notion that I would walk through all the tunnels between Denver and the Moffat Tunnel. It became one of my background projects to do so.
The project spanned several years and wasn't completed until after I started college. I forget the exact chronology, but certainly one piece of enabling technology did not come into my possession until after I was living on my own at 3150 Madison Avenue. I had gotten as far as Tunnel 19, but feared to venture further: Tunnel 19 has a bend in the middle so I could not see light from the other end and more importantly, whether a train was about to enter. I thought it was too risky to pass through it, given that a train could enter either end at any time.
The needed technology came to me by accident. On one of my Berthoud Pass adventures, I happened to stop for a rest at one of the grade crossings near Winter Park. At that point, I spied a walkie-talkie lying in the dirt on the service road that paralleled the railroad grade. I picked it up and switched it on, but found it to be non-functional. No matter: I could troubleshoot it later. I also noticed that it was emblazoned with "Property of D&RGW". I thought it might be very useful.
After I returned home, I used my meter to test the battery. It was well below the rated terminal voltage, so I set up a charging circuit using a (toy) train transformer. After I put in the charged battery, the unit still didn't work. I noticed that the connection between the on/off switch and volume potentiometer had been broken by the unit's impact with the ground when it had been lost by the train crew. I soldered the switch and volume control back in place, and the unit still did not work. Finally, I examined the grain-of-wheat fuse in the power circuit and found that it, too, had been damaged when the radio hit the ground. I found a replacement with the right physical dimensions in my collection of stuff (who cares about maximum rated current) and pressed it into place. Voila! the unit worked.
The radio had two channels, conveniently marked "tunnel" and "main line". I found that from my apartment, I could easily hear the chatter of the dispatcher in the Denver freight yards, 20 miles away. I didn't understand all of the lingo, but some things were pretty clear. When the day arrived that they announced "no traffic" on the mainline west of Denver, my chance had arrived. I rode my bicycle up to Gross Reservoir and added the middle set of tunnels to my list.
I had passed though other tunnels on the D&RGW mainline before I graduated from high school. I remember one trip where I rode my bike up to Pinecliffe and then went along the railroad grade from there. I was following the grade and not paying too much attention -- walking my bike between the rails -- when I heard a hiss and clicking in the rails, and almost at the same time three short blasts on the whistle of the oncoming train. It was easy enough for me to walk off to the side of the grade and watch the train pass, but I was very glad the engineer had given me a few spare seconds by warning me as the train came around the bend. It was surprising to me that the train made so little noise on its approach. But it was coasting downgrade so the engines were at idle, and most of the train was still back around the curve. It makes sense in retrospect, but it was an important lesson: Even something as big as a train can sneak up on you.
I must have completed this project early in my college years. A short time after I had used the radio to ensure my safety, my brother borrowed it to loan to some people who were protesting the nuclear trigger operation at Rocky Flats. It would be useful to them to know if there were a train coming up the spur from the mainline to Rocky Flats. So sure, as long as they returned it when they were done. Of course, I never saw the radio again....
I was already aware that there were some train tracks south of town, and while delivering papers early in the morning, I would sometimes hear the thrum of a freight muscling up the four percent, and spy the headlight -- seemingly high above me on the face of the front range. The headlight would disappear and then reappear many times, finally exiting stage-right as the steady thrum faded off into the night.
This romantic picture lured me in, and I resolved to investigate. As a family, we had been up to visit the east portal of the Moffat Tunnel several times, and my dad had purchased a copy of "The Moffat Road". So I had a suspicion that my hillside dragon and the tunnel were somehow connected. I wanted to make the connection in person.
Some idle Saturday not long after, I walked down to the margin of the open space south of town, climbed through the barbed wire, and set off on a bee-line for Eldorado Peak. I crossed the familiar road leading to Eldorado Springs, and climbed through another barbed-wire fence emblazoned with the logo of Colorado Fuel and Iron and sundry warnings which I chose to ignore. CF&I had a coal mining operation along the east face of Eldorado Peak, so the warnings were probably strongly urged by their lawyers. Between two ridges on the CF&I lands, I had to choose my path carefully, so I didn't have to descend into the open pit mine on either side. But clear of that impediment, I was able to scale the northeast ridge of Eldorado Peak.
 |
| Above Tunnel #8 |
I climbed up some ways, until I thought I was about level with the railroad grade. Then, I started heading south to intercept it. When I got a view, I found to my dismay that I was looking down on the grade: I had climbed right up over the top of a tunnel. I picked my way back down on the uphill side, and read on the masonry that I had rediscovered Tunnel No.8.
 |
| Tunnel #8 |
Having come into the middle of things, I thought I might go down the grade and try to visit tunnels 7, 6, 5, and so on down to 1. I went downgrade through a few short tunnels, and was heartened to find a "derail" sign and the derail proper placed on the mainline between Tunnels 4 and 5. A short ways further on, I came upon a gang of gandy dancers at work swapping out rotted cross-ties. I gained from them the assurance that no trains would be coming through for another 4 hours at least -- plenty of time to explore some of the longer tunnels along the route.
 |
| Looking downgrade through Tunnel #7 |
I walked all the way down through Tuinnel No. 2, but since I couldn't see Tunnel No. 1 from there, I decided to turn around and retrace my steps. I went up-grade until I had passed through Tunnel No. 8. Then retreated and dropped down into Eldorado Springs. From there, I lit out cross-country, and eventually ended up in South Boulder and home.
Somewhere in there, I came up with the notion that I would walk through all the tunnels between Denver and the Moffat Tunnel. It became one of my background projects to do so.
The project spanned several years and wasn't completed until after I started college. I forget the exact chronology, but certainly one piece of enabling technology did not come into my possession until after I was living on my own at 3150 Madison Avenue. I had gotten as far as Tunnel 19, but feared to venture further: Tunnel 19 has a bend in the middle so I could not see light from the other end and more importantly, whether a train was about to enter. I thought it was too risky to pass through it, given that a train could enter either end at any time.
The needed technology came to me by accident. On one of my Berthoud Pass adventures, I happened to stop for a rest at one of the grade crossings near Winter Park. At that point, I spied a walkie-talkie lying in the dirt on the service road that paralleled the railroad grade. I picked it up and switched it on, but found it to be non-functional. No matter: I could troubleshoot it later. I also noticed that it was emblazoned with "Property of D&RGW". I thought it might be very useful.
After I returned home, I used my meter to test the battery. It was well below the rated terminal voltage, so I set up a charging circuit using a (toy) train transformer. After I put in the charged battery, the unit still didn't work. I noticed that the connection between the on/off switch and volume potentiometer had been broken by the unit's impact with the ground when it had been lost by the train crew. I soldered the switch and volume control back in place, and the unit still did not work. Finally, I examined the grain-of-wheat fuse in the power circuit and found that it, too, had been damaged when the radio hit the ground. I found a replacement with the right physical dimensions in my collection of stuff (who cares about maximum rated current) and pressed it into place. Voila! the unit worked.
The radio had two channels, conveniently marked "tunnel" and "main line". I found that from my apartment, I could easily hear the chatter of the dispatcher in the Denver freight yards, 20 miles away. I didn't understand all of the lingo, but some things were pretty clear. When the day arrived that they announced "no traffic" on the mainline west of Denver, my chance had arrived. I rode my bicycle up to Gross Reservoir and added the middle set of tunnels to my list.
 |
| Level crossing at Pinecliffe |
I must have completed this project early in my college years. A short time after I had used the radio to ensure my safety, my brother borrowed it to loan to some people who were protesting the nuclear trigger operation at Rocky Flats. It would be useful to them to know if there were a train coming up the spur from the mainline to Rocky Flats. So sure, as long as they returned it when they were done. Of course, I never saw the radio again....
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