And yours.
Version 1.1
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Online version available at www.robertjohndavis.com
Dedicated to Patricia and Ben for your tolerance
and support. I love you both.
— Rob
Chapter 1: A Sort of Homecoming
May 9, 2019: A Sort of Homecoming
The scenic spectacle on approach to Salt Lake City Flaps extended. Wheels down. I land with my secret
International Airport humbles even the most intact. Someday, the right moment for contact may
narcissistic heart. Passengers on the right stare at come. For now, I slip between bodies in the airport,
reach-out-and-touch-me peaks, still frosted with wondering if any share my DNA.
The legion of railroad enthusiasts pervades societies Like me, Dave has compartmentalized his wanderlust, but
around the globe, wherever flanged wheels rolled upon when he roams, the man roams. He’s everywhere. We
steel rails firing the wanderlust dreams of the populous. regularly find ourselves breaking bread in beer joints
Tonight, thanks to the presence of Big Boy #4014, it around America; each an unplanned moment when our
seems we are all in Ogden, Utah. Well, almost. I am still paths cross. On this occasion, among the thousands who
on my way. Knowing good beer lies ahead, I decided to have gathered to see the spectacle of the Big Boy, Dave
sample the local ales with imprudence rather than a sip and Matt are in the middle of a two week coast-to-coast
or two before driving back to the hotel. So, I need a ride. drive photographing over a dozen different steam
My friends Dave and Matt have road-tripped out from locomotives and visiting countless local brewpubs.
Excelsior!
The waitress is still talking. Mouth moving. Nothing heard. “Sit down. Just sit down, and don’t do it again.” She
I’m lost in beer-hazed visions of coriander and caraway orders. I comply. As the waitress walks away, I turn to
laden pork. She repeats herself until I lock back in.
Dave. “At least it wasn’t the bratwurst.” I lift my left leg to
adjust my ass-on-stool ratio, a voice cuts through the din.
Apparently, I have committed the offense of standing up “Sit down!”
The faithful and the curious are gathering at the Golden a rented Ford Expedition with walk-away insurance
Spike National Historical Park in Promontory Summit, coverage, a few bottles of water, and no idea where the
Utah this morning to watch replicas of 1860’s steam hell I am going.
I nose the Expedition onto the dirt shoulder and leap out
- camera in hand - amidst my own cloud of dust to
capture a BNSF freight train speeding east. Shutter,
click. Shutter, click. Wave to the crew. The chase is on.
Chapter 4: Rolling the Bones in Rush Valley
May 11, 2019: Rolling the Bones in Rush Valley
The check-box version of yesterday sounds pretty Pulling up to the tracks near a grain unloading facility, we
sweet. After the Western Pacific chase, I wandered up see a dozen or so buffs are already set up: an odd site for
the canyon of Spanish Fork along the former Denver & a weekday morning, especially one where most of the
Rio Grande and then explored the old Los Angeles & railfan world is gathered on the other side of the lake to
Salt Lake mainline across the desert and through the celebrate the driving of the Golden Spike. At first glance,
hills on the twisting Sharp Subdivision. Saw trains on all it’s not a great spot for a picture but we don’t have much
of them. Got decent pictures. Had an animal style time to look for alternatives. The three of us spread out to
everything lunch at In-N-Out. A dream day in my book.
pick different angles and lighting.
With 14 hours and 558 miles of train chasing behind me, Almost all Union Pacific diesels are painted in DuPont
I made it back to the Salt Lake City airport in time to 88-1743, a rich canary color the railroad calls Armour
pick up Mike and Jimmy, two of my oldest friends from Yellow. As the train noses into the “s” curve ahead of us,
back in New Jersey. Rested and refreshed the next the morning sun reflects off a much brighter of shade of
morning, we are looking forward to an afternoon in yellow on the lead locomotive. And it seems to be
Ogden with the Big Boy. But first, a little train chasing surrounded by green. OMG. It’s a heritage unit. #1995 the
around Salt Lake City.
Chicago & North Western heritage unit.
As is often the case, one good day of wandering just Depending upon how severe your case of “the trains” is,
makes we want to roam more the next. I drive around seeing a heritage unit is kinda neat or it’s a utog-inducing
the south shore to the late to show Mike and Jimmy a moment of a lifetime. As machinery goes, there’s nothing
few industrial sites I discovered yesterday morning, special about them; they are just run of the mill
hoping that we would happen upon a train. Rolling down locomotives. The difference — the only difference — is
I-80 near Tooele, we spot the unmistakeable mass of a that heritage units are painted in the colors of railroads
double-stack train headed west on the Los Angeles & that are long gone. Almost all the major US railroads have
Salt Lake route. The grade coming up from lake-level them wandering their systems in regular service.
into the Tooele Valley is steep enough to slow the train Websites, chat boards and social media accounts track
to a walking pace. We have time to get ahead of it.
their whereabouts. Railfans around North America call-
out sick from work and flock along the right-of-way bent
on capturing images worthy of instant social media
sharing.
We now have a dilemma. Our goal is to be up north in There are so many alluring spots, one could be forgiven
Ogden this afternoon, but the heritage unit is leading its for hop-scotching along, shooting the train at every
train south. What to do? There are many things that will opportunity under the cloud-free sky. But we all know that
prompt a man to change plans, or at least follow a flight finding a unique location will be more satisfying than any
of fancy. As a child, it may be the distraction of a series of roadside shoot and runs. Since there are other
butterfly in a field. Later in life, the slightest chance of folks chasing, a key strategy is to go far enough off the
sex. As a railfan? Heritage unit. Ogden can wait.
beaten path that a hoard of chasers won’t show up 30
seconds before the train to park pick-up trucks, tripods
We are well ahead of the train by the time we enter the and plumber-crack asses in our shot.
before settling into a lazy horseshoe and a series of The temptation to keep chasing tugs at us, but we need
shallow “s” curves dodging scrub-speckled foothills. to get up to Ogden, a destination now 100 miles further
The only thing that could spoil our view would be those away than when we started this morning. We take our
latecomers pulling up next to the tracks in a veil of dust time wandering back to the highway, stopping to take
while we stand above with no recourse.
pictures of the archetypical western scenes of cattle
guards and large caliber riddled metal.
Chapter 5: The Last, Last of the Giants
May 11, 2019:
The Last, Last of the Giants
My dreams of seeing a Big Boy in operation go back Next to the lot, a small modern building sported a station
almost 50 years when I first encountered #4012, then sign for “Riverside,” the name given to these several
part of the Steamtown U.S.A. museum near Bellows acres of flat land between the Rutland Railroad tracks
Falls, VT. “Museum” is a generous word to describe and Connecticut River. Beyond lay the promised land of
Steamtown in the 1970’s. It wasn’t much more than a steam. Of all the steam traction engines, locomotive and
gravel and dirt expanse filled by 50+ inoperable steam- other machines of yore, two were “mine”: the
powered machines, a few small buildings and a no-frills magnificently designed Nickel Plate Road #759 (the first
“engine house” where a handful of locomotives were big locomotive I ever saw under steam) and Union Pacific
kept in working order for the daily excursion trains. It #4012, one of the giant Big Boys. Both were located in
wasn’t much, but it was paradise — my paradise. I’m the far back corner of the site, so our visits began with a
not sure my mother saw it that way, but she provided brisk walk past all the displays to begin with the best and
plenty of time for me to wander amongst the relics. And the biggest. We’d see the rest later.
Across the yellow pebble midway sat elderly, wooden The appeal of Big Boy never waned. In my tween years,
Boston & Maine combination car #959: The Movie Car. mom would drop me off at Steamtown in the morning,
The end once used for passenger seating was now a visit the leather outlet or other shops downriver in
humble waiting area of rough bench seats. Through the Brattleboro, and pick me up at closing time. My routine
interior door, a seated “theater” was built in the former stayed true: pay the entry admission and head straight
baggage compartment. Where the newspapers, milk back to where lonely #4012 sat in the Vermont mud.
steam. And did I see it. Over and over. My poor mother
would await the final scene of a freight train rolling off It was some twenty some years ago that Mike, Jimmy
into a Wyoming sunset as the melancholy uncredited and I made a promise while standing in front of #4012
narrator cautions that, “The rumble and roar of Big Bioy that if someone ever restored one of these beasts to
will seem still to echo from the high country of southern operation we would be there to see it run. And here we
Wyoming.” As she rose from her metal chair, the are now on a beautiful Ogden afternoon. All three of us
inevitable question would come. “Can we watch it again, face to face with a hot, living Big Boy. The reborn last,
mom?” last of the giants.
Chapter 6: Roadhouse of My Dreams
May 11, 2019: Roadhouse Of My Dreams Closing time comes early for most eateries in town
except - as she explains - for “the sports bar up the
The lights of Evanston spread out ahead of us. With a road.” The clerk points out the hotel door, “you can see it
population of just over 12,000 the city boasts a thriving from here, it’s just next to the Holiday Inn Express Sign.”
retail scene with liquor, gun and fireworks purveyors She’s confident proximity makes everything OK.
lining the exit ramps off Interstate 80. Some shops Whatever. We’re hungry, we need a drink and it’s open.
appear to sell all three. That’s a party for another night. Win.
It’s evident we are standing with people who really want The train eases through the tunnels. It’s a scene I never
to be here. Just within earshot are photographers from thought I would see in person. Jimmy , Mike and I
Germany, France, Canada, China, England and savor it along with a few other like-minded observers.
Australia. All of us jostling for space along a cliff Before the train is out of sight, the rest of the gaggle is
overlooking Echo Creek, the original 1869 back on the road to chase. It’s less than 20 miles to
transcontinental railroad alignment and the 1916 low- Evanston and the end of the day’s run. Got to get that
grade line blasted through the far hillside. The latter is maximum number of shots in.
Evanston is almost out of food. I am not kidding. There We spent the afternoon scouting photo locations for the
are so many train buffs in town that we have eaten it all next day’s run. With frequent freight trains, there was
including - as one teary maitre’d told me - the stash plenty to keep our cameras busy. We didn’t realize while
being held for Mothers’ Day reservations this evening.
we were out cavorting along the old Lincoln Highway,
kicking up dust on side roads which we later learned
I can’t say I am surprised. We waited for over an hour at included the original 1869 right-of-way of the UP, that a
lunch to get a table at Jody’s Diner. The train was parked crisis was gripping the Evanston restaurant scene.
Even if Sam I Am liked green eggs and ham, he would A cadre of fans have kindly arranged their vehicles to
have been SOL in Evanston. He wouldn’t have known illuminate the locomotives with their headlights. A blend
where to turn, unless he had a taste for the wee dram. of mercury vapor and sulfur street lights fill in the gaps.
Then he’d have known what we knew: in a town without Consistent color temperatures? Who needs them? I’ve
food, the best place is the one with the widest selection spent hundreds of dollars to photograph steam
of golden brown libations.
locomotives under professional lighting, and this freebie
isn’t too shabby.
past nine o’clock, and the buffs are still at it. The railroad
kindly tied down the train next to a parking lot. An It’s time to head back to the hotel. We have an early
impromptu night photo session has broken out with start. There are still a dozen or so photographers out
sleeping #4014 and #844, the true western stars.
here. Hopefully, these guys had dinner already. If not…
Chapter 9: Cuppy Draw
May 13, 2019: Cuppy Draw
Yesterday afternoon Jimmy suggested we check out a In the rush to complete the railroad, the Union Pacific
location on the western slope of Aspen Mountain where engineering team not only looked for the easiest path
we could photograph the steam train today. He found a through Uinta County, but the least expensive. Rather
spot on Google Maps that seemed to have promise and than dealing with Aspen Mountain head-on, the railroad
looked to be a bit of a dead-end for the chase: one way wound around its south slope. Once the railroad was
in, one way out. You could see the train there, but established as a success, the UP began working on a
probably not get ahead of it before the next scheduled realignment which would tunnel through Aspen Mountain
stop at Granger. That fit our game plan perfectly: try for in 1901, eliminating both the original roundabout route
one good spot rather than racing like idiots to get and - by default - the town of Piedmont. Have you ever
mediocre photos at multiple locations.
watched the TV series “Hell on Wheels?” That was
Piedmont; a true railroad boom town.
A lot went down in Carter over the next 150 years. That’s
a story I am still learning. But at least I now know why
the town was built.
Chapter 11: The Lincoln Highway
May 13, 2019: The Lincoln Highway
Route 66 is carved into the asphalt heart of America. Its And they call Route 66 the “Mother Road?” Bullshit.
There were some metal and wood scraps lying around I don’t know how long it took before Jimmy had enough
which I assumed must have been used as temporary rocks and Mike had enough leverage to get the hanging
bridges. I wasn’t too keen on that. Mike noted that the wheel some traction. We took a break after popping it
gap was significantly narrower in one area. All I had to do out, tired and dirty on the downhill side of an adrenaline
was drive across there. What happened on my way to the burst. And then came CamperMan, returning — I
narrow section is debatable. The result is not. I managed suppose — after finding a washout even he wouldn’t try.
to get one front wheel across while leaving the other His pick-up bounced across the gap that almost ate us,
hanging in the air. In the middle of nowhere. With no and with a tip of his hat he jostled his way south. I
phone reception. And no other way out.
wonder if he knew what we’d been through. I bet he did.
Fucker.
I am not bragging about this situation. It was stupid and Jimmy’s dad taught me long ago that as long as you
avoidable. I own that. In fact, had it not all worked out OK come away with a story, everything is OK. I’ve lived by
I’d likely never share any of this story, But it turns out that that though now I value coming away with your health,
a couple of great friends, a stack of rocks and some mind and body intact, plus the story. Regardless, we got
elbow grease pushing on the bumper can get you out of a a story on Leroy Road.
tight jams you never should have gotten into in the first
place.
A story we will tell for years to come.
- Rob