On the Wrong Side of the Tracks

I made a swing up to Cape Rock to check out the river level and the huge sandbar hugging the Illinois banks. After taking a couple of shots, I pulled into the small park at the bottom of The Rock to get a different angle. You can click on the photos to make them larger.

Tracks were open

The BNSF tracks were clear to the south. As soon as I crossed the main line and siding and looked north, I spotted the sunken barges I posted on October 21.

Where’d that train come from?

I spent about 45 minutes shooting the barges, then turned to see a long freight blocking my path back to the parking lot. This young fisherman was stuck on the wrong side of the tracks, too. Since these cars were parked on the siding, I thought maybe they were making way for a faster freight on the main line. Since most local trains aren’t that long, I decided to start walking south to see if I could get around it.

This one one of those situations where Plans A, B and C all involved swimming: I had the Mississippi River to my east; if the train extended south to Red Star, I was going to run into Sloan Creek; if it went too far north, there was Juden Creek to contend with.

Does this thing have an end?

About a quarter mile down the tracks, I ran into two fishermen walking north. “How far does this thing stretch to the south?” I asked.

“A long way,” one replied.

“Well, the head end of it is out of sight at Cape Rock, so I’m going to keep walking south.”

Way off in the distance, I could hear a train horn. Probably blowing at the crossings in town, I thought. Shouldn’t be too long before it passes, then the train on the siding will pull out, I was hoping. The clouds were building up, the wind was getting stronger and all I was wearing was a light long-sleeve shirt covered with a wool vest I had picked up for twelve bucks off a remaindered rack at Monteagle Pass.

Walking on railroad ballast is no fun, but I didn’t have much choice: there had been a rain recently that made the non-gravel areas full of soft mud. Adding to my distress was the audio book I had been listening to on the trip: Stephen King’s The Long Walk. I kept fearing that if my pace dropped below four miles an hour that someone would terminate me.

A little beyond this point, I ran across a bunch of bones on and around the track. They were too big to be a dog and they weren’t human, so I assumed that a deer picked a bad time to cross the tracks. I picked up a clean piece of vertebrae as a souvenir for Brother Mark.

Here comes the local

It was taking a long, long time for the northbound train to get here for all the whistling it was doing. When it pulled into sight, it had two power units, which meant that it was probably the local freight I shot back in April 2010.

Caboose confirmed it

When the caboose passed, I knew it was the local, probably headed to Proctor & Gamble to drop cars. I decided I’d start walking north again, figuring that once the local passed the stopped freight, it would pull out of the siding.

Getting ready for crew change

Then, the local started backing up and conductor Randy Graviett popped out of the caboose. He explained that they needed to do a crew change. They were going to back the train up far enough he could hop on the engine and go up north of Cape Rock to pick up a new crew. He said the train on the siding was being held up until a dispatcher in Texas told it to proceed.

Delay let me shoot Dredge Potter

By the time I made it north to the parking lot across from Cape Rock, the freight on the siding had pulled out. That was the good news. The bad news was that the local was blocking my path north and south as far as I could see. While I was waiting for the train to move, I spotted the Dredge Potter and her pushboat, The Prairie Du Rocher headed upriver. Not a bad day when you can shoot three stories in a three hours.

I was beginning to get chilly, so I decided to see how far north the local stretched. I finally came upon the head end about half-way to Twin Trees Park. Once I got back on the road, I started counting train cars. I can’t remember now if it was 29 or 39 cars back to the parking lot. I’m going to guess my total walking for the afternoon was about four or five miles on railroad ballast.

 

Dew Drop Inn

On my pilgrimage south on U.S. 61 (Highway 25 to the real oldtimers), I passed the Dew Drop Inn at the intersection of Hwy 61 and Hwy Y in Bloomsdale. It was the kind of thing that made me do a quick U-turn. I’ve heard of Dew Drop Inns, but have never been inside one. You can click on the photos to make them larger.

A quick Google search turned up less than a handful of reviews, including, “Good bar food. Tried the patty melt and would order it again. Drinks are reasonably priced with a nice pour.” This didn’t have a thumbs up or a thumbs down, so I’m not sure how to interpret it: “Hicksville. If you have more tattoos than teeth this is the place for you, don’t forget your shotgun and sister!

This one was clearly favorable: “I was there for the first time last week. It was brilliant! Definitely a hole-in-the-wall…but I mean that in the BEST way. The bartender and cook (owners?) were really really nice, the clientelle all knew each other, and we all watched some kind of “Dumbest 100 Disasters on Wheels” on the TV together. I didn’t eat, but the pizza looked great. The appetizers were cheap (curley fries!!! $1.50 and Fried Pickles too!) and the decor was…quaint. Walls decorated with posters, signed photos, and what looked like gifts from the patrons.  Milwaukee Best cans $1.50, Budweiser bottles $2.00.  I want to live in this place. It felt like the home I never had.

Lots of Dew Drop Inns

That Google search popped up lots of Dew Drops. Here are just a few towns:

  • Forks, Washington
  • Honolulu, Hawaii
  • Mobile, Alabama
  • Miller, South Dakota
  • New Orleans, Louisiana
  • Alpena, Michigan
  • New York, New York
  • Moline, Illinois
  • Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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General Sherman, We Need You

I was making great progress heading back to Florida from Cape. The weather was great, traffic was light to moderate, everybody was pretty well-behaved.

Well, there was a bit of a delay at Monteagle Pass, but we’ll go into that another day. I’ve got a couple of different routes I take; this time I opted to go through Atlanta on 1-75. I’ve been lucky the last few times, blasting through the area in about 30 minutes with only a few taps on the brakes.

Coming into town just about dusk, I thought I was gong to catch a break again. See how nicely the traffic is spaced out?

Look at all the taillights

Alas, around the corner was a forest of red taillights as far as you could see. It took 1-1/2 hours to do what I have been doing in 30 minutes. The skies were clear. There were no wrecks. It was just like everybody confused and thought the Interstate was one big parking lot and they needed to practice for Black Friday.

General Sherman had the right idea

I’ve always been convinced that General Sherman had the right idea of what to do with Atlanta.

[Wife Lila, who always exhibits better taste than I do, objected to my General Sherman suggestion, pointing out the death and destruction he meted out on horrific March to the Sea. Atlanta, to me, has been the source of major traffic jams, is the home of the Atlanta Braves and was where our corporate HQ was located. None of those things endear the city to me. Maybe we could just build bypasses that bypass the bypasses that exist around the city and leave General Sherman to his rest.]

Fall at Kentucky Lake

Mother and I went over to Kentucky Lake Monday to winterize her trailer. For you Florida folk, that means that we drained all of the water out of the drains and water lines and put antifreeze in any place that water might pool. If you don’t keep the pipes heated, the water in them will freeze and the pipes will burst. That happened to her a couple of winters ago. It’s not pretty and it’s not cheap to fix.

While she was inside the trailer doing inside-the-trailer stuff, I was blowing away the leaves that had fallen so far. Leaves, again for you Florida folks, are a big deal up here. And, I am far from being a proficient leaf herder. I’m not convinced that I couldn’t do a better job with a leaf rake.

Anyway, once I got the ground cleared off, it was covered with a gazillion hickory nuts that were like walking on ball bearings.

More hickory nuts to fall

They’re not done falling, either. Hearing those things bounce off your trailer top must make you feel like you’re under machine gun attack all night long.

Ducks on the lake

We took a swing down to the campgrounds to see what was going on. These guys don’t seem to notice that the water’s growing colder in the late afternoon.

Naked tree

We couldn’t help but notice this dead, naked tree with all its bark missing as we passed the entrance to Camp John Currie. It was worth a u-turn.

Peeling paint to peeling bark

I know I’ve been posting a lot of what we journalistic photographer disdainfully call “peeling paint” photos, but I couldn’t resist this shot of a trunk with its bark peeled off.

Something got under its skin

At some point in its life, something crawled around between the tree’s bark and its trunk.

Pining away for Wife Lila

I had to put that bad pun in to keep Wife Lila from dispatching me as a stranger breaking into the house when I get back to Florida this weekend.