Lefty Limbo

In Part One of this story, we boarded Fillmore & Western’s Baldwin 1913 2-8-0 #14 for a weekend steam excursion. Come along now as we ride the rails…

The Baldwin pulled forward, and after a few seconds I could feel that all the couplers had engaged in the torque and we were under way. Our dining car pitched slowly from side to side; its joints and joists creaking and groaning like an old horse who, although not necessarily wanting to do its duty, knew it had to anyway.

Then came along the conductor, an aged man who exuded a sense of belonging as he patiently punched the passenger tickets one by one. On top of the subtle symphony of sounds in swing, the characteristic “CLACK!” of the hole-punch doing its deed completed the score.

There was a sense of satisfaction that I had, riding this train…a sense of accomplishment. I’d promised Greg that we’d ride a real steam engine, and sure enough, we were. Then I chuckled to myself as I watched the ground outside move past us at a snail’s pace—any kid could’ve blown us away on their Fixie Bike—and realized that actually, this ride wasn’t for everybody. So then, I asked myself: What kind of person would enjoy this type of excursion?

1. One would definitely need to be a retro-geek of some sort; someone with some kind of fond fixation or appreciation of times before their time; the further back in history, the better.
2. One would also need to have an appreciation for antiquated technology and/or machinery. A good indicator would be to show the person a picture of a steam locomotive. If he/she says “Wow, that’s awesome,” that would likely make a good candidate for this trip. If he/she says “What the hell is that? That old piece of junk…” then it’s probably not a good idea to take them along.
3. Last but not least, one should have at least a small romantic notion with the past. Good indicators:
   • Any mention of wishing one had a time machine to travel to specific time periods, to take part in certain events or to experience the lifestyle/culture firsthand
   • Any utterance of the phrases “Those were the good old days,” or “Yup, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to,” or “Imagine what it was like back then?” Bonus points for the usage of these phrases accompanied by a wistful sigh and staring off into space, or a slight shaking of the head as if to be disappointed with the the advent of modern technology and the disappearance/obsolescence of old ways and traditions.

And where do I fit in? Heck, all three, that’s me. You should know that by now.

Being this way does have its pitfalls, though. One can live in the past all they want, but it won’t take long for the present to smack ‘em in the face. For one, as the train gathered pace and settled into its rhythmic sway and sounds, I began to fantasize about the Old West and the age of discovery; I imagined myself riding through uncharted territory and rolling meadows and fields yet unclaimed and untouched by greedy human hands. Then I see things like this:

So much for that fantasy, eh?

I’ll admit, the scenery on the way to Santa Paula was far from spectacular; it is a welcome change from the concrete and billboard-riddled jungle of L.A.’s Westside, but mostly not anything to write home about, unless you like to discuss how cool it would be to own one (or all) of the several fruit orchards whose properties the F&W rails lay right through.

After about 30 minutes or so, the train slowed to a stop at perhaps the most bizarre track side tourist traps one would encounter 60 miles North of Los Angeles: The Loose Caboose Emporium. I realized that this wasn’t the first time we’d been here; we’d come up to the same location for their pumpkin patches on Halloween. My wife and I nudged each other and stifled our laughter as we both recalled the awkward selection of items these merchants had to offer to a trainload of passengers, who, one by one, began to wonder why we stopped here.

We were already hip to it, and decided to keep our patience as we shuffled through, convincing ourselves the whole way that this was all for the entertainment of our son, who was indeed entertained by the tanks of giant Koi fish for sale (ah, the innocence of childhood).

For the other passengers though, some of whom may have been first-timers, I’m sure this place would’ve conjured up reviews similar to this one on Yelp, which I’ve quoted below:

What the fuck is this place? And why is the train stopping here? Has there ever in the history of the universe been someone who clambered off the train here, bought a two foot koi, then carried it around in a giant water filled baggie for the remaining 4 hours of the train’s itinerary? Hmm, they sell birds too…alrighty then.

Actually, I would’ve been happy to give this place 3 stars if only they sold something for my headache. Dramamine, check. Antacids, check. 400 pound marble fixtures for your garden, check. Disappointing fruit (this being in the middle of the richest agricultural area in southern California, mind you), check. Honey with flakes of red pepper in it, check. Pain reliever, eeh not so much…that’s not something people need too often.

It’s like someone with only the vaguest notion of what a tourist trap is decided to build a tourist trap. Scary.

On a positive note, it did give me a great opportunity to take some shots of the steamer at rest.

It took some encouragement to get Greg to stand next to this gargantuan; he’d witnessed its power and was no stranger to the strength of steam. I think he felt that at any moment, a blast of steam would emanate from one of its pipes unexpectedly, or the engineer would blow the whistle while he was right beside. I told him they wouldn’t, but then even I myself was weary to be alongside the beautiful beast, whose core churned impatiently with hisses and heat.

Nevertheless, I did take some time to marvel at its construction, and it was amazing to know that every single pipe, fitting, rivet and rod had its meaning on this machine. And mind you, these pictures hardly compare to what it’s like to be there. The pungent smell of greased iron, black oil and musty water vapor—the perfume of power—is one I’ll never forget.

There’s a certain thrill associated with being able to see how something works; much like how much more exciting it would be (for me, at least) to look inside an old Victrola phonograph than an iPad.

If there’s one thing Greg really loves, its to be up in the cab, fantasizing of holding the reins to this roaring dragon. After being comfortable enough to be around this creature, he asked if he could. After a few words with the staff, his wish was fulfilled.

I admire the souls who run this train and give it all the TLC she deserves. I’m just hoping that they’re able to pass the torch to the next generation, so that the wisdom of how to operate these things doesn’t get scrapped like nearly all of these steam engines did. Then again, Greg does constantly ask, “Daddy, when I grow up can I be an engineer?” So perhaps the future holds a glimmer of hope after all.

Continue reading Part 3 here.