Every train has its destination. In the old days, it was the promise and adventure of a new town and often a new life. Or perhaps it’s the dream getaway you’d been saving up your money and vacation days for.

I wish I could say that our final destination on the Filmore & Western was as exotic and exciting as those above. But…it wasn’t.

Downtown Santa Paula was touted as a great stop for sightseeing, tourist attractions, museums, shopping and dining, but we were met with a droll, hot and dusty dud that we had to spend almost 2 hours in. Sure, the surroundings were quaint and some buildings historic in architecture, but believe me, 2 hours is an eternity when you’re with a kid who keeps asking “Where are we going now? Where are we going now?” incessantly while you scan the streets for something to entertain yourselves with.

We’d already eaten on the train, so we looked for cool places to shop. There were no cool places to shop. So we looked for benches to sit on. There were no benches to sit on. It was freakin’ hot, so finally I said, “Let’s find a restaurant to sit in and just have a drink.” Luckily, there was a place that fit the bill—The Mupu Grill.

It was a slight relief to sit on patio wrought iron furniture with cold lemonades and a much-needed Stella for daddy as we sipped our drinks and wondered, again, what the heck we were doing there. Perhaps we took a wrong turn somewhere. Or maybe I just didn’t read the signs. Or, there’s the possibility that I was just so fascinated with the steam train that I didn’t even realize we had to get off of it.

We weren’t alone. While walking down Santa Paula’s Main Street I recognized other passengers from the train with the same kind of bewildered yet hopeful look as they scanned the street for points of interest. There just weren’t any.

Not to completely knock downtown Santa Paula, though—according to their website, there were a lot of things to do there, if only I’d done some research beforehand, or maybe was handed a handy “things to do in Santa Paula” brochure for first-timers like ourselves.

Nevertheless, somehow we managed to pass those 2 hours and run back to the train depot in desperation to get back home. What a relief it was to be back on that old Baldwin, chuffing steadily back to civilization.

On the train, I was surveyed by a lady who wanted to know if the steam train excursion was something worth taking, and, more so, something worth maintaining. One would think that after the gruel of the time in Santa Paula I would have said “Hell no,” but instead, I actually gave her nearly half an hour’s worth of testimony to the fact that this Baldwin 2-8-0 Steam Locomotive was definitely a diamond in the rough, and that it’s the only one of its kind in all of Southern California that can be enjoyed at a very reasonable price.

She was really surprised at how much I had to say, and had no idea how important and sought after experiences like this were, by die-hard steam train fans that longed for the thrill of a real live steam engine in action. Believe me, it’s not easy to come by, and when it does, it’s usually at a premium.

Take, for example, the Santa Fe 3751 (above)…one of the country’s premier passenger steam locomotives, owned and operated by the SBRHS (San Bernardino Railroad Historical Society)—they have to go through so much red tape, paperwork, politics and insurance/liability hassles with Union Pacific and BNSF just to run the darn thing on a mainline, and they’re absolutely lucky if they can manage to get it on the rails once or twice a year. So when they do, it ain’t cheap to hop on board. Sure, as a 4-8-4 it’s a much larger sight (and sound) to behold than the Baldwin, but it comes around only once in a blue moon…while our good ol’ 2-8-0 toots away happily once a month, April through September.

So, despite the downer of a denouement in downtown Santa Paula, I leave you folks with a happy ending; as happy as the lady was when she walked away with a clipboard full of my comments, regarding how rare and unique this experience was. Thousands of Googling SoCal residents and parents want to know: Was it worth it? Yes. Why? In a modern world seemingly bursting at the seams with instant gratification, the Fillmore & Western’s Baldwin 1913 2-8-0 #14 Steam Locomotive is truly a remarkable living and breathing retrospective to a time when things were much, much more than a mouse click away. And for some like myself, a parent of the next generation, the privilege to share, inspire and teach this knowledge to my son (and having him beam a smile back in appreciation) makes me a proud one.

Thanks for reading.

One of Greg’s latest obsessions is Cartoon Network’s The Amazing World of Gumball. It’s one of those shows that cute and demented at the same time; a well-written and well-drawn batch of silliness that’s fun enough for kids, and twisted enough to lure some 40-something moms and dads (who are still kids themselves) into watching it with them.

This is one of those videos that Greg and I watch over, and over, and over…and we die laughing each and every time. But why? I’ll tell you why. It’s the things hidden in the details.

There’s something a little off about the characters in Gumball, and that’s totally what I dig…that weird, disconcerting, underlying grit that hides just beneath the “cute” crust that greets us.

Take Banana Joe, for instance. Look at those eyes. He’s got that trippy “one-eye-faces-this-way-while-the-other-faces-the-other-way” thing going on, and you’re not sure which to focus on, right? But you focus anyway.

And what’s up with that mouth? Why is it a sickly shade of grey? Is it some kind of stretchy donut? What part of a banana could be associated with that grey thing? None!

Yet, we can probably all relate Banana Joe to someone we knew in our lives; like that weird, nerdy wacky kid in school that nobody really liked, but they liked to hang out with him simply because he was so out there.

Beyond that, though, is what actually happens in the video. Just little twists and turns here and there that catch you off guard. They’re unexpected. Like this part, where it suddenly breaks into a short sequence of him clapping.

Oh sure, it could be just clapping, but what follows is a complete nose-dive downward spiraling descent into utter lunacy. If you thought he looked weird as a singular object, just imagine him splitting himself exponentially into several smaller vignettes, multiplying by the second like those animal cells did on those old Biology class science films.

Ah yes, that lovely anomaly of a mouth now becomes the focal point as you continue to wonder what the heck it is. Meanwhile, the mess in his room begins to crowd around you in unison with a growing chorus of Banana Joe voices, all in various pitches, chanting and singing at the same time.

The screen continues to chop itself into smaller but more obnoxious portions, the volume and chaos building upon itself like demented Duplo blocks. Your eyes begin to go wild as they’re confronted with a myriad of madness, each frame featuring Joe in various states of wackiness. He’s clapping in one, singing in another, and even doing the kickworm in another! Now if that isn’t a subliminal ’80s pop reference to reel in us 40-somethings, then I don’t know what is. But you got me, Cartoon Network.

Before you know it, the screen is completely populated with tiny, bite-sized chunks of craziness that sing, squirm and wiggle like happy maggots in a carcass. By now, the sound is deafening, and, if you were like me the first time around, you’re probably saying to yourself, WTF?! What is up with that darn donut-shaped mouth?! And what the heck is that thing…a…a…banana butt? Is it funny, or nightmarish? It’s almost obscene, but you still can’t resist watching every frame. That’s the magic of it all.

Finally it all comes together in one sickly shattered self-portrait, whose fragmented face has by now become somewhat hypnotic. If you don’t know Banana Joe by now, you’ll never never know him. But wait—we still haven’t arrived at the punch line, which wraps the whole enchilada into one heap of hilarity—Banana Joe’s dad.

By the end of the commercial, you’re probably wondering what kind of people they have working on this cartoon. Man, I wish I were one of them.

Luck would have it that they had one last weekend at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, so guess where we were? Yup.

Thanks to one of his classmates being a Monster Jam regular, his mom gave us some tips on buying tix and getting the most out of our adventure. One thing for sure was to order Pit Party passes. This gave us the opportunity to see and touch the trucks up close, meet the drivers and get autographs, and spend Mommy and Daddy’s money on merchandise and toys.

If I’d traveled back in time 20 years and told my 21-year-old self that I would one day attend a Monster Truck event, my 21-year-old self would’ve laughed and said “Aw HELL no!” But sure enough, it came true. It’s my kid’s fault. No, actually it’s mine. I just happened to do a search for “Monster Trucks” on my iPhone’s YouTube one night while in the back seat of our truck, to entertain antsy ol’ Greg. And this is the video that started it all:

Li’l Greg’s always been a daredevil—always looking to push his limits, taking risks and finding the most dangerous stunts to pull. And when he saw the Grave Digger going all out with a missing front wheel, he was hooked. Period.

Of course, what would a Monster Jam be without Grave Digger? This was its 30th Anniversary in the business, still going strong. There were so many people at this Pit Party that it was impossible to get exclusive shots of a star vehicle. Typically we had to share the shot with other kids whose parental units also felt the need to preserve these landmark occasions.

It is kinda cool though; perhaps 20 years from now some guy will see this picture and say “Holy crap, that’s me standing in front of that wheel!”

Speaking of wheels…

Now the above is not a monster truck wheel; it’s a wheel from a CAT Front-End Loader that was also on display. There were families lined up and crawling all over this thing like ants until finally a CAT rep came over and told everyone they couldn’t be on it. Hmm. Where was he that whole time beforehand? At lunch? Texting? Nevertheless, he didn’t seem to mind me sticking Greg in the rim, so I took a shot.

Here’s Greg with his classmate whom I mentioned earlier, who’d gone to Monster Jam consecutively for the past 4(?) years. If it wasn’t for his mom, we would’ve been totally clueless about prime seat locations and the Pit Party. Behind them is El Toro Loco, who was a top contender. Not sure why it was hoisted up like that. I think the crane company was trying to sell themselves on how they could handle heavy loads.

This shot looks super Atomic Age to me; it reminds me something I’d see at Disneyland’s Tomorrowland back in the ’60s, perhaps next to Monsanto’s House of the Future or Mission to Mars.

Have I got video footage? Tons. I’ll post them eventually.

I’ll tell you one thing though, Greg loved it, and it was a great time for all of us. He went to bed that night saying “This was the best day of my life,” and the next morning he dug out each and every one of his Hot Wheels 1:64 Monster Trucks, to stage a Monster Jam of his own.

I’d actually bought the majority of these over a year ago, back when he was still crazy about trains. He didn’t care for the trucks much back then, but lately he’s been way more into the roar of gas than the hiss of steam.

And of course, nothing would be complete without him wanting not one, but several Monster Jam tattoos to show off the following week at school. These tats actually last quite awhile, even through showers. I needed alcohol and Q-Tips to rub ‘em off…to put new ones on. A far cry from the old transfer-tattoos I remember from my childhood, which would disappear at the first drop of moisture.

So if your kid is into monster trucks, I highly recommend attending the Monster Jam. Save up some pocket cash if you can, though, ‘coz buying the tickets is just the beginning. There’s enough bright and shiny merch there to have your kid tugging at your shirt all evening. Some words of advice:

• The best seats appear to be in sections 225 to 229. These sections give the best view of the field, plus 228 and 229 are close to where the trucks enter. For the jump and obstacle setup this year, these sections also had a good angle for photos and videos. For two adults and one child in our section (208), it was about $145 from ticketmaster.com, including Pit Passes ($10 each). Ticketmaster.com does charge service fees though, so you may be able to find them cheaper elsewhere.
• The trucks are LOUD. If you or your kid are sensitive to loud noises, you’ll want to bring some ear plugs. Otherwise you can fork out for some novelty “Monster Truck Wheel” plastic ear muffs, at a super special low price of $20.
• By all means, get the Pit Party passes. They’re inexpensive and totally worth the opportunity to see the trucks in the flesh before the event and even meet the drivers (if you don’t mind waiting in line for the celebrity ones).
• Merchandise prices, on the other hand, will add up quickly. $25 for a t-shirt, $10 for the Hot Wheels 1:64 Monster Jam trucks (we bought him Mohawk Warrior), $5 for a checkered flag, $35 for a Monster Jam blanket, $10 for a program/yearbook.
• The show’s about 2 hours long, and your kid’s gonna get hungry and/or have to use the restroom. Try to get aisle seats to avoid having to walk through the rows. It’s crowded and tight.
• And when your li’l tike gets hungry? $7 for an Angel Dog, $3 for fries, and $3 for soda ($2 for bottled water). Basically about $12 a person for a basic stadium meal (Correct me if I’m wrong, btw). And yes, there’s always the pizza and cotton candy doods that walk the stands. I think those are $5 a pop.
• REMEMBER WHERE YOU PARKED. Either take note of the section number, or drop a pin on your iPhone’s map app. Dood. After the show it’s like a freakin’ ENDLESS SEA of cars. I totally forgot where we parked and we were walking aimlessly for over half an hour in the freezing cold. Totally not cool when you have a kid or baby with you, who’s totally beat and wants to go home. One of the stadium staff was friendly enough to let my family wait indoors in a heated area while I searched for my car. Luckily I was able to retrace my steps from where we entered and turned, etc. and found the car eventually.
• Last but not least, enjoy the show! =)

You may remember my discovery of this park in a previous post, while on a typical ’70s child rant that “they just don’t make ‘em like they used to.” In this case I was referring to the disappearance of the infamous “Rocketship Playgrounds,” which were almost standard issue for Westside L.A. parks of the ’70s. Lo and behold, a quick flick of Flickr (now populated with my own photos) would reveal that there was still a standing rocket in Torrance, CA. So you know that I brought my family out there at Warp Speed.

It was truly an awesome sight to behold. Yes, there it stood, a real live rocket, towering in all its gleaming galvanized steel glory, complete with that funky musty steel smell that I remember so well from my childhood (just grab hold of the hand rails then smell your hands afterwards, and you’ll know what I’m talking about).

This was truly a cosmic experience for both myself and my kid, who finally got a chance to be on top of the world—nothing has topped this gargantuan in height. For all you Westside ’70s kids who, like me, had thought that playground rockets had blasted off our planet ages ago, this rocket will surely send you into Hyperspace.

Funny, I don’t remember them wrapping that third stage in the fencing material back in the day. I’m sure that was a later addition for added safety. Heh. Safety. Whoever thought of that back in the ’70s? I sure didn’t.

Dood, look at that slide from the second stage. I bet you anyone who grew up in the ’70s (or earlier) can fondly relate to these memories:

• In the summer, the slide was the perfect mirror to blind you with the sun’s reflection
• At the same time, the slide itself also got as hot as the sun; the perfect way to sear your legs while wearing those ’70s corduroy short-shorts
• Some kids found the perfect way to make the slide faster—by scooping up sand and pouring it down the slide from the top
• Other kids, mostly younger diaper-wearing ones, found ways to make the slide not so fast—by making sticky skid marks on them with their pee or poop-filled leaking diapers. Either that, or there was some other mystery bodily fluid that added that undesirable speed bump on the steel (spit, snot, etc.)

Luckily that afternoon, the weather conditions were perfect for launch, so my boy gave it a shot.

I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad the City of Torrance never knocked this thing down. Heck, with a name like Rocketship Park I should hope not, but with all the bureaucratic politics and increased safety standards, I wonder how much of a fight they have to put up…to keep it up. Note to City: If you ever want to scrap it, don’t. Just give it to me and I’ll put it in my backyard.

Meanwhile, here’s Greg ascending through the stages. Keep in mind that this ship really is made for kids, so if you’ve grown considerably since your childhood (I haven’t), you may have some difficulty passing through these “airlocks.” I barely fit through them myself, and younger astronauts around me looked at me like I was crazy.

Once in the nose, who could resist taking the helm of this massive missile? Not Greg.

Actually, here’s a wider shot of that steering wheel. Who would’ve known that a rocketship would use a Three On The Tree transmission? American-made, son.

Here am I sitting in a tin can, far above the world…ok, it doesn’t look like much from this shot, but it sure is nice (and windy) up in the nose cone.

A bonus added attraction to our Rocketship Park visit was their Lunar Lander, which sat patiently nearby. I actually had more fun photographing this celestial sentry, with all its fittings that just screamed ’60s and ’70s.

You may recognize this to be the long-lost sibling to another Lunar Lander which I had the joy to meet when I was 6 yrs. old. It’s too bad it’s lost all it’s original markings, but it’s still a genuine surviving lander, nonetheless.

Yes, my earthly mortals, there was enough geek fodder on this tiny little platform for me to reminisce of a time when I could travel light years away just by taking a trip to the local park. It’s ironic that this aged, antique playground equipment is still way advanced in innovation and imagination compared to any of the plastic, über-safe stuff that’s occupied our playgrounds today.

It took awhile for Greg to really appreciate the structure; he’s much more of a Muscle Car and Monster Truck enthusiast, but eventually he caught on to some otherworldly charms, as soon as he climbed aboard.

Check out this crazy thing. I mean, it’s really just a cylinder with some pipe fittings sticking out of it. But in context, the possibilities are infinite.

Here’s the li’l astronaut himself, doing a systems check.

Once again, the almighty universal idea that any vehicle or craft can be maneuvered by none other than a steering wheel. This disc actually did spin, by the way.

By far, though, my favorite accessory of this spacecraft was its “radar dish,” which allowed us to scan a 360-degree radius of the city, in search for intelligent life forms.

The urge for me to emit sonar “ping” sounds was irresistible as I scanned the landscape, while the steel column responded with a series of metallic groans and squeals. How many beings had done this same search before me? I may never know.

To my surprise, after some moments I received faint yet distinct signals; intermittent beeps that transmitted coordinates of other playground rockets in faraway lands.

We are not alone.

Update: The above were taken from results within a Flickr.com search. Little did I know that when I ventured outside the bounds of the Flickr universe—and into the Google quadrant, I would have yet more encounters with an entirely new salvo of rockets, in a broad spectrum of longevity and decay. I’ll present those in my next post. Stay tuned.

This was the first time he'd ever seen the gap left by a newly fallen baby tooth.

The year you knew
what you wanted to be
is what we’ll remember
for now
forever

For once the day
is short but sweet
you know what’s coming
your smile aglow
burning clouds

Who’s that munchkin
mix of love
who walks on air
my son
it’s you

A moment gone
swift so fleeting
technology the savior
help me
remember

Warmth of friendships
feels like family
grow together
gulp in hope
of neverending

Night electric
hopes unleashed
eager hands held
others with sweets
Thank you for
this mystery

Hollywood, CA: The Frolic Room: One of the best things about being 40-something is running into other 40-somethings that get drunkenly nostalgic and put on a bunch of late-’70s punk/power-pop songs on the dive bar’s hip jukebox to sing and snarl and bob their heads along to, in memorial of their golden days of teen angst and rebellion. Punk’s not dead—it just gets a Designated Driver.

Thanks, whatzyername, for introducing me to these songs, which added some spice to my Glenlivet.

I’m always hoping Greg adopts my best qualities and traits. Of course, some of this may be possible from teaching and constant reminders, but other times, Greg surprises me out of the blue.

After recently acquiring a pair of “worn-once” Doc Martens (thanks, Ebay for the steal), I wondered if Greg would ever take notice to my new stompers. And the other day, he finally did. As he watched me straight-lacing them in the living room (something I hadn’t done for over 20 years until now), he studied them and asked, “Daddy, what kind of boots are those?”

“They’re Docs,” I answered.

“Docs? Cool.” He appeared to examine them even closer, almost as if he imagined wearing them himself. “Daddy, can I have Docs like yours too?”

“Yes you can!” I replied.

Perhaps not long afterwards, the lil’ tike will see me buzzing my head and will ask, “Daddy, can I buzz my head too?” That would be simply awesome.

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.

Photo ©2011 by John A. Shaw

Lil’ Greg’s been obsessed with Steam Trains for at least the past 2 years. For the longest time, it seemed the only live, full-size steam trains here in SoCal were the ones in Disneyland, which we took full advantage of with our annual passes.

Yet, after hundreds of hours of Train DVDs, multiple visits to the Travel Town Train Museum and endless page-turning through train picture books, Greg has become all too familiar with the iron giants, and just the other day remarked, “Daddy, I want to ride on a real steam train, not the small ones like in Disneyland.”

Not to discount the Disney Railroad; if it weren’t for them and their friendly engineers, Greg would have never known what it was like to sit in the cab of a working steam train in full operation. Nevertheless, Greg still knew there were larger steam specimens out there somewhere. The problem was, where were they?

My fellow SoCal rail fans and/or parents of, look no further than Fillmore & Western.

The Fillmore & Western Railway Co. is a low-key, modest train depot 60 miles North of Los Angeles, off of Freeway 126, but to any resonant rail fan like my son, it’s nothing short of pure paradise.

After hearing the exciting news that Fillmore & Western acquired the 1913 2-8-0 Baldwin Steam Locomotive #14 late last year, I’d been checking their website constantly for a chance to get Greg on board.

Sadly we’d missed the few rare excursions on Christmas and this year’s Railfest, but crossed our fingers for the next time(s). Then, just by chance, I visited their website this week and discovered they were indeed running steam August 6th and 7th! I bought tix immediately and prepared for an awesome adventure.

I was actually expecting a large crowd to be there that morning. After seeing the immensely large turnout at National Train Day 2011 at the Union Station downtown, I thought the same kind of flock would be waiting at F&W. But instead, it was totally mellow, which was a happy shock to me—I don’t really like crowds. Remember, I’m a Scorpio.

Thanks to endless reruns of Matt Bown’s Extreme Trains DVD (specifically the Steam Train episode featuring Union Pacific’s #844), I’d known that it several hours to prepare a steam train for an excursion, so I knew the #14 had to be coming to life somewhere. As Mr. Bown puts it, “Starting [a] giant locomotive is like waking a sleeping dragon.” I scanned the tracks, and sure enough, there it was tucked away in the distance, with steam slowly bellowing from its stack. It was an awesome sight to behold.

We were scheduled to depart at 11:30, and shortly after 11, Baldwin #14 pulled up to the station. The telltale clanging of a steam engine’s bell upon arrival has got to be one the most haunting sounds ever. Since the Baldwin’s construction in 1913, I can’t even imagine how many people have heard its bell, and what kind of stories are associated with it. Believe me, I drown in the possibilities. Here was that epic moment. This, coincidentally, is also the very first video I’ve ever uploaded to YouTube. History in the making, folks.

Up close, the locomotive was a feast for all five senses, and conjured up even more senses I was previously unaware of. Here was a genuine, living and breathing testament of American struggle and triumph—an iron-clad icon of the perseverance of time and tradition. There was a distinct, pungent smell of water vapor, oil and greased steel which defined this dragon; an aroma all its own—several times more imposing than the trains of Disneyland ever wafted forth. See how Greg coughed towards the end of the clip? That was it. Even at rest, this beautiful beast hissed and churned with a burning heart.

We had reserved a spot in the vintage Dining Car for our lunch, and it too had more than enough vintage décor to write home about—especially, for one, the series of antique fans gently cooling the car. It was pretty cool and comfy in there for a hot day, and I wondered if that was indeed due to the fans or a hidden upgraded modern air conditioning unit.

Greg, meanwhile, was so excited to be on board, that only after a couple of minutes he shifted uneasily in his seat, pleading “Aren’t we gonna go yet?” I had to explain to him that trains leave exactly on schedule. “See? It’s 11:26, Greg,” I showed him on my iPhone. “We’re leaving at 11:30. So that means in four minutes.” He seemed to calm slightly, calculating the exact duration of four minutes in his head.

When we finally got going, the sequence of two long whistles signaling the train releasing brakes and proceeding sent chills up my spine, as the entire train tugged forth in a groaning symphony of squealing metal bearings and creaking wood joints. Greg’s eyes flew wide open and his jaw dropped when he heard the sound and felt the pull. His dream of riding a real old, real big steam locomotive had finally come true.

Photo ©2011 by John A. Shaw

Speaking of train whistles, I could never fully describe the particular melancholy feeling I’ve always associated with them and why they have such an effect, but after reading this Wikipedia article I now know why. Some excerpts from the page:

“In popular and folk culture, train whistles are often associated with loneliness or hard luck, because of the association of trains with transients and hobos who often wait outside the train station and run and jump on to ride the railcars as they just begin moving out of the station. The book Hear That Lonesome Whistle Blow is an example.”

“Furthermore, minor chords (like that of a train whistle) are said to have a melancholy sound…Additionally, steam whistles (the traditional sounding mechanism of train whistles) tend to waver in pitch, and thus make more of a crying or wailing sound, that further adds to the lonesome nature of the shrill steam whistle.”

“Lastly, train stations were (and, to some degree still are) associated with the departure of loved ones, and the sadness of saying goodbye. To the extent that the sound of a steam train whistle is unique, and somewhat symbolic of long distance travel, it has come to contextualize itself as mournful and melancholy as this three-chime steam train whistle.”

Exactly. But for me, also, the whistle symbolizes both a departure and discovery. Saying goodbye but also saying hello to a new world, previously unreachable and uncharted. Once again, I asked myself, “How many people have heard that whistle…and how many tears have come with it?”

Click here for Part 2 of this story.