The Queen of Steam, the Norfolk & Western 611

Early on Saturday morning Steve arrived at Meadow House and we drove to Marshall diner for breakfast. We hurriedly gobbled it down as we had an appointment with a very important train that was running thrown my small town. We rushed to the level crossing, parked Stuart, and walked down the tracks so the old landmark grain tower would provide a suitable backdrop. And we waited. I was very excited and immensely relieved to be set up before the locomotive arrived. I had my G15 set up on a tripod for video and my Sony was ready to roll too.
And then we heard her, a shrill whistle in the distance got everyone in their places with necks craning for the first glimpse. The barriers came down over the crossing and then we heard a deep rumble of a steam engine. Dark grey plumes of smoke could be seen puffing above the tree tops and suddenly a bright headlight flashed into view. More piercing whistles shrilled from the train and all I could do was stare with incredulous awe at this magnificent beast bearing down on us. And then the most wonderful sound of all, the slowing down of the engine. It was stopping! Stopping here in my little town of Marshall! Right next to the feed mill tower. I was almost in tears, completely bowed by this majestic spectacle and so profoundly grateful that I was experiencing this moment.

The Norfolk and Western Class J was the most powerful passenger train ever built. One of only 14,  the 611 was built in 1950. She worked for over 3 million miles but was retired in 1957 due to diesel becoming a cheaper fuel. She belongs to the Virginia Museum of Transportation and is a static display there. She then pulled excursions for over 20 years before being retired again in 1994, and returning once more to be displayed at the museum in Roanoke. She hasn't been running for over 20 years so this weekend was a historic moment, a unique opportunity to see this monumental engine running in all her fully restored glory.
The 611 stopped at Marshall for a full 5 minutes blowing steam and smoke from every orifice and blasting her whistle, giving her spectators a never to be forgotten show. I had goosebumps as I stood and stared up at her in complete adoration. It was actually really hard work to put myself behind the viewfinder of my camera and concentrate on taking photos that I would likely never have the opportunity to take again.
And then with a long loud shrill, she started chugging slowly forward, and I reached out to stroke her cardinal red and gold stripe that runs down her side. I waved at the driver and yelled out a thank you, then stood back to watch her pick up speed and round the corner out of sight.
We moved fast then, picking up tripods and camera bags, rushing for the car. We were on a high after our experience and laughed and shouted as we quickly walked, marveling at what we had just witnessed. There were many cars that had been held up on the crossing and as we drove down Main Street, I had never seen so many vehicles in Marshall before. We were soon on Rte 55 racing toward Markham, following a line of other cars with the same idea in mind.
We saw the smoke in the distance above the tree tops and heard her whistle. With windows down we tore along the country road, breathing in the wonderful smell of coal and watching a helicopter above us that weaved back and forth across the tracks.

We manged to draw level with her a few times and watched as she raced under bridges and across roads, with folks lining the tracks waving furiously and snapping photos. And then she veered off to the right and we knew we'd have time to beat her to Markham as the tracks took her on a detour through the countryside.
We got to Markham and quickly got set up by the tracks again; this time we were actually lower than the railway so she was going to look huge as she came by. Once again we heard her whistle and then saw her headlight on her bullet nose coming close. But now her engine was racing, she wasn't going to stop. The 611 came thundering through the tiny village, dwarfing the old abandoned train depot. The sheer force of her blasting past us nearly knocked me off my feet. It was sensational, the noise, the smell, the sheer hugeness of this intoxicating metallic beast. I drank in and relished every second of her passing. And then suddenly she was gone. Steve and I just stood grinning widely at each other. What a ride! And we hadn't even been on the train. I was euphoric! We had been extremely fortunate to have experienced 2 thrilling moments. We loaded our equipment back into Stuart and then headed for a beer, eager to look through our photos and video footage. What a morning!

 We drove down to Manassas later hoping to see her but she was tucked away safely in the Norfolk Southern yard, so after chatting to a few rail fanners there we headed back to our homes.
Next morning I was on my own but undaunted I drove back into town to see the Steam Queen pass through Marshall again.

But this morning she didn't stop, and barely slowed down. Smoke and steam billowed as her whistle shrieked a 'So long!' and she was gone. I rushed for Stuart as others leaped into their cars and the chase was on once more. This time I was heading for Linden where the 611 passed under a bridge. There were already quite a few folks there but I still managed to grab some shots and video.

She barreled beneath us, spouting her black smoke and whistling, enveloping us all in the thick cloud, and we laughed with each other as we became coated in a fall out of tiny coal particles.
And then I drove to Rectortown to catch her on her return trip. I arrived there to find just one other person waiting by his tripod and we struck up a conversation. John and I patiently waited a good 45 minutes and by then a small crowd of others had turned up.

I got one good photo as I crouched down low by the track and then jumped into Stuart to race into Manassas. The station was very busy when I arrived and I couldn't believe my luck when I immediately found a parking space. Huge crowds lined both sides of the tracks and the air was humid. We all waited in the glaring sun, ears listening out for that now familiar whistle. At last she came, trundling slowly round the corner but still making an impressive entrance with shrieks and chugs , spouting dark, thick smoke continuously.

This is my favorite photo of her. What a beautiful countenance, noble yet also somehow sinister with her shiny black paint and chromed accessories. Rivulets of steam running down, streaking the coal dust after her work out. I had to just stand and stare for a while. I'd been so excited yesterday seeing her that I couldn't stand still, but today after having chased her up and down Rte 55 for the past two days, I felt more familiar with her and could now just stand and marvel at her majestic magnificence as she towered above me. I walked slowly up and down inspecting every nook and cranny, relishing the this opportunity to not rush my photography. What a bewitching piece of engineering.

Driving back from Manassas I decided to stop at Marshall one last time but had to return to Rectortown as I'd placed a quarter on the track for the 611 to squash but had forgotten to pick it up. Bill called and met me out there.

A last photo as she hammered around the corner and was gone.
Bill and I drove to Fox Meadow Winery, relaxing outside with a bottle of red wine, cheese and crackers, chatting about our experience with the 611. I heard her whistle in the distance, on her final leg back to Manassas, and had to resist the urge to leap to my feet and dash after her. I felt a twinge of regret as I suppressed myself, but thought, no, it's time to relax. And silently bid the Queen of Steam a silent adieu.
I did shoot some video footage of the 611 with my G15 but the poor soundcard really couldn't handle her shrieking and engine noise so on some parts of the video it sounds like the speakers have blown out!
The video of the 611 at the locations we chased her to is here.
A wonderful link about the 611 is here.

The Washington Post Hunt 2015

Sunday was promising to be a hot and sticky day but I'd promised Richard that I would be on his team for the Washington Post Hunt so I headed down to a stifling DC. We met at Teaism for brunch, an excellent call, as a large mug of my favorite tea, Lapsang Souchong,  soon had me in a great mood and ready to roll.

I met the rest of the team as they arrived and immediately liked Chris as he sat down with his breakfast of beer. I quickly looked at the clock, 10:30am. Respect! He informed me as I grinned at him that he was suffering from a hangover and needed 'the hair of the dog'.
We all finished our fuel filled breakfasts and went to the starting point of the hunt where we picked up a tote and a copy of the Sunday Post magazine.

We were also told that bottles of water were being handed out from here all day too, a very much appreciated gesture, as the sn was already burning. For some reason Kohler, one of the sponsors, was there with an expansive display of toilets, and everyone was herded towards the steps so we could admire the pots before we started the hunt. We complied, just to get out of the heat for a few seconds.

A lot of folks had dressed up in team outfits. I really like the tutus which seem to be very popular these days. We discussed this might be the way to go next year, not necessarily tutus, although I'd love to see Richard in one.

And then the boys came out on stage, Dave Barry, Tom Schroder and Gene Weingarten, the founders of the game.

Everyone quietened down and listened intently as the locations for the 5 clues were given, and then we were off. Although I do have to say, it wasn't a great rush like the last time I'd played. People were already struggling with the heat, and I was glad of my baseball cap and suncream.

We marched over to the park to try and solve our first clue, passing this ghastly memorial with it's gigantic cherubs, completely out of proportion to the other figures standing close by. We stood in the beating sun and listened hard as the first clue played out. And nothing. We all blurted out little bits of possible answers while the others shook their heads. We just couldn't come up with anything that we all agreed on, so we walked to the next part.

A humungous nose was parked on the grass, apparently a replica of Gene Weingarten's honker that had been sized down, or so we were later told.  Each team was handed a pin with the words, FIND ME, and we solved that part using our map and ended up in another park where we received a handout that allowed us to solve the rest of the puzzle. Result!

Blissfully unaware of the total chaos that surrounded him, this homeless guy slept throughout the bedlam of the Hunt, while others regarded us with bemused or surprised expressions as we charged en masse past their benches.

We were supposed to find a hidden number on a link that took us to a 360° view of a DC street. We failed miserably on this as we peered at screens on our phones..

This guy walked past us and stood on the street corner slowly looking around him. We stared at him wondering if he was part of a clue, but then he walked off back in the direction he had come from. We had no idea what he was about but had no further time to ponder as a bus arrived and we hopped on, heading back to a park we'd come from earlier.

The park was quite a few blocks away and we couldn't resist the luxury of sitting down in the wonderfully cool AC even if it was only for a few minutes.

I prayed fervently for this fool's jeans to drop to the floor but alas, it wasn't to be. Richard informed me that he must have been wearing suspenders.

As we leaped off the bus I loved the dappled shadows playing in this alleyway and quickly snapped a shot.

We spent ages looking for this white van and was relieved to find it eventually, giving us the number to the last clue, the last piece in the very first clue we'd been trying to solve. And then it was time to head back to the stage to hear the final clue, but really we hadn't been able to solve enough to proceed at this point.

Groucho Marx walked out with a scary looking clown, which I thought was Pennywise from Stephen King's 'It', but afterwards we discovered that it was actually supposed to be Bozo.
We'd given up at this point so decided to get some cold refreshment until the answers would be revealed to us at 4.

Richard and I enjoying our watermelon Bomb Pop popsicles. They were so delicious that we contemplated getting another but the stage called to us again and we trudged over and stood in the searing heat and listened to how the clues played out. I hung my head as I realized that I would never have solved all those puzzles on my own, and we hadn't really got that close as a team. but it had been fun trying, and that's what it was all about, the thrill of the chase, with a lot of laughter along the way.

The website, including the solutions, so you can see just how damn difficult it is, is here.
To celebrate our afternoon of fun we felt we deserved some beer but our hot little feet and tired legs didn't want to stagger too far so we trudged into a very posh hotel called The Willard. In our sweaty t-shirts we marched quickly to the back Round Robin bar where us and a few others in casual dress manged to outnumber those dressed elegantly, so we didn't feel too uncomfortable then.

Karen and I were enchanted with a couple over the other side of the bar, very obviously in love and dressed beautifully in old fashioned evening wear. I managed to get a photo without them noticing and we wondered if they were on a first date or had been in a wonderfully happy marriage for years.
I stayed for a couple of beers and then left my buddies to continue the fun, and prepare for the next year of diabolical questions!