Rolling

Rolling out of Cumberland, I started thinking about Bristol- the two towns could be twins. Deserted, desolate, obsolete. Like Bristol, Cumberland has the austere beauty of rust and decay. It's the girl who never left town, grown old and forgotten, but still wistfully reminiscent of her former beauty.
Mose looked out the window, dead serious. Little churches and iron bridges rolled by, sattelites of the desolate center point. It looked like an Arlo Guthrie song, steep inclines and gravel, grey-white pavement and dump trucks in front of the early changing leaves.

Both lost in our thoughts, our meditation was broken by the static-y narration of the engineer. We knew the route pretty well already, so the inaudibility of the announcements didn't affect us. The conductor came into our car, and Mose & I shot each other a look; he's right out of "The Polar Express", down to the details of his wardrobe. He silently punched our tickets as the mighty engine pulled us upward.

Along the route, there were plenty of people who sat out on this cool September Saturday to watch the train go by. At a couple of points, there were folks in the woods with lawn chairs set up, and they smiled and waved as we passed.

I asked Moses how he like it so far. He said great.

We sat quietly again for a while, watching the scenery. One time, I noticed his head bobbing slightly, then, he was out. It's like his switch was thrown. I pulled him onto my lap and snapped a photo.

I sat thinking about him, and about me, as well as about my own father. He snored quietly, the little bear. The train pulled into the frostburg station, which was our turnaround point. Like a duffel bag, I manuvered the sleeper through the aisle, and down the steps. Everyone who saw me smiled; some whispered "too exciting?" or something along those lines.
As I came around the depot, there was the mighty Mountain Thunder thrumming and hissing, heated up from the long pull up the incline. I didn't want to wake Moses, but at the same time, didn't want him to miss this moment with his object du obession.
I sat him gently on a park bench and watched his reaction. As he came to, he stared at the steam engine in repose, he looked around to get his bearings and said "Dad, there she is" he always refers to mountain Thunder as "she".

We posed for a picture or two, then went to buy a box lunch from the nice ladies who sell them by the depot steps. We joined some other train enthusiasts as we dined on turkey sandwiches, just yards from the giant machine. After a while, a bell rang, and the engine pulled forward onto the turntable, where it spun around more than once, which seemed as much for effect as for utility.

Pretty soon, we re-boarded, but not before we stopped back by the nice ladies' table for a pack of cookies for the long ride down the mountain back to cumberland.