Our Family was a GM family. . .

Dad's new 1965 Pontiac Bonneville, our new home in Littleton, Colorado, and five-year-old me.

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It's been hard to wrap my mind around the idea that industrial behemoth General Motors indeed has gone bankrupt. Sure, it'll survive, hopefully in a leaner, more market-responsive manner, but the very idea of GM broke and unable to continue operation without government assistance just shatters another one of the absolutes held dear to American life--that the corporation was so strong and vital it wouldn't be allowed to fail.

My father grew up in Michigan, so even if there was the option to buy foreign back then (there wasn't), I'm sure he wouldn't have even considered it. For most of my father's car-ownership years, he was a GM man. Pontiacs, mostly, and Buicks. He made fun of a neighbor who was the first one we knew who bought a Volkswagen ("it make's Harry's house look bigger when he parks it outside. It'll make his head look bigger, too!").

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He was one of those guys on a first-name basis with his local dealer, and a customer each year for a new car when the new model lines were introduced. And purchase off the lot? Not on your life. Dad took advantage of the options and customizations once possible, paid his deposit, then waited for the word that his new car had arrived. I remember one Sunday in the late 1960s where we took a drive out to the rail yard in Denver where new cars were delivered as dad tracked down his new Buick Riviera--gold, with a tan leather interior. I remember him climbing up on the side of the freight car to check out his latest purchase. A few days later, he brought it home, complete with a "Built Especially For Lou Kooistra" plaque on the glovebox door.

My mom, but 24-years-old, with Dad's new 1951 Buick Special, resplendent in "Barton Grey" paint.

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In the 70s, dad's District Manager job provided him with a company car, and he tried out a few new brands--Chevy (a Monte Carlo which eventually became my first--and only--GM car when I purchased it second hand) and Ford (LTD, metallic light green--very 70s). We owned a bright-red 1972 Mustang for a while, but that was "mom's car". Actually, it was my sister's, that she shouldn't have purchased anyway, but dumped it for a Jeep Renegade--my Dad just couldn't let that sporty Mustang go, so he bought it for mom.

Later on, dad had a penchant for Chryslers. He wasn't a "Chrysler guy," though, but a man of the "grey flannel suit" post-war corporate America era, he admired successful businessmen, so when Lee Iacocca rode to the rescue of Chrysler, I think he was inclined to give Chrysler a try, owning a number of LeBaron convertables.

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Dad never owned an import. He doesn't drive anymore. Dad's in a nursing home, the LeBaron in the garage of the house he doesn't live in anymore. My sisters and I will be selling both soon. It was Dad's last car, and it was American-built. Dad was the sort of loyal buyer GM and Ford and Chrysler wish they still had. But those kind of buyers are customers from another era, when brand loyalty often trumped quality and price.

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Dad and the Detroit Big Three belonged to an age of absolutes. But nothing is absolute anymore. Not even the survival of an industrial behemoth like GM.

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Buick sold 405,000 Specials like this one in 1951. Dad owned one of them. He was just a youngster of 26 at the time.

OZ Day 11: Busy Port Botany, Running On Bylong

9:32am: First train of the day: P&O Transport Australia trip train T280 with former CFCLA 4477 and leased CFCLA KL81 at Mascot siding. This train originated at the warehouse terminal at Yennora, on the city's west side, and was the first of three trains in a row from suburban container terminals bound for the docks.

Tuesday, April 21: Time was winding down on our Australian vacation; we'd allocated 2 1/2 days at the tail-end of the trip in Sydney. Of course, this wasn't enough, so we tried to pack as much into the final few days as we could.

From a rail photography standpoint, the main attraction was the amazing array of diesel-electric locomotives to be found working in the metropolitian area. Many of the cast-off old locos sold by the state railway in 1994 are still in use, either owned by some of the smaller rail operators or leased by CFCLA or rail heritage groups for continued use. And there's no better place to see them than the freight-only rail lines between Chullora/Enfield and Port Botany, where "trip trains" shuttle between the loading docks and container terminals on the fringes of Sydney.

We left the motel in Enfield around 8am, and negotiated surface streets to the Sydney International Airport, which the Port Botany goods line skirts on the north-east side. Goods trains are "curfewed" from traveling over CityRail's passenger lines until after rush-hour ends at 9am; freight carriers have until 3pm to get their trains across the passenger network, so that results in a lot of concentrated freight traffic during late morning and early afternoon. For a while, we were joined by railfan Paul Bartle, passing the time between trains discussing the strengths and weaknesses of Cricket vs. Baseball and dodging a brief rain shower now and then.


1023am: Our second train, T182, this one operated by Southern Shorthaul Railroad behind a pair of former Commonwealth Railway GM-class EMD bulldogs, GM27/GM22. This train came from the cramped container terminal at Sandown, north-east of Paramatta.


1023am: Going away view of the two classy GM's.


1031am: Right behind the SSR train comes Independent Railway of Australia's T250, a Minto-Port Botany service. This train is operated with power at both ends to expedite movement in and out of the port. Up front, leased Lachlan Valley 47 Class Goninan-Hitach 4703 in a grafitti-covered one-off green and yellow paint job (and four thumbs-up from the crew!). . .

. . .and on the rear, a leased Hunter Valley Railway Trust 44 class Goodwin-Alco cab unit, 4461 in another unique scheme, called the "Blood and Custer." IRA leases a number of "rent a wreck" 47 and 44 class units (at least 5 of the rare 44 class units currently).

1102am: Outbound from Botany, another example of IRA's motive power, a transfer move to the nearby Cooks River container terminal with MZ class 1433 up front. These are Swedish-built, 645 V20 EMD-powered units purchased secondhand from the Danish State Railways in 2006.

1115am: And unexpected move, Pacific National DL47, which we'd photographed a few days earlier on the 1871 freight, outbound from Port Botany. No telling who was the operator of this move.

1125am: And on his block, two more DL's, 46/49, likely a PatrickPortlink shuttle to Chulorra.

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After this group of trains, we decided to go explore the Port, as best we could. Botany road provides an excellent platform to photograph movements from three tracks serving the port: the west and middle tracks are loaded directly from alongside ship berths; the east track serves another container yard served by trucks draying containers off the dock. We parked the Mitsubishi in a vacant lot at the base of the bridge, and headed up the convienent sidewalk and took in the action. We weren't disappointed.

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1210pm: Immediately we were rewarded with the P&OTA train, pulling a string of container flats off the east track, the KL81 leading on this move. After clearing the crossovers, this train then shoved across and out of view down the west lead onto the docks. . .

1245pm: IRA's 1433 had returned from Cooks River with another string of cars for unloading, and shoved them down the west lead as well, stopping just as the POTA train reemerged from around the corner with the return loading for Yennora. . .

1258pm: Meanwhile, from the north side of the Botany Road overbridge, yet another movement shoved back to take the place on the east track vacated by the POTA train earlier. This appeared to be the Coote Industrial train from Sandgate terminal near Newcastle, powered by an all-green 80S1/442S5/RL306 power set--two Alcos and an 3500 hp EMD-power unit built by Morrison-Knudsen Australia and Rail Technical Support.

104pm: What of the middle track? As soon as Coote cleared the middle lead, out came CFCLA 44206 employed by. . . anyone? Beats us. So, Coote departed; 44206 makes a switching move, IRA waits for departure. . .

108pm: and in on one of the west lead tracks comes our Southern Shorthaul train, having run around its cars and now shoving back onto the loading dock. Three trains in one shot, two of them moving. Not bad for a cramped little facility. . .

109pm: Our SSR train kept shoving past the idling IRA Cooks River trip train. . . creating an amazing confluence symbolic of the world-wide influence EMD had in railroading: a bulldog GM from western Australia rubbing elbows with a Swedish/Danish import on the docks of Sydney. It's a small world, afterall!

After this little one-hour spooge-fest of highly-concentrated rail photography, we figured we'd done pretty good. We repaired to the nearby Maccas adjacent to Sydney's airport--the most amazing, high-tech McDonalds one could ever imagine--to check my laptop (did I mention Macca's had free wi-fi and I was now able to unlock the "magic box" of train information Charlie was using?) and grab a bite to eat. Clouds were now taking hold of much of the sky, and Lance and I thought we'd spend the afternoon driving out to Yenorra to see if and CLF/CLP class actually existed or not. While dining, of course, yet another IRA train neared the port, powered by yet another MZ class and. . . two of the most clapped-out, scabby-looking 44 class units one could imagine. One was the 4458, the other remains a mystery; one clad in dark-blue and white paint, the other in a tattered remnant of the "candy" paint. We were unable to get a photo of this sorry excuse for a locomotive consist, however, and headed west toward Yennora.

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353pm: The light wasn't getting any better. Clouds grew thicker, and we decided we'd make a "hit and run" attack on the QRNational operation at Yennora. QRN operates Sydney-Brisbane services in both direction three times a week, with Sydney blocks generated from the container ramps at Yennora switched into these trains. Yennora was once the Sydney area's big wool market; now it's a big complex of warehouses spliced by a handful of half-mile-long tracks served by straddle loaders. We drove into the facility, in and between the warehouse buildings, dodging straddle-cranes straining with containers in their maws, looking for the power used on the Broadmeadow-Yennora transfers which handle the Sydney traffic. Success! CLP11/13--both in QRN paint--and freshly-painted QRN X54 were parked next to a warehouse. We got out and ambushed them--nowhere did we see no trespassing signs--and quickly departed. The 4477/KL81 off the POTA service were parked at the south end of the terminal. We headed back towards our motel, stopping en route at a work clothes store to load up on the high-visibility shirts that are all the rage among the working-class in Australia.

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Long-time operators and mates: L-R James McInerney, Keiran Ryan, Ray Cunningham, Gary Laker, just a few of the "Ramblers" operating Ray Pilgrim's Bylong railway.

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The Visit to Bylong. .

The evening agenda was a traditional Australian "Sunday Dinner" at the Pilgrim's place in Menai, followed by a running session on Ray's beautiful Bylong layout, joined by his round-robin group "The Ramblers." Despite the rush-hour traffic getting out of the city, we still arrived nearly on time for dinner, a lamb roast, potatoes, pumpkin and a delicious pie. It was first-rate, and reminded me that it'd been awhile since I'd eaten lamb (my Mom used to serve lambchops pretty regularly while I was growing up).

A dozen of us showed up to operate Ray's railroad, the first such running night he'd had in a couple of years. For the most part, the night went quite smoothly, though some of us (I'm not naming names) fell behind on their schedules. Not I, I'll gladly proclaim--as the driver of a goods train guarded by James McInerney, he cracked the whip on the Yank to keep the schedule! On one hand, the session reinforced the decision I'd made to build an Australian-based model railway. The level of operation, despite the warnings of the "leading lights" of US model railroading that Australian railroading didn't have enough "switching" or "interchange" opportunities to be interesting to US modelers, is more than enough to keep crews entertained. But the flip side of this is that Australian railways operate in such an entirely different manner than US railways do, and the challenge to "get it right" for me will have to extend to my US operators even more ignorant of Aussie operations than I am. And right now, I'm at the bottom of an amazingly steep learning curve.

Ray and Chris' hospitality, once more, made Lance and I feel like longtime friends, and for that we're both grateful and humbled. The bull session with the rest of the Ramblers around the dining room table was not much different than our own Pie Night experiences. It was a great ending to a very fulfilling day.

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A view that hardly does justice to Ray's beautiful Bylong railway: Goods train and 620/720 rail motor set. . .

New King of the Road for Assholes!

The boobs aren't the only thing here that are fake. . .
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I make no bones about my contempt for the American Asshole. It's the American Asshole who is the Poster Boy for everything that is going wrong in this world. Greedy. Self-centered. "Fuck You" to the rest of the world. The kind of guy who is all attitude and stunted maturity.

Really. Who actually NEEDS a Hummer? Besides the military, that is (and if could be argued that the Willy's Jeep was actually a far more cost-effective, durable machine). And they really only need that when they're off on overseas adventures, either preserving our freedom or taking away someone else's.

It's not just the Hummer driver who embodies the American Asshole. I also lump the Mid-Life-Crisis Corvette owners, guys who put those ridiculous big wheel/thin tires on their four-door sedans, and the Chrysler 300 Hemi owners as well. And anyone who thinks a "pissing Calvin" sticker on the rear window is radical, man.

Yeh, American Asshole. We get the idea. You're an American. You can do whatever the hell you want. No matter the consequences. Fuck the rest of us. You'll pollute us with your CO2, you'll burn up far more fossil fuel than one person should deserve to, you'll force us to listen to your loud (chrome-plated) exhausts--and your stereo. Your girlfriends have fake tits, your resumes have fake achievements, and your favorite athletes are steroid cheaters.

I'm sure you'd all love to show us your penises, but I'm guessing the size of the truck means you're overcompensating about your inadequacies in that department.

These Assholes: I'm tired of 'em. I'd go kick their asses if I wasn't afraid they'd shoot me with their concealed-weapon-permitted handgun.

But we're in a new era here in America. The Hummer has been villified as one of the money-losers for GM. . .and it's become passe. What will take its place? Not a foreign vehicle, I can assure you.

Meet the Ford F650. An Asshole Mobile for a new generation!

This thing is really more small semi-truck than pickup. But don't let that stop folks with money from customizing it into something overly flashy and highly offensive to all sense of propriety.
It's powered by a 325hp 6.7 litre Cummins diesel. And tricked-out, it'll cost you at least $100K.

And who has that kind of money anymore, but athletes or rap artists. You can pick up a nice used one--nothing fancy, just a King cab with a pick-up bed) for around $45K. That's about reasonable. The perfect machine to fly your rebel flag off the back of.

Check out the linked website for some amazing ways to spend good money on a flashy, blingy toy. Stuff like this used to make us the envy of the world. Now I'm thinking it's making us the laughing stock.

Me? I'm keeping my 1997 Honda CR-V with 130,000 miles on it. It'll fit in my garage, and for now at least, I can afford the gasoline. And most folks don't think I'm much of a self-centered asswipe when I drive it, either.

This about sums it up: God, the Flag, an obscenely huge pickup truck. All that's missing is the gun in the glovebox to scare homosexuals with.


SAD DAY IN TENNIS. . .
I'd never heard of Simona Halep before visiting Deadspin today, and I don't follow tennis, so I'd have no idea she won her match in the second round of the French open. Let's hope her operation makes her a better tennis player (and doesn't take away too many commercial sponsorship offers). And leave it to the Brits to put a Page Six spin (complete with video) on the story. . .

Meanwhile, the predominant male 18-45 demographic is letting out a collective "Noooooo!!!"

WHY MEN ARE NEVER DEPRESSED

Got this in the mail last night:

Men Are Just Happier People-- What do you expect from such simple creatures?
Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
Chocolate is just another snack.
You can be President.
You can never be pregnant.
You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
You can wear NO shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
The world is your urinal.
You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
Same work, more pay.
Wrinkles add character.
Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental-$100.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
One mood all the time.
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all your own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack..
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
You only have to shave your face and neck.
You can play with toys all your life.
One wallet and one pair of shoes -- one color for all seasons.
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.
You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes..

No wonder men are happier.

OZ Day 10: Once more on the Main South; rugby on a rainy night in Sydney. . .

The sunlight barely held on for the shot at Oolong. . .
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Monday, April 20: So, we'll give this Main South thing one more try. Skunked the day before from getting not only the QR National train with CL's up front (they finally passed through Gunning westbound around 5am!), but the weather sucked, too.

So, this morning it's nice and clear, and we have two eastbound coming our way out of Cootamundra. Granted, they're the usual, garden-variety chunder-inducing Pacific National container and steel trains, meaning they'll be powered by the most-stupefyingly dull power you can find in Australia, a pair of NR class (this would be like going to the Union Pacific in the mid-1980s and finding--gasp!--SD40-2's). But, at least we'll have some trains headed our way into the sun.

The first train we set up for just west of Gunning at Oolong, where the railroad negotiates a tight horseshoe curve and comes under an overbridge. We set up, the sun looks good. Train arrives--with the expected dull-ass NR's up front in bleached-out National Rail paint--and sun dips behind a cloud just as he gets in range.
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Not to miss: The Naughty sign near Yass. . .

We retire to the Merino Cafe for brekkie--I had an early lunch, actually, and got into the spirit of the area with lamb on pita bread--and then head west to Yass Jct. for the second train. But first things first: we stop to take a shot of the delightfully-naughty (for pervos like us) Macca's sign declaring "MYass, Open 24 hours". Then we wait for the eastbound, a PacNational steel train bound for Port Kembla behind. . .a pair of NR's! At least the trailing one is in Indian-Pacific paint. We follow this train east, shooting it coming past the blades at Jerrawa, at Gunning, and at a pair of locations climbing over the Cullerin Range. It's really just an exercise in "we were there" rather than inspired rail photography. The sun comes and goes, it spits a bit of rain, and then goes into the clouds to stay; we decide to head east for an appointment in Wollongong.
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Eastbound steel train leaves Yass Junction: two NR's. Ho-hum. . .

. . .and again at Jerrawa, past more semaphores. . .

. . an climbing towards the summit near Cullerin. . .

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Charlie and Paul will be returning home after a week with Lance and I. We've been invited to visit Andreas Keller's place in Wollongong, see his model railway, and then Lance will head out with Charlie and Paul and bring them home. I'll go into Sydney with Rick Schoenfelder where we'll somehow get to Leichhardt Oval, a classic old rugby field on the northwest side of downtown near Rozelle, where we'll catch the evening National Rugby League match between Wests Tigers and the Melbourne Storm.

First, we must get to Wollongong, and we head out of Moss Vale on a narrow 2-lane highway that at times is hairpin-upon-hairpin. How commercial trucks can meet on this grade is beyond me: some curves are restriced to 15km/h! It reminds me of that popular Powerpoint show of the outrageously narrow and dangerous highway across the Andes mountains--the kind where big rocks are used as guardrails! It isn't quite that narrow, but it IS impressive, and precipitous. The road widens halfway down--a point the highway department is proud to declare with roadsigns. It's a beautiful ride if you don't have to drive. Thankfully, Lance did little rubbernecking.

One of the faster curves: that 25km/h, NOT mph. . .

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We meet up with John Wilson, Andreas and Rick, and head to Andreas' place, where he shows off his fine-looking and smooth-operating HO layout: three 2' X 15' or so decks stacked atop each other, connected by a double helix in a crawlspace behind the garage. He's also kind enough to show off several of his exquisite models, several of which were entirely scratchbuilt from resin parts cast from his masters. The guy is a monster when it comes to modelling.

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Just a small portion of Andreas' layout. Here's more

And Andreas' helix. For some reason, he says, folks like to look at the helix as much as the "front" of the layout! Having built a helix, I know I do!

The stadium at the end of the street: sorta like Fenway. . .

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A Rugby Match!

Lance and Paul and Charlie took off for the big city, and Rick and I caught a train from "the Gong" into Sydney, up the spectacular route along the Tasman sea. Amazing piece of railway! Tunnels, curves, coal mines, views of crashing surf. Then suburban stations, multiple mainlines, flying junctions, commuter trains three-abreast pacing each other into Sydney Central. We arrived at rush hour, hastily leaving Central and walked across the street to catch a bus to the Leichhardt neighborhood--we hoped. Several folks were wearing Wests Tigers jerseys and such, so we figured if we'd follow them we'd somehow get there. Rick just happened to have a large purple Melbourne Storm banner with him, probably something you don't travel all the way from Newman with unless you think you'll be going to a Storm match.

Leichhardt is a classic old downdown stadium, set down in a working-class neighborhood. I kind of equate it to a Wrigley Field without the Yuppies or Fenway Park without a green monster. A new grandstand replaced an older wood structure that was torn down after termites devoured much of it. We walk from the bus several blocks past houses in an older neighborhood. The crowd is excited for their teams, boisterous, but tolerant as well. One group of fans I photograph turn out to be from Corvallis, Oregon. Fancy that.

We purchase bleacher seating for $25/seat. It's general admission, sold from a trailer. The stadium is old and has lots of character. The men's bathrooms are in a tunnel reached from the end zone area. Those without seats in the fancy new grandstand sit on old wooden benches (how old? We saw several of them collapse under a guy who weighed considerably less than I do)ringing the other 3/4 of the field; above the dozen or so rows of benches is a large grassy area where others stand or sit on blankets. A temporary JumboTron is set up. There's one scoreboard, and it's manually operated. From a Major U.S. Sports perspective, the place reminds one of what the NFL must've been like in the 1930s--or what urban high school football is like in many places today. The atmosphere was similar: dimly lit, with cheerleaders, a loud, makeshift PA system, and players who enter the field bursting through a big banner. One interesting aspect of Australian sport: bookies are allowed to take bets right on the ground, from a booth set up inside the entrance. Try THAT, NFL!
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Leichhardt has the feeling of a hardscrabble urban high school football stadium. . .

Being this close to the action is part of the place's appeal. . .

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Leichhardt isn't Wests Tigers primary stadium; they play only three games a year here, the rest in suburban Campbelltown. Ten years ago, the Balmain Tigers called this place home, but slumping economics in National Rugby League--despite its "national" name, its teams primarily play in New South Wales--forced Balmain to merge with rival Western Sydney Magpies, creating the Wests Tigers. But Leichhardt is still near and dear to rugby fans, who are closer to the action here than in any other field in the league. It is definately not a fancy place to play. It's down and dirty and honest, which you can't say about many football fields in the U.S. anymore.

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The single Jumbotron is brought in for the game; most of the 12,000 spectators sat on a grassy hill.

None of those NFL pussies playing here!

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I was only vaguely familiar with rugby, my limited exposure to it largely coming from watching club games in college, where rugby was largely an athletic competition used as an excuse to party after the game. (For a full discussion of NRL and how their game differs from other forms of rugby, go here.) Suffice it to say, though, that Rick was right about pro rugby: it makes the NFL look like a bunch of effite, panty-waist, overpaid pampered wussies. NRL is played all-out for the full game, end to end, and apart from a half-time, non-stop. There's no blocking--it's you and the ball and a wall of guys in front of you wanting to mash your face into the turf.

This evening, it was wet turf. It began sprinkling, and then, for a bit, pouring. Rick brought an umbrella, thankfully. We ate foot-long hotdogs (only $4AU) and drank cokes ($3AU)--prices like these, no wonder the league is teetering on financial ruin: where are the $7 beers and $5 puny hotdogs we're used to in the States? The game ended with Wests leading 16-9. We were soaked, but had a blast. We caught a bus back to Central where Lance met us. Rick took a train back to the Gong (he had a flight out of SYD in the morning, and he was about to have a very short night of it), and we headed towards Enfield to bed down in our spacious and oh-so-luxurious accomodation on the third floor of the Formulae One Motel. No elevators. And 70 lb. suitcases.
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Lance sure missed a good one.

The lone scoreboard: manual, of course. Nothing fancy.

OZ Day 9: Giant Concrete Sheep Testicles, Rain, Few Trains on the Main South. . .

John, Paul, Charlie, Lance and Blair at Goulburn's favorite photo stop. . .

Sunday, April 19: This truly was the most disappointing day of the trip so far. We started with two strikes against us: cloudy skies when we woke up, and no trains. A check of Charlie's Magic Box before leaving the motel in Gunning didn't offer us much in the way of hope for the day's trains. Nothing out of Albury, several hours to the west, and it looked like the first two westbound were several hours away. So we all had a great breakfast at the Merino Cafe, the sort of place you really wouldn't expect in rural, tiny Gunning: a funky, hip atmosphere, a higher-level of menu sophistication than the usual small-down diner. After the French Toast was put away, we headed east to Goulburn, one-time terminal on the double-track main south between Sydney and Melbourne.

These days, Goulburn is familiar to travelers on the Hume Highway for the giant Merino ram statue on the west side of town. Australia has had a long history of erecting giant "things" alongside their highways, from apples to axes, guitars to bananas, cheese, cherries, and chook. And now this ram, honoring the area's wool growing heritage (New South Wales, the saying goes, was carried on the back of sheep). The 45-foot-tall concrete ram has an illuminated "evil eye" you can see from the traffic circle out front, but what really gets the tourist's attention--and gives them a knowing smirk--is the, um, anatomically correct backside. Specifically, the humongeous set of balls this ram has that must be 6 feet in diameter. Kids to adults to grandparents: they all can't supress a smile and a second glance while walking by. And which end of the ram do you think most people pose in front of? It ain't the front! And we weren't immune, either, posing for a group shot before heading into the gift shop to pick up some Aussie trinkets.


The Giant Merino: Impressive from the front. . .


. . and even moreso from the back!

The skies looked dark and wet to the east; Lance, Paul and Charlie headed off to the downtown station to pass time, John and I visited the Goulburn Rail Heritage Centre at the old loco depot, which has a pretty good-sized collection of preserved--some, even restored--railway equipment. There's the bus-like pay car that carried Queen Elizabeth; several steel passenger carriages; a few freight wagons, guard vans and commuter cars from Sydney as well. Two NSWGR diesel locomotives are also part of the collection, 421 class Bulldog 42101, in worn candy paint and under slow restoration, and beautifully restored Alco 4821 in glossy Indian Red paint. John and I checked out the tiny cab of the loco, complete with dual control stands and a hot plate for the billy. It was clear that most railroaders who worked on these were a bit more trim than myself, as I had to squeeze through the narrow doorway before John could get a photo of me at the controls. Also at the roundhouse were two other bulldog GM's, ex-Australian National GM 19, and former Victorian Railways S312, privately owned by an individual restoring them for lease service under the name "Rail Power." The S appears to be about ready for service, in shiny black and yellow paint; the GM19 has a ways to go.


Candy-painted bulldog 42101 inside the Goulburn roundhouse. . .


Blair and John pose in nicely-restored Alco 4821. . .

42101 undergoes slow restoration . . .

. . while privately-owned GM19 and S312 await their return to service.

Reunited with the others, we watched an eastbound Explorer come and go at the station, then headed in the direction of Sydney. A Pacific National intermodal train was headed our way, and hopefully behind him would by the 7BM7 QRNational train, supposedly with a CL-class bulldog leading. It rained off and on the further east we went. The QRN train was falling further and further behing schedule. We drove into Exeter, a small country town with photogenic station and signal tower (now closed) and watched another Explorer blast through town at speed, literally clearing the high-level platforms by inches. It was looking bleak for any trains today on this the "transcon"of Australia. John bid us adieu, with appointments to keep in Canberra, and the rest of us headed into Bundanoon and photographed the westbound PN train behind "Southern Spirit" painted NR 85 in bleak, bleak light--thanks to the capabilities of digital, making a good action shot in these conditions is possible.

Sydney-bound Griffith "Exploder" departs Goulburn. . .

Canberra Explorer flies through Exeter on the Up main. . .

Pissing rain at Bundanoon for westbound PacNat container train. . .

Ever hopeful that our QR train would depart the Sydney area AND we'd suddenly be honored with an amazing break of the clouds and a perfectly-timed shaft of light, we waited a bit more in the murk and rain at Burradoo. . . and had no such luck. Sunset--in theory, at least--was just moments away, and we drove back to Gunning for yet another fine Chinese dinner and put an end to a day with very little to show for our efforts. After dinner, we took several star-streak shots in beautiful downtown Gunning, photographing upper-quadrant semaphores and the goods crane against a stunning sky before the clouds which had been with us all day once again exerted their dominance over the sky.

Waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And you KNOW the light will only get better!

Semaphore and stars at Gunning. . .

and the unused goods crane as well. . .