[

mood

|

contemplative

]

1. Something on the track ahead is shorting out the signal for the block ahead. The track has low voltage running through it which is connected to the signaling system; kids placing a metal pole (for example) between the rails would be recognized as a block occupancy, which would drop the signal to red in that block and the block before it, without any intermediate signals for a train that is already in or is approaching that block;
2. The dispatcher drops the signal to red in response to a reported emergency, thus overriding the pre-set intermediate signals. Example: When a police department reports a car on the tracks at X location, and the dispatcher realizes that the approaching train is already entering the block where the emergency has been reported. Here it's an emergency and everyone hopes for the best that the train will be able to stop;
3. A malfunction. There is a LOT of technology built into the railroad, but it's really a hodge podge of analog and digital engineering manufactured and installed by all sorts of competitor companies and attempted to be seamlessly integrated and work 100% of the time in all types of weather, under all sorts of wear and tear. Yeah right.

[

mood

|

pensive

]

• lengthy safety training for dispatchers and train crews who have to memorize the General Code of Operating Rules (GCOR), which if followed to the T would never allow any accidents to happen;
• lengthy CAD training so dispatchers recognize and respond to potential two-trains-in-one-block scenarios;
• CAD alarms that alert a dispatcher that two trains are—or are about to—enter the same block;
• trackside signals that, when working properly and when followed by the crews, only permit ONE train in ONE block at ONE time
• in-cab signals that show the engineer and conductor the status of the trackside signals for the particular block they are occupying at a given moment;
• Independent "backup" trackside signals that are not dispatcher controlled which alert other trains that the upcoming block is occupied;
• Automatic Train Control (ATC), a system that— if working properly—will automatically override the engineer and stop both trains once the trains have entered the same block (or if one train for whatever reason enters a block with a red signal.)

1. Scenario one assumes that both trains were occupying the same block on ONE track (Which is unlikely)
2. Scenario two assumes each train was on a SEPARATE track heading toward each other (Which is more likely) Update: 7:24 a.m. it is now widely reported that there was indeed only one track.
   

[	Tags	|	union pacific	]
[	mood	|	nostalgic	]

Tonight I had the pleasure of chatting with a former colleague at Union Pacific Railroad. We were apprentice train dispatcher candidates who trained together for three long months this time last year. It was a blast regaling old times during our dispatchers’ “bootcamp” in chilly Omaha, Neb.

We were laughing our asses off at one of the funny events that happened at the hotel where we stayed, Candlewood Suites at 108^th and Dodge in Omaha.

Kristi and I had hit it off from day one and became instant friends.  About three weeks into our stay, all the newhires staying at Candlewood were moved due to an ongoing renovation. Kristi and I requested (and received) an adjoining room in another part of the building. Now, ordinarily this wouldn’t have passed muster: two opposite-sex coworkers with an adjoining room. But being that we both slept with men, it seemed legitimate to me as the gay voice of reason.

Of course, there were rumors early on among the group that the two of us were sleeping together and that I “came out” only as a diversion so that I could screw around with Kristi without arousing suspicion. (Aren’t meddlesome colleagues a gas!?) That is until it was confirmed to the rest of the group by another nosy trainee next door that I had “entertained” a gentleman caller whom, he reported, seemed to have had “a really rockin' time” in my room (ok, I think I can pat my own back after that riveting account!) late one night, and thus I must indeed play for the other team. (Ah, DUH!)

Anyway, our suites all had kitchenettes. Nothing fancy: just a stove, fridge, microwave and some other small appliances and cookware. Kristi was always making or baking something in her room despite the fact that he had $40 a day on corporate cards to spend eating out at our pleasure. This one freezing afternoon in February after an especially rigorous day of training I decided to hop in the tub for a hot soak while Kristi was getting changed next door. We pretty much always left the adjoining door open except at night or when entertaining men, so we were used to walking around half naked in front of each other.

About ten minutes into my relaxing soak, I was jolted out of my near-catatonic trance by the blaring sound of the smoke alarm in what I thought was Kristi’s room.

Jumping to conclusions (as I’m [occasionally] apt to do [wink wink]), I started yelling (jokingly) at Kristi—who was in her bra and panties. I assumed she was burning something in her room.

OH GOOD LORD! I shouted (my signature saying according to Kristi),

What the hell are you burning now?!

Much to my surprise (err…dismay), as I emerged from the tub sporting nothing but a sandpaperish terry towel with Mr. Bubble in tow, the hotel manager had keyed into my room to check on the situation and found me—and Kristi—both half naked jumping on my bed flailing our pillows around in a fruitless attempt at silencing the detector. The look on this chick’s face was absolutely priceless! She turned red and ran out of the room.

She thought Kristi and I had been gettin’ our grove on in the shower and that she had walked in on us! Kristi and I busted out in near-pee-inducing laughter for like 30 minutes afterwards, and to this day continue to rejoice in robust gaiety when recalling this situation. It was absolutely hysterical. What made it even funnier was that the hotel staff (four people whom we came to know rather well) was totally confused because we all had so many different people coming up to our rooms at all hours of the night. They must've thought we were the biggest bunch of friggin’ pervs west of the Mississippi! Good times, though.

Those three months in Omaha were among the best and brightest in my life despite the undercurrent of stress UP put on us with weekly exams and quizzes that were job-dependent. I miss UP, Kristi, and Omaha very much. But I’ve moved on even though I long to return to those days when I thought life was just grand and couldn’t get much better.

Kristi and I also chatted about “rules violations,” which are violations of the General Code of Operating Rules (GCOR), an approximately 1000-page binder cataloging every rule, procedure, policy, and protocol that exists on Union Pacific’s 50,000 miles of trackage. As dispatchers, we had to know hundreds of these safety rules, some of which spanned several pages and read like federal statutes. Amazingly, I remember the bulk of them.

There’s one rule in particular called “Restricted Speed,” rule 6.27.

Restricted speed basically says that under certain conditions a train's engineer must proceed at a speed equivalent to his ability to stop the train in half the range of vision short of “T.E.R.M.S.D.” not to exceed 25 m.p.h.. And what does the acronym T.E.R.M.S.D. stand for?

T= Train

E= Engine

R= Railcar

M= Men or Equipment fouling the track

S= Signal displaying stop

D= Derail (an automatic device on the track to intentionally derail runaway trains) or switch lined improperly.

So when restricted speed is ordered, the maximum the engineer can go is 25 m.p.h, but not necessarily that fast. If it’s foggy or snowy or especially dark or the track is curvy, for example, restricted speed could be 5 m.p.h. or less because of the “half the range of vision short of T.E.R.M.S.D." requirement of the rule.

I can’t believe I still remember what T.E.R.M.S.D. stands for. LOL.

Kristi was amazed I still remember my verbal authorities, which are scripts that had to be memorized and regurgitated verbatim. Here’s one:

To allow a train to pass a RED signal (there’s a whole bunch of reasons why a dispatcher would verbally authorize a train past the equivalent of a red light for a motor vehicle, but no need to get into that here) the dispatcher would tell the conductor over the radio:

“After stopping, UP (engine number) at (control point) between (milemarker) and (milemarker) has authority to pass signal displaying stop indication and proceed (track designation) to (track designation), for a (direction)-bound movement. Over.”

Then the conductor would have to repeat back that verbal authority verbatim to the dispatcher.

There are nine other verbal authority scripts.

It was great chatting with Kristi, who is still with UP as a dispatcher in the Houston Operations Center. She still enjoys being a dispatcher and is making good $$ moving trains over the southwest network.

[	Tags	|	"mermaid parade" "coney island"	]
[	mood	|	amused	]

Ok, so he's not a freak, but he's
the exception...
View this photoset as a slideshow.
My other photosets are here.

Yesterday I went to the 25th annual Mermaid Parade in Coney Island, NY. It was the biggest freakin' freak show I’ve ever seen in person, and it was totally fab. There were old freaks, young freaks, baby freaks, freak wannabes, and freak aficionados. This burlesque New York-style "Mardi Gras" drew tens of thousands of freak voyeurs curious gawkers like myself to the beautiful Coney Island seaside to initiate the official start of summer in a magical place once home to the Bowery, Luna Park, Dreamland, and Steeplechase Park. Though these legendary amusement parks are long gone, the spirit of Coney Island's halcyon days of sideshows and weirdos lives on due in part to this wonderful only-in-New-York annual celebration.

For years I’ve always wanted to see this bonanza of spectacularly-dressed marchers parading around (it's hard for me to pass up any parade, much less one with copious  eccentrics!...), but for one reason or another I never made it. This year I seized my fleeting life by the horns and hopped on the "F" train to join in the merriment.

Coney Island—long infamous for its plethora of masquerading freaks and oddities—had no shortage of said freaks and oddities marching in the parade (and spectating as well). Though mad props go out to the thousands of parade marchers who adorned colorful, stylish, flamboyant, and just plain off-the-hook garish costumes galore, my favorite getup was the Metro card clan. Their costumes were made completely out of…you guessed it, METRO CARDS. It was quite the creative wardrobe.

The most common costumes were mermaids, mermaid devils, pirates, sea hags, sea cowboys (first time seeing those), sailors, marine animals, and anything having to do with the sea or, as Sponge Bob would say, nautical nonsense. There were also lots of costumes that had nothing whatsoever to do with mermaids or the sea, which were equally cool. Many paraders took a lot of creative license in their mermaid/quasi-mermaid garb. Scores of women were completely topless, their tits hanging out (or drooping as often was the case) for all the world to see. (This was the Mermaid Parade, all right, but definitely not sponsored by Disney!)

I think what made this parade so well attended this year (as many annual attendees informed me) is the fact that this is the last year that Astroland will be open. When it closes this fall, Coney Island as we know it will be a memory. Thor Equities, a major real estate developer, recently bought most of the land between the NY Aquarium and the Parachute Jump (site of Astroland), and plans to turn the land that was once home to America’s playground into high-rise luxury condos, hotels, and malls after it razes the amusement park sometime next year. Only the Cyclone roller coaster, a city-designated landmark (which is apparently leased by the city; I have to research that whole thing), will remain. I am currently doing some fact checking so I can post about this ordeal. There are thousands of news articles, websites, and blogs to sift through.

There were a number of protesters at the parade who carried signs displaying their anger at Thor Equities. A large float with a coffin embellished with “RIP Coney Island” drew deafening boos from the crowd, as did signs with pictures of high-rise buildings and demolished carnival rides. (The coffin pic link above isn't mine...I didn’t get a good pic because I had my zoom lens on, and I was too close to get a decent shot.)

I would estimate the crowds at over 100,000, and that’s conservative. It took me nearly two hours to walk ONE block because the throng of hot sweaty cattle wasn’t moving and the NYPD totally fucked up traffic and crowd control. (More like what crowd control?!) I have never seen so many people at a parade except the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. Fourth of July at the U.S. Capitol isn't as bad crowd-wise as this parade.

I took a little more than 1400 pictures, but I had no external flash, so most of them came out less than desirable because of the harsh shadows and inherent exposure problems shooting in such bright sunlight. I was lucky to get any pictures, as NYPD provided no crowd control on the boardwalk. Hundreds of photographers—some press but mostly hobbyists— pushed through the barricades and into the parade route to get the best shots, in front of those of us who had secured front-row real estate for over an hour before the parade. I declined to act so savagely even though there was near anarchy and I too could have stepped on men, women, and children to "get the shot." Shame on those photographers who took advantage and were downright barbaric not to mention rude. And kudos to the NYPD for enforcing some semblance of order...

Anyway, I posted 77 of the better pics on flickr. When I end up with about 5 percent of usable photos from any given event, I’m content. Ten percent would have been better, but oh well. The more you take, the more good ones you’ll have!  Anyway, there's no shortage of other pics on flickr....25,000+ and counting as of last hour.