Orange Engines

It didn't take long for me to come up with a name for this one.   

I wish the material which follows would have spawned a better, more interesting handle.

The pictures are mediocre. That is why they are here. 

Here are the new pictures with a brief explanation, no history and little geographical explanation.

After my excruciating day of doing the nastiest stuff you can do with a motorcycle it was payback time. 

The Blue Grape would have to produce.

At New Iberia I caught this weird arrangement which was getting ready to go north.  

Louis measured their connection.

No matter which way they went .. it was crazy.

I know a fella who uses "that's crazy" way too much. 

That's crazy and on the same level as "high fives"

which replaced smiley faces as obnoxious.

Oh, well, I'm obnoxious.

Backward running engines are obnoxious.

I'm seeing a relationship with no future.

There is no way at least one of them can lead.

The north bound futureless kissing engines went  past a waiting tug that was sitting on the 

old Missouri Pacific branch which  once went to Port Barre. 

 This is the best picture of the day, so be forewarned.

The futureless kissers left and the waiter left, too. (no tip)

 

I had not come 30 miles to look at orange engines.  I wanted to see if the returning Sunset Limited was 

pulling the classic cars it had with it last night when it was 2 hours late and dead stopped out on the Plains

 west of Jennings, La.

On location south of New Iberia.

 You hear the train and you wait. And, you wait some more because the horn is so loud. 

Then it sneaks up on you.

Could this phenomenon lull idiots into thinking the train is far off? 

Then whack, a gazillion pounds of hard steel hit you at 70 mph,

And, you wake up in Beaumont.

No fancy cars. I returned to the Blue Grape.

This old house, south of New Iberia on what was once US 90,  has been a personal stopping place for a

 long time. There is a farm house and  still an out building or two  

Maybe Lafitte slept there.

  I just removed 4 pictures that were not fit for any internet page.  

You didn't miss anything.

No lipstick or Shakespearean prose could doll up those trolls.

To prove how bad, the following get included.

It's Roger the Dodger in his high rail inspection vehicle driving south.  How do people get these  jobs?

 He doesn't even have to steer.

 
I know someone that should have rolled that dispatching job over to this gig. 

Talk about "coasting".

 

At the University St.overpass a train sat.  I knew the routine. 

The duo were switching the east yard which  required it

 to go outside of the  yard's limits requiring  a mainline "work between" warrant.

 At South Pierce St. I got this fairly mediocre shot.

 Then I was drawn to the BR. The rails between the salt mine and Teurlings St. 

are down right spooky even in the daytime.

 Something was down there.

 Everything got dark as a red faced creature wearing a miner's light appeared.

 The cloud had passed after depositing hundred of muddy gaspagoo upon the landscape.

It was not a salt mine devil, it was Mz. Utah, aka The Red Bird, and her crimson beak.

What a relief  to end this story in the absence of Orange Engines