Weekend Warriors

The term "Weekend Warriors" has borne a somewhat negative connotation for years.
I believe that term was  originally used to describe National Guard personal who would muster
on the weekends for training and were not considered "real soldiers" by the "regulars".
The term has transcended military usage and crept  into civilian dialect.
It conjures up visions of those that  "want to be this" and "want to be that", all amateurs,
  attempting to morph from Clark Kents into Supermen. Examples are endless.

My title has nothing to do with those  people.

One of my hobbies is to "chase" trains and to take their pictures.

It combines motorcycle riding, photography and a bit of "chess" and "poker".

It is a frivolous pursuit, probably more frivolous than what  most civilian "weekend warrior" do since
I'm not even trying to be something I'm not.
 
Possibly there is no known previous example of what I do the way I do it.

In any case, my title has nothing to do with me.

That title describes the people who work on the weekends and in this case, railroad people.

Take away their toil and our world would change.
Or economy cannot rest on the weekend.

These are a few shots I caught of them doing the dirty while we play.

I'll start with some of the local people I saw slugging it out in the Louisiana & Delta New Iberia Yard.

I spent 3 hours one afternoon watching cars being shuffled from one track to another. 

It was 100F.  The other extremes, cold, wind and rain dictate "just another day".

I was sitting and I thought I was going to die.

This  dance is a tough gig.

Next:
I ran into this crew  headed north to Lafayette.

They were running for cover because the folks of the Sunset Limited passenger train

and all of their guests were on their way west having departed New Orleans at about 9:00 this morning and

they were late.
These freight crews sit and sit to facilitate Amtrak.
There is a monetary agreement which demands this frustrating game.

I would go into New Iberia and then almost to Jeanerette trying to decide on a place to settle in.

I went back to New Iberia. The big curve north (coming from the east) is at Center St.

I'd set up shop leaning against the old store.

This youngster had earphones on and I could hear the music from where I was.

Could he hear the train when it rounded the blind corner behind him?
Weekends, holidays and summers present an added stress.
Kids.

  I was glad that blood, guts and gore were not going to mess up my 

shots or cause the Amtrak crew to have to take the train to the car wash.

Waiting.
As soon as Madam Sunset exited her lights lit.

Understandably, the crew didn't stay long at the depot. 

A great philosopher once said, "Late trains get later".

 Had Jessee James tried stealing the mail?
That door must work flawlessly.

 Speaking of outlaws, this is a great over the shoulder shot.
Were the Pinkertons eying me?

 The crew stretched her out heading to Lafayette.
Can you imagine what they  have to endure dealing with their varied clientele?
My wife took a trip to San Antonio.
She described the crew as "patient".
Patients is a quality you extend to those who are operating beyond the realm of normal acceptability
in hopes that behavior ceases before your ability to manipulate and guide comes to a judicious response. .
I couldn't do it.  I'd throw the trash of which she spoke off the train in hopes of cleansing the gene pool.

 I caught the crew and guests at the station.

Behind the fence is the old concourse.
I've seen meals delivered here in the afternoon.
Granted, possibly some of this "weekend warrior" stuff isn't so bad.

 Marlene was in the cab. She's an EIT (engineer in training)

I could hear her counting cars in her cheerful chippy voice.
She probably wasn't thinking about this being the weekend,
and if she was, she probably thought it was a great one.
She was probably having a blast. They probably let her honk the horns.

This is a landmark, a good one for the eastbound. Not so good for the westbound.

There they went.
The most common closing I hear between the dispatcher and crew, or between crews, is,
"Have a safe trip".
To quote The Clash, "This ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around".
In this world if Jessee James was the only threat, "safe" would be a lot more simple.

I was headed home to check if the baseball game was on.
Or, we'd watch a movie.

But, as usual, I'd do one more pass down the rails to New Iberia.
That stretch of rails, to use the popular TV show, "Pickers", lingo,
is a honey hole for train watchers, chasers and other goofy trainiacs.

Earlier, I'd gone by the yard.

I saw these guys waiting.
They wait a lot.
Sometimes their "hours" run out and they are left in the middle of nowhere  where a
driver of unknown ability picks them up and they have to ride for hours back to where they started.
I once saw two competing driers square off. The woman won.
That puts another spin on, "Have a safe trip".

 I was headed back to New Iberia when I reconsidered. 

The weather was nice. Very nice.
Nevertheless:

Bad weather does not like nice weather

And beats it up profoundly.

I did not want to be in the ring when the bell wrung.

 I headed back north to Broussard.
I think the engineer  knew me or some kid was playing with the horns.
Surprisingly, they don't call the police on me anymore.

 They were headed into it. I was running in the other direction.

That's the difference between us and  them.
They are the Weekend Warriors.