Amtrak> The City of New Orleans> Manchac, Louisiana

What I do as hobbies don't get no better.

This will not be a fancy literary effort but a nuts and bolts explanation.

I was again after the City of NO Amtrak fast rabbit. You don't chase them,

you lie in wait.

Chasing them is fruitless unless you know where they have to slow down or rest.

This story begins in my attic.

Convalescing from a resent surgery I stared at the computer screen and watched

all the little Amtrak arrows which represented the company's trains move about

a map of the US.

I saw one leaving New Orleans and crossing Manchac Pass between 2:30 and 3:00 PM.

I love that area and visiting the low swamps between Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Maurepas would be a  treat, whatever the outcome.  I had no idea that the train would run on Saturday. 

I would go forth with blind faith. You have to have it with this hobby. Even historic research has to have a probability aspect.

The ride down from Arcola, La. on US 51 was eventless except that the highway was blocked

 by a street fair and a detour featuring a speed trap.

Ya know what Tickfaw? You get my award for the "Aggravating Bonehead Town of the Year".

Barney Fife shot me with the radar but I ain't no dummy. I was off the bike and pushing it. Now I've nailed your town as a backwater speed trap and nothing more. A population which lets the police soil their name should vote the culprits out.

I didn't start shooting until Hammond where I got serious about following the tracks.

I popped out face to face with the Hammond Depot, a place I know.

 I went that-a-way.

 South

 I came in on top of the Ponchatoula Depot.

 I took the appropriate shots.

 I visited the little engine that was featured in my last historical epic. This engine would spur another "Historic Railroad Adventure".

 Exiting south, I found this. It was busy on a Saturday proving once again old men and children have a lot in common. A great hobby.

 Exiting dry land I feared that access to the rails would be limited to Manchac. Most think that. They don't try on the level I do. No brag ... Just fact.

Not so.

You can camp here if you want. But you must walk in.

 North

 If you cross the tracks this is what awaits.

There is no road, just wet and prone to gator attack.

 The parking lot is OLD OLD US 51.

 It ran very close to the rails being there isn't much high land.

Next,  I was at the famed eatery at Manchac.

I took the appropriate picture.

I would be back.

    I-55 northbound crosses the pass on the right.

Old US 51 crosses on the left.

Old Old US 51 crossed on its left.

 Taken from across the bridge looking back.

From the left, Old US 51, Old Old US 51, a wharf, and the railroad to the far right.

 More Old Old US 51

 Past Manchac  I found a beauty spot.

 Being the confluence of a passing track it was prime for action.

Action would soon occur.

 He began honking.

The honking turned into a musical

ending with bah bah    bah bah

bah bah.

It was obvious he was a friendly.

The day was going great until I almost fell into the swamp while taking the last shot.

My last encounter with a freight resulted in getting bombed by a water balloon.

That was tasteless.

But, I'm tough water bomber.

You will not detour me from my pursuit.

 Feeling I was again too long in one spot, I retreated back to Manchac.

I needed to date the newer version of US 51 and I think this did.

 I set up shop and told all the loud tourist and urchins to back off or suffer the consequences.

I told them I'd come from afar Egypt and this was my moment.

Someone probably called HLS. No mater. Soon I'd hear the 200 db horns.

 Wooo ...... Engine 13, how special!

 I did what I never do. I proceeded to race Amtrak.

I hit US 51, tucked in and brought her up to 75mph.

I knew she'd be high balling and it would be close back at Arcola, 40 miles away.

I took up residence in a shady spot at the beginning of the Arcola passing track.

As I said, passing tracks can be interesting.

7 minutes later I saw her nose a shining.

An adrenalin rush caused a premature click. I hate that but nevertheless it cements the fact that 

I was there first.

Big lipped and embarrassed she sped out of town, her 4000 horsepower beaten by 27.

 The conductor stared out the rear window

I saw his lips moving.

I could make out just a little.

I don't think it was "Hi".

 The End.