The Overland Tales
Chapter 8: The Western Stars (are shining bright again)
Evanston is almost out of food. I am not kidding. There are so many train buffs in town that we have eaten it all including - as one teary maitre’d told me - the stash being held for Mothers’ Day reservations this evening.
I can’t say I am surprised. We waited for over an hour at lunch to get a table at Jody’s Diner. The train was parked for the rest of the day so the chasers swarmed Jody’s. While in line for the mens room, two gents in front of me were trying to decompress from their stressful chase this morning. The pressure, as one put it, had never been worse.
I’m sorry? The pressure of what? Railfanning is not a competitive sport. There’s no winner. All that matters is if you partake, you enjoy. I wanted to console these gents. To open their minds. To allow them to enjoy their hobby. To let them know that the scanners on their belts, the thousands of dollars of camera equipment around their necks and their new Big Boy t-shirts were all meant to be accoutrements of pleasure. But I didn’t. I stood in line content to just be at ease. Transcendental IDGAF.
We spent the afternoon scouting photo locations for the next day’s run. With frequent freight trains, there was plenty to keep our cameras busy. We didn’t realize while we were out cavorting along the old Lincoln Highway, kicking up dust on side roads which we later learned included the original 1869 right-of-way of the UP, that a crisis was gripping the Evanston restaurant scene.
Our crew wanted steaks, so went to a steakhouse. The line of would-be patrons stretched out the door. An electric tension crackled through the hungry masses, most of whom were local families out to celebrate mama. It became clear after a few minutes that there were plenty of empty tables but no one was being seated. That’s when I went to chat with the maitre’d. I didn’t see her tears until we were face to face. They had no food to serve. Not to dusty train buffs. Not to the nonna’s and abuelita’s whose early bird celebrations were turning into a late evening debacle. Not to anyone. As walked back through the line, I heard grumblings about other restaurants running out of essential items.
Even if Sam I Am liked green eggs and ham, he would have been SOL in Evanston. He wouldn’t have known where to turn, unless he had a taste for the wee dram. Then he’d have known what we knew: in a town without food, the best place is the one with the widest selection of golden brown libations.
The Lincoln Highway Tavern was just up the road. And what do you know? They still had food. And drinks. And no heavy scenes. And it had already been on my favorite roadhouse list for 23 hours. Going back was a no- brainer. A delicious no-brainer after which we decided to take a spin by the tracks just to see what was up.
And so here we are standing by the Evanston roundhouse museum along the UP freight yard. It’s well past nine o’clock, and the buffs are still at it. The railroad kindly tied down the train next to a parking lot. An impromptu night photo session has broken out with sleeping #4014 and #844, the true western stars.
A cadre of fans have kindly arranged their vehicles to illuminate the locomotives with their headlights. A blend of mercury vapor and sulfur street lights fill in the gaps. Consistent color temperatures? Who needs them? I’ve spent hundreds of dollars to photograph steam locomotives under professional lighting, and this freebie isn’t too shabby.
Before our new friends wear out their car batteries, I decide that I am done with the cameras for the night. I need to take a long look with my own eyes. The sky above Evanston shines with the same stars seen by the laborers who laid out this railroad a 150 years ago. Stars are equalizers. No matter how important we perceive ourselves to be, one look up on a clear western night lays bare the folly of our self-delusion.
It’s time to head back to the hotel. We have an early start. There are still a dozen or so photographers out here. Hopefully, these guys had dinner already. If not...
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