Another major aspect to working on a steam locomotive, besides the film of oil and grease on everything, is the general climate. The inside of the cab is generally 30°F hotter than the outside air temperature. While quite nice during the winter for the side of the body nearest the firebox, that is, in the summer months it’s hellish. The overalls and long-sleeved shirt offer some protection, but there are limits to the shield they provide.

I once slipped a thermometer in my pocket in the middle of July and after a 45 minute excursion it registered 138°F. That would account for the episodes of heat exhaustion I experienced, despite attempts at staying hydrated. Mike did his part by throwing cupfuls of water across the cab at me every time he noticed my face turning an alarming shade of fuchsia. I faced the reality that I wasn’t suited to the job and stepped down after two seasons, thoroughly grateful for the opportunity and experience. 

Desiring to stay involved with the operation, I went through training to become a docent. The women wore fashions reflecting the 1897 timeline: long skirts, flowery broad-brimmed hats, parasols and reticules. They gave the train depot a certain charming ambiance. That wasn’t my calling, however.

I wasn’t trying to be a rebel or make any political statement, I just felt more comfortable in a different role. I joined the male docents who filled the task of car hosts. They, and I, wore a white shirt with black shoes, slacks, bow tie, vest and conductor’s style hat. I can attest to the fact that standing in the sun punching passengers’ tickets while clad in black was miserably hot, but all I had to do was remind myself of the temperature inside that steam kettle to regain perspective.

The car hosts primarily watched out for passenger safety, but it also involved sharing the history of the vicinity. Usually one person was assigned per car and we rotated throughout the day so everyone eventually got off the train for a break to cool off and eat.

As an interpretive guide, I usually gave my talk and answered questions for park visitors during the train excursions. This included information about the Mother Lode, an underground vein of gold ore 140 miles long and Table Mountain which was formed by a lava flow nine million years ago. Tours of the roundhouse facility are also available. I have done these on occasion, but prefer working on the train due to my personal experiences working as a fireman trainee.

The summer of 1999 I met a couple on the train who were blind, challenging me to alter my normal narrative to be more descriptive for them. Instead of merely pointing out Wood’s Creek flowing next to the tracks, I attempted to paint a verbal picture. I described how the ground sloped away from the rails into a small canyon, cut long ago by the steady flow of water winding between rocks. Oak trees dotted the hills on both sides of the canyon, now covered with mostly dry grass, except the lush green areas closest to the water. A few wildflowers still linger from the spectacular explosion of color and variety each spring. I studied their faces as a measure of how this was translating into their sightless world.

The return trip offered me time to introduce myself and I learned that Alan had vision in one eye, although extremely limited. He used a hand-held optical device to enhance his sight, which appeared like part of a microscope to me. Donna had been totally blind from birth and had her guide dog along with her. Their sighted friend had driven them up to the park and accompanied them on the ride.

The train returned to the depot and after assisting the passengers disembark, it was my turn for a break to cool off in the crew center. Glancing out across the picnic area, I noticed Donna and Alan walking outside the perimeter of the roundhouse. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for them and wondered how I might enrich their visit. I decided to offer a personalized tour of the facility, which they readily accepted.

Constant maintenance on equipment means spare locomotive parts and tools are always lying around the roundhouse. I explained the function of each part and where it would normally be positioned, while they examined the shape, weight and texture. A coupler, boiler back-head, tubes, spark arrester, smoke stack, cow catcher, and brass bell … all were covered by eager finger tips. Working their way from cow-catcher to tender, they examined Engine #3, a 50-ton 10-wheeler built by the Rogers Locomotive Works in 1891. We then compared it with Engine #2, a 102-ton 3-truck Shay by the Lima Locomotive Works, vintage 1922.

The roundhouse and depot area, plus the mainline Sierra Railroad is referred to as the most photographed railroad in the world. Countless movies, television programs and commercials have been filmed there over the years. Many leftover movie props are stored where tourists may view that part of Railtown’s history. I explained this to the couple, but didn’t know how well they would relate to objects from such a visually oriented medium.

Alan explained he was able to see enough through enhanced technology to experience movies and he became Donna’s eyes by explaining to her what was happening on the screen. I went ahead and took them into the prop area.

Alan saw enough difference between shadows and light to find nearby objects to explore. As he busied himself, I took Donna’s hand and guided it over the main shape of an item, then let go so she could move her fingers over it in the way that made the most sense to her. As she did that, I’d tell her what part she was touching. She rarely said a word, but her face spoke volumes to me. When I mentioned the movie Back to the Future III, Alan eagerly said they were familiar with that film. I reminded them of the scene when the smokestack ‘blew up’ when Doc made the locomotive go fast enough to return to the future. I told Donna she was going to be touching the fake smokestack which had been slipped over the real smokestack on Engine #3.

When I bent over at the waist to help guide her hand safely down to the bottom of the prop without getting cut on the sharper edges of the metal, I thought I had bumped up against a 4"x4" post behind me. I suddenly realized how erroneous that assumption was, because the ‘post’ was exploring my … um … well, derriere!

The exact same moment, Alan realized that the large, curious dark shadow he was trying to figure out was me (and not what I consider to be my best side, either). Oops! My upturned south-end, clad all in black, had been mistaken for a large diamond-shaped smokestack! Alan sputtered out an immediate, embarrassed apology. I reassured him just as quickly that it was, after all, a ‘special tour’ no one else had ever gotten (or ever will again, I imagine).

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