Before And After

Before . . .

While looking at some old prints of my layout the other week, I came across this photo of the penninsula when it was just benchwork. As you can see, I used good old L-girder benchwork, with 2 by 4s in the middle to help hold up the middle and upper levels.

Below find a photo of what it looks like today.


After

Oops!

I was going through some old prints the other day and came across this photo of an "oops!" It was taken in Flaxton, North Dakota in 2003. The GP 35 belongs to the Dakota, Missouri Valley and Western (DMVW), which operates in North Dakota, South Dakota and Montana. The unit was still running when I took the photo, but no crew members were around; a railroader told me later that, in all likelihood, they had gone to a nearby restaurant to wait for the re-rail crew to show up.

Just goes to show that it's not only model railroaders who experience derailments now and then.

The Land Of Nod

The nod-under on the M & M Sub. The swinging gate
for the lower level is open.

In the Bible, the land of Nod is the place where Cain was exiled after murdering his brother Abel. In popular use, the Land of Nod is a place of sleep, as in to “nod off.” It’s also used as a way to describe agreement, as in nodding your head to say yes.

For the CP Rail M & M Sub., it refers to the way visitors nod their heads to get into the layout room.

My first layout, the CP Rail Grimm Valley Subdivision, was a traditional around the walls, or donut style, layout. Entry was gained to the donut “hole” by crawling about three feet underneath the benchwork.

Suffice to say, it was no fun, not to mention undignified, and I think I still have the scars on my back from coming up too early.

As a result, I was determined not to have any duckunders in my new layout. But a nod-under? That would be OK.


The lower level, with the swinging gate closed.

The upper level is about 62 inches high at the entrance to the layout room (157 centimetres for us Canadians). For all but the tallest adults, it means that people only need to nod their heads to enter the room.

That said, when visitors come over I put a paper sign on the nod-under that says "Duck!" It hangs an inch or two below the bottom of the upper level so that people can feel the paper if they don't nod far enough, or come up too early on the other side.

The lower level is about 43 inches high (109 centimetres); only a limbo dancer could get under that! For this reason, I built a swinging gate so people can get in and out of the room unimpeded.

Originally, it was just going to be a piece of 2 by 4 with track on it. But then a friend offered me a fabulous bridge, so I dropped the 2 by 4 about four inches and redesigned the gate to represent a river.

A simple bolt holds the gate in place, and joiners are slipped over the tracks to align them on the far (non-swinging) end.

On the swinging end, they simply line up with the track on the benchwork. Wires carry electricity to the tracks on the bridge.

Why a swinging bridge and not a lift-out? The main challenge with a lift-out is that, after you lift it out, you have to put it someplace. The swinging bridge simply swings out of the way and stays there.

(A drop-down or lift-up bridge would do the same thing; in fact, I use a drop-down bridge across the door to the storage room.)

If you come to see the M & M Sub., it's OK with me if you nod-off. In fact, I prefer it to banging your noggin' on the upper level benchwork!

Hobbies And Work

GP38-2 #3021 switches a scratchbuilt
wood grain elevator at Turney.

A Canadian model railroad manufacturer is looking for a "full-time train guy" to work in customer service. The job entails dealing with customers, fixing trains and traveling to train shows. For a model railroader, it sounds like a dream job—get paid for doing your hobby!

Or maybe not. At least, that was my experience. Back in the 1990s I scratchbuilt a couple of wooden grain elevators for my layout. Later, I made one for a friend as a gift. Some local model railroaders who saw them asked me to make some for them--for money. So did a local hobby shop. Foolishly, I agreed.

Why was it foolish? Until that point, making grain elevators was fun. It was something I did in my leisure time. It was a way to relax. There were no deadlines; it would be done when it was done.

But now it became a job. And, like any job, it had deadlines. The people who ordered them were not just my friends; they were now my customers. And customers want to know: "When will my elevator be done?" The pressure was on.

I started making grain elevators as a way to escape the pressures of life—not add to them. But now, instead of looking forward to building the structures, I dreaded and resented it: It was one more thing that had to be done this week or that night.

After filling my contracts, I vowed to never again make anything model railroad-related for friends for money. Help someone with their layout? Absolutely. Build a structure as a gift? You bet. But do it for cash? No way.

Some people manage the transition from hobby to work successfully; all the power to them, I say. But, for me, hobbies and work don’t mix, and I intend to keep it that way.

Photo Gallery Created on Flickr

Photos of the CP Rail Manitoba & Minnesota Subdivision are scattered throughout this blog. But now I've collected a bunch in just one place on Flickr. Click here to see the photos.

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