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August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom on a tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That's what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good
-Michael Buble
Vale of Rheidol Railway nos. 7 and 8 set off from Nantyronen after taking on water. [Pole, 2/6 sections (~2.7m)]
This was taken on the last day of the David Williams / Bob Branch "Welsh Narrow Gauge Extravaganza" twelve-day photo charter, which visited several narrow gauge railways in Wales. I'd booked on the last two days, on the Vale of Rheidol Railway; sadly, the weather was overcast both days, with significant spells of light rain and drizzle.
The passenger stock was actually being used to transport the photographers between locations, the main purpose of the charter being to photograph the freight (on this day hauled by ex-SAR "Garrett" no. 60) - but we also photographed the passenger train at most locations, and two locos were used with a slightly lengthened rake today.
To see my non-transport pictures, visit www.flickr.com/photos/137275498@N03/.
Cultivating Our Inner Voice - Day 4
Painting whether artistic or utilitarian is so renewing, so refreshing for me as a creative. It allows me to be quiet within myself.
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
WA 655 After a Lower repaint. Back into original livery as WA Had a tendency to just paint the whole bottom blue and it looked god awful.
A cold draught beer and a hot big band seemed to be just the refreshment this gentleman required.
Atlanta (Inman Park), Georgia.
28 April 2019.
▶ More pix from the fest: here.
****************
▶ Photo by Yours For Good Fermentables.com.
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▶ For a larger image, type 'L' (without the quotation marks).
▶ Camera: Olympus Pen E-PL1.
---> Lens: Canon 50mm ƒ/1.4 FD
---> Focal length: 50 mm
---> Aperture: ƒ/8
---> Shutter speed: 1/125
---> ISO: 200
---> Fotodiox adaptor
---> Monochrome rendering via Nik Collection.
▶ Commercial use requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
Rest when you're weary. Refresh and renew yourself, your body, your mind, your spirit.
Then get back to work. ~ Ralph Marson
Abellio Greater Anglia appear to gradually be pushing their Class 317 EMUs through the refurbishment mill, with the latest example being 317505, now carrying a paint scheme similar to that carried by units 317655/658, which includes grey window surrounds. Here 317505 is seen standing at Stansted Mountfitchet on the afternoon peak working of 2H44 16:43 London Liverpool Street to Cambridge 23/04/15
Biển....người bạn mới....ko thể thiếu :-)
Biển sẽ cùng ta đồng hành trong chặng đường dài phía trước...bất kể bùn hay vui [!]
29-10-2k9....29-08-2k10
Một tháng xa nhau....10 tháng yiu nhau
AyE
P/s : Dịp lễ 2/9 vô thăm zợ thăm thành phố thăm bạn bè.....mizz lắm cơ :-x
Ko bỏ rơi tất cả đâu nha=))))))))))
có nus ^^
Street clocks were a common item in the early part of the last century. They often were used as advertisements for the local jeweler who was also skilled in the art of watch repair.
This clock was orginally on K street, in the front of Monks Jewelers. Then, sometime in the 1940's, it was relocated to J street, embellished with modern neon, and renamed for Fred Mayes Jewelers. As J street declined, the clock has suffered from neglect and vandalism. It was restored in the late 1980's, but without a guardian, it fell into disrepair again.
For the last three years a committed citizen spearheaded the effort to have the clock restored again, and the base is now encased in a protective steel shroud (too bad, it's pretty, see it here: flic.kr/p/7wwqzz). A grant from Sacramento Heritage, Inc., helped fund the restoration.
I'm hoping this time, it stays in it's restored condition.
Background: The Elk's Tower, another one of Sacramento's historic treasures, recently restored.
Waverley 3, 2 & 1, Wadham Stringer bodied Leyland Swifts seen lined up outside the depot after being repainted over the quiet months. 16/03/16
...how beautiful is God's wisdom...refreshing our Soul...about the truth...that the least deserves the greatest favor from Heaven...