It was fall. Wood smoke perfumed the air, and the days started cold and turned into glorious warm afternoons. The kind of weather that makes one yearn for adventure and excitement.
Bob and I took a dinner excursion on the Mount Hood Railroad with our friends Skip and Gail. We boarded at Hood River, Ore., and were directed to a car toward the end of the train, near the bar car. We reveled in the ride for half an hour or so, and then dinner was served.
By this time Bob and Skip, with their huge gifts for storytelling and joking, were exercising their skills with both crew members and bar patrons. As we tucked into a nice dinner on white linen, the joking continued. After dinner we journeyed up to Parkdale, where we turned around for the homeward run with general jollity ongoing.
Suddenly the conductor, looking grim, arrived and said he wished to speak to us. Why this, why us? We were just three high school teachers and one geological engineer who were only a little bit noisy — but not wild, obnoxious, vulgar, nor crude. People near us looked alarmed.
The conductor leaned down and quietly explained that as the train returned to Hood River, it had to slowly go up a set of serpentine tracks. Since it was done with little risk, the crew customarily invited people into the engine. Would Bob and Skip like to go?
At that point, there was mutiny. Gail pointed out that if two could go why not four, and what was this about only males getting to ride in the engine? Women could be just as interested in the internal workings of a train as guys could!
I guess this reaction was expected, because the conductor grinned slightly and admitted that they might be able to add a couple of chairs. But, he warned, don’t say anything to anyone else. He would come for us when they were ready.
Well, that definitely heightened the feeling of suspense, and true to our word, we acted as if nothing was wrong, continuing to joke with crew and fellow passengers. Suddenly the train slowed and stopped. The conductor appeared in the car looking very grim, and pointed at the four of us.
“You,” he said, “follow me!”
We lined up behind him looking sheepish and a little grim but covering it up with joking. We were ceremoniously led all the way to the front of the train, passing many curious and anxious faces, obviously in deep trouble for something.
“Gee, I didn’t think this would happen,” Skip joked, very loudly. “All I did was moon the guy.”
The conductor grimly led us down some stairs and we walked along the side of train to the engine. People in the train windows were straining to see what had happened to us. At the door of the engine, we were helped up the ladder and into the cab. The conductor left us and returned to the passenger cars, and the train resumed movement.
We were welcomed to the engine, which had a great deal of working space. We enjoyed our front-row seat and asked questions about all the controls and rules.
We pulled into Hood River and the train stopped. A few disembarking people did double takes as they looked back and saw we “troublemakers” exit the engine. We simply nodded, and headed home feeling we had gotten much more than we paid for.
This was many years ago, and I don’t know whether such a thing is still done or even allowed now. Given today’s litigious society, probably not. We were some of the lucky ones, and I’m sure it made the trip more interesting for some of the other passengers. My geological engineer husband could finally claim that he was a “real” engineer!
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