Arriving in the Canyon, we
exited into a beautifully manicured park along the 
Agawa
river. Some chose to open up their picnic boxes while others
started down the trails to the many waterfalls within walking
distance. I headed for the end of the train to fulfill one of my
long time fantasies. To sit with my hand of the throttle of a
gigantic locomotive ready to spin and grind as it pulled away,
moving tons of weight in the many cars behind. For you train
buffs, the engine is designated as a F9, produced between
1955-59, for which only 86 were sold. As I said, I headed toward
the rear of the train, as the engine was disconnected and brought
around on a side track until it was rejoined facing the other
way, making the rear of the train, the front. It was just after
this that Glenn leaned out the window and shouted for me to
"climb aboard". Well, let me tell you, climbing up into
the cab of a locomotive is like climbing up the roof ladder of my
rig with a couple
of rungs missing. Fortunately, my moans and
groans were somewhat muffled by the noise of the engine.
Meanwhile, Laura, safely on the ground below, was merrily
clicking away with the camera. Some of the most amusing pictures
were never taken as Laura passed the camera back up to me and I
got down on all fours to fish the waving strap. Once back in
possession of the recording device, Glenn went over the basic
workings of the train. The forward, backward, throttle and brake.
There 
actually
isn't a lot to the running of the engine, from the novice's view
of a person who has never even been in the cab of such a
behemoth. Actually it takes a really big man to tame a beast like
this. I asked Glenn to take his most stoic poise at the controls
as I recorded the moment. Glen, not to be outdone by such an
amateur, placed me in the driver's seat, with hand on the
throttle ready to go while he returned the favor by clicking away
with my camera. I have had a lot of exciting moments in my
travels, and I have made a lot of friendships along the way, but
this moment and this relationship, as we took a few moments to
sit back, while I heard tales of the railroad in times gone by,
was for lack of any other word, precious. It is a story 
that I will
tell over and over again around the campfire in the years to
come. Having navigated the dangerous exodus from the cab, I met
Laura on the ground. She listened patiently to my incessant
babbling about the train, the controls, the history, the
everything else I had experienced and finally said something to
the fact that I needed to run off some energy. Filled with the
bravado of the moment I stated, "Then off to the
lookout!" Well now, the lookout is a platform built some 250
feet above the train tracks, into the side of a mountain.
"Piece of cake" I thought as I moved ahead of Laura in
preparation for this energetic assent. I failed to recall that in
my travels, I had never found a stairway in which the steps would
elevate you 1 foot per step. Had I thought of this I would have
realized that most probably I would be climbing over 250 steps.
After taking the short path to the stairway, we reached the first
step where a cautionary sign informed us to take our time as
there were over 300 steps to the assent. Without hesitation I
charged up the wooden stairway. On and on I went, as my bravado
and along
with it my enthusiasm slowly began to wither. Then as my
breathing began to drown out the sound of the birds and wind, I
saw it, right there on the step in front of me, in big bold red
letters. The number 50! I had only gone 50 steps. Somewhere
around 200 steps, Laura sat down. I looked at her and she smiled
and silently waved. She had had it. I didn't want to go on, but I
was darn if I was going to go this far and not get the picture.
At step 320 I saw the final landing. I forgot the count as I
staggered to the top and turned around. Slowly, as my facilities
returned, I realized what others had talked about. The view was
unquestionably spectacular. I finally looked around at the sparse
few people around me. All had the same hangdog face and bobbing
body action displayed by athletes that were trying to catch their
breath. As reason slowly returned and I began to appreciate the
task I had accomplished I heard that all familiar tone of my ever
stalwart wife as she ascended the final steps. Slowly, between
gasps 
she
announced, "Your not going to remind me, over and over
again, that you made it to the top without me!" With arms
entwined, we stood looking out over the vast panorama that
presented itself. As we get older, physical accomplishments, be
they ever so small, become more important in the continuing
challenge to prove we can still can do it. We placed our names on
the roster in the log book that identifies all those who have
made it to the top and turned back to the 320+ stairs. As we
slowly meandered down, one step at a time, a moment of reality
stuck us. Just as we started down, Glenn, bounding up two steps
at a time, shouted greetings, explaining he ran to the top, just
about every time he came here. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! The ride back
was just as spectacular as the ride up was, with one exception. I
didn't see it. With the first rock of the car, and the methodic
rhythm of the wheels on the tracks, I silently slipped away,
closing my eyes, to be awakened in the train station by my loving
wife. This is a full day's excursion with all the amenities. Pack
a lunch, bring sandwiches, but come and see it. It's more an
adventure then a visit, and the people are just great. Although
we went in summer, the crew told us the most spectacular time to
visit is in the fall when the leaves are changing. For further
information you can always check out their website at www.agawacanyontourtrain.com
* * * THE END * * *
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