Thanks to my job in the Orchard I've got gallery space on MobileMe. This has several advantages - the best being that I don't have a 60 picture limit per gallery. The next is that it provides several ways to view pictures.
If you use the link - and a lot of this won't make sense if you don't - look in the lower-left corner of the page and you'll see two or three options for viewing the pix.
Pick the one that seems best to you - I like "mosaic" as it's easier to read - and "carousel" because it's so cool.
The speed and results depend on the processor in your computer. Results will vary but the pix are still fun.
The last time I walked the lost rail lines surrounding Portland I was led to the area down by the Fore River, the switching yards of the old Grand Trunk railroad. It had an air of energy past, of time out of mind.
I thought it was really cool.
This next foray into urban exploration started with a bus trip out to Woodford's Corner, where a Guilford Railway freight line cuts right through one of the four busiest intersections of the town. A single train at the wrong time can freeze almost every East-West artery in the City.
I think it's really cool.
These rails are neat. They're something I've wanted to walk for a long time, having caught my attention for their singular activty. Only the Downeaster train to Boston seems to have an equal burst of railroad energy.
They lead South from the Corner, trees overhead creating a quiet tunnel behind solid two-story homes in the Woodford's area. Out of courtesy I paid no attention to the houses - also avoiding being seen "looking" at private residences from their back yards. I'm sure I'm suspicious looking enough just on general principals and have no wish to be stopped by the cops for "walking while Native American" (WWNA).
The first third-mile was cool, under a rich canopy of elm trees. With such a warm day and so much sun I could almost fool myself into thinking it was still August and Summer was still in charge of the world.
The right-of-way makes a marked swing from the Fore River South side of town to the inland Woodfords West Side (or "more westerly"). This meant the rails bent to the left as I walked forward and back to the right when I looked backward.
Very strange angle indeed.
My only company on this part was a gray squirrel, posing on the branch of an elm sapling. We stood and regarded each other for a several minutes.
This is no exaggeration. Neither one of us seemed to have any pressing engagements and neither one of us seemed to be particularly upset by the other's presence.
The line crosses several neighborhood streets; there were folks out sweeping sidewalks of early leaf falls, trimming driveways, in one case putting their lawnmower away, perhaps for the season.
Like all things the green roof of leaves had to give way to a more industrial feel. The rails came out of the Woodford's area and crossed Brighton Ave. between Punky's Sandwiches and the town Water Works.
My understanding is that "back in the day" this line was used by the famous "Bethel Ski Train" which would take needlessly overpriveledged college kids up from Boston to the Inn at Bethel for "Holiday Inn" type skiing vacations.
You can see the evidence of a second track. That missing track space is now and impromptu support road, bordered by rusting sets of rails hidden in the adjacent grass. Some of them are substantially rusted - but a lot of them are not bent to the angle of the right of way, so I'm not sure what purpose they have besides storage.
The greatest impression I have is one of constant use. This track is well-worn and well-maintained.
The gravel ballast supporting the track has a ringing, thumping feel to it, like you're walking on concrete over a deep trench. The repeated packing by the massive weights of train after train has made it like a drum, echoing and hollow sounding.
The difference between this and the sad, neglected remains of the Grand Trunk yard gave me a sense of curiosity, a need to see trains go by and feel the energy of the trains passing by.
This part of the line is somewhat isolated. Smaller tract-type houses replace the solid Victorian homes of the Woodford's area. On the other side, the right, were garages and company truck yards, more ioslated and impersonal.
Far ahead was the overpass for I-295, a six-lane interstate slashing across the city. Against its brief darkness I could see figures lounging on the walls of the bridge, bikes and beers littering the side.
This was possibility that I had considered when working out this jaunt. The best thing to do was look for quick exits, tuck my digital minicam into my opposite pocket and saunter my way through.
Which I did. It looked like a small party of mixed kids and adults, related, I thought. sitting around drinking beers and hanging out on a warm day. We treasure them up here and they are rapidly ending; I didn't blame them for taking advantage of this one.
"Just lookin' at shit" I grunted while walking by. They smiled and saluted me with their cans of Bud.
Actually a beer looked kind of good.
You know, now I think of it, perhaps this next section should have its own post. There is a special neatness to it all and I want to get it right.
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