Metrolink 111: Love A New Rail Fan
Shelley J Alongi

 

The following article is a synthesis of the last six weeks through my Metrolink 111 journey starting September 12 and not over yet. This one trip allows me to see the accident site, figure things out, maybe as much as they can be figured out, and allows me a break from many of my overwhelming concerns and responsibilities. Read about me being a tourist, The Chatsworth Crawl, my various traveling mates, and memories of the Coast Starlight.

Sunday Morning At Fullerton.

Today it wasn�t any problem to get up early on a Sunday. Usually Sunday for me is a sleep day, a quiet relaxing day with not many obligations, church in the morning and that lately if I wake up in time. If I don�t and I think I�m being rushed it�s ala bout making coffee and just getting myself together. But today I�m headed for a train to Santa Barbara, not something I do every Sunday, so I get up and get dressed, pack my food bag with peanut butter, bread, pears, candy, juice, and water and hoisting it over my shoulder I dawn the necklace with my keys and call the taxi. It arrives, having come from the train station, says the driver, a man I�ve worked with several times and who knows my name, and we�re off. The train station is quiet this morning, I think there are a few rail fans because someone is sitting there with a radio playing on the patio, but the Santa Fe Railroad Caf� has some other station than they usually have on their usual KRTH playing �take the Last Train to Clarksville) which is the song I always remember hearing here. I�m sure they don�t play the same station all the time. The person with talk radio is probably interested in something else anyway and isn�t here today for the reason I am. Today I�m here to catch the 8:15 Amtrak to Santa Barbara, to wrestle with seeing the spot between Chatsworth and Simi Valley where the metrolink accident occurred on September 12, 2008. has it been six weeks already? I don�t� know where the time has gone. After working fifty to sixty hours a week, reading all I can about the accident, working on transcripts, I am ready for this trip.

I�ve always found the rails to be comforting somehow and now even more so, now that I�ve made some kind of connection with an engineer I never met. But first, before I�m off to visit the same tracks where Robert M. Sanchez plied his trade, it�s time for breakfast. This time, instead of it being about lunch (see Metrolink 111 it�s All about Lunch), it�s all about breakfast.

Weak coffee, it will do, spicy sausage, eggs, potatoes that are too peppery and not cooked enough but okay, and toast, always the famous breakfast of the noncarbohydrate conscious. Today isn�t� a day for counting carbs, believe me, my glucose readings will probably shoot through the roof, and I�ll love it. There�s always something about trains that makes me want to eat and I always do.
 
This morning at fullerton while I am there, I don�t see one freight. I do see lots of people waiting for northbound trains to L.A. One guy with an English accent is going to meet his wife in San Luisabisbo. He�s transferring to the coast Starlight. SanLuisabispo is where a conductor met Rob Sanchez I figured it out by going to the Amtrak site and looking up the station code slo. In a previous essay I said I didn�t know what slo stood for; now I know. Cold, foggy, Sanluisabispo. Engineer Rob Sanchez meets conductor and helps him on his familiarization route. Today, this guy cares nothing about that; he�s just going to spend time with his wife. They�re both pretty good reasons for going to slo. Today I�m not going that far, but far enough to get away from what ails me: all of it.

On the train.

Well, finally, I�m in the car. My traveling mates are two women buying clothing for their stores. I remember the conversation being about what people were and weren�t� buying. Apparently they�re not buying kammies. It strikes me that one person says she�s tired of one style she�s going to switch to the other style. But business is about what the people want not what she wants. But that�s another issue for another time.

Overall from Fullerton to Santa Barbara the trip is a quiet one. At times the train clips along at a nice rocking speed, and at times it is restricted to the 42 miles per hour required in heavy traffic areas. The engineer blows the whistle constantly on this trip, partly for regulation reasons I�m sure, and sometimes I wonder if it�s just because engineers get a kick out of blowing train whistles. Maybe train engineers are all children at heart. Aren�t we all.

The Chatsworth Crawl Part 1

There is more than a little bit of anticipating for me as we reach the Chatsworth station. Between Chatsworth and Simi Valley is where the accident occurred and if I�m completely honest with myself the whole reason for coming here today is to take this stretch of track, to just be here. I�ve been through here on all of my train journeys, I think. Maybe the coast Starlight doesn�t stop here. As a matter of fact I think it doesn�t stop here, it stops at Simi Valley which is the stop just after this one. This train stops here, though on its way to Goleta, and so today people board and we wait. I can�t help thinking of Rob sitting on this very track waiting to pull out of this very station on September 12. We wait briefly and we�re off again. This time, however, instead of clipping along at a nice imperious clip, the train stating in no uncertain terms that it�s �my turn thank you very much� the engineer immediately pulls us back to a meek 42 miles per hour, eyes on lights, as if to say here I am please let me go safely through this track. We take the sharp curve, and triumphantly enter the tunnel through Santa Susana�s pass. We make it to Simi Valley, I make it. I�m tense, I feel better, I think of the train sitting there that night people dead, people sitting in a lady�s back yard, a dead Metrolink engineer. And I think it wasn�t that long of a trip. What went so horribly wrong? Horribly, completely wrong. Did text messaging do all that? It�s the longest, shortest twelve minutes of my life. More about this later. There is a return trip.
The Tourist

We clip from Simi Valley to the next stations, then we�re at Santa Barbara.

When I detrain at Santa Barbara I discover that I have to cross the railroad tracks to go down Cabrillo Street to catch the trolley to a destination I�ve only read about online. I�ve mentioned several times that I really don�t like crossing railroad tracks. Alas, some days you do what you have to do. I don�t do it by myself and there are plenty of people there so we cross and then I�m off to go to a seafood restaurant. That is supposed to be the plan. It doesn�t quite work out that way. A nice cool breeze almost reminiscent of spring wafts lunch time smells to those of us carrying bags and cameras and no cash. I discover that to take the trolley I need a quarter and so the couple that accompanies me across the railroad tracks gives me a quarter. I have one very bad habit in life, I always seem to go and forget something important. This time I completely forget to carry cash with me.

I get onto the trolley and head downtown asking the driver where the street is. We discover that the street I want is in the opposite direction of the down town area so the driver gives me a return ticket. He shows me where the stop is and since I am desperate for a restroom (I�ve been drinking juice and water and coffee all morning) I find a restaurant behind me and decide why not eat there? So it was all for necessity that I decided to eat at Eladios. They�re serving brunch. On this beautiful Sunday afternoon when I�ve spent all morning on the train unwinding and being rocked by the rails I choose to sit outside on the patio beside a fountain, looking out toward the street and not the water. There�s enough water here, it�s in the fountain and it�s peaceful. Small groups, large groups, I�m probably the only single person sitting there. It doesn�t bother me. I like being single. Blackened chicken, French fries, salad, and an ice-cream sundae are the fair for the day. This compliments the peanut butter, pears, and candy I bring on the train with me. I sit there for a while just enjoying the scenery, the people, the new place, the fountain, it�s away from home. My tension over the loss of the engineer is easing; maybe. The waiter tells me there are only hotels and restaurants here, shops are down State Street. I didn�t really come to shop today but since it�s already 2:00 pm I�m thinking I might stroll around and look at shops. The only problem with this is that I will spend money and I didn�t come here to spend money today, at least not any more money than on lunch. So you see, I guess it all really is about lunch. That�s why I make a connection with rob Sanchez, he invited his friend to lunch. I can connect with that. Ask any of my friends they�ll tell you what I think of lunch. J:

By the time I get done with lunch it�s 2:00 pm. Walking back toward the station I know I have to cross those tracks one more time. There is a couple walking beside me, his name is Tim I ask if they�ll help me with the tracks. They don�t see them and then oopsy daisy, there they are. As we approach the tracks, here�s the Amtrak with its loud, imperious, majestic whistle, and the signal bell ringing for traffic to stop. It is obedient and so are we the lowly pedestrians. None of us want to die today, thank you Mr. Engineer, you can go on your way now. Tim is surprised at the loudness. I�m thinking of a dead Metrolink engineer. I�m also thinking that getting hit by a train is not on my agenda and so I�m happy to wait. I suppose if I crossed railroad tracks everyday I wouldn�t be so wary and then this may be wherein lies the whole problem of Metrolink 111, unless we find out differently. I read an article a few weeks ago whose main point was that cell phone usage among train crews was a big issue in railroading, apparently there was an accident where someone stepped in front of a train while using a cell phone. Now that�s really not paying attention. Yikes! We wait, the train passes, it is, as it turns out, my train, if I want to leave so early.

At the station there�s a guy, he says Freedom is his name, he tries to give me food, he tells me that my mother and I are angels, he says he spent 14 years in the marine core and four years as a navy seal. He lost his cat his dog his wife and his daughter-in-law and granddaughters in an accident in 2003 he�s �been walking ever since.� He says he�s walked forty-seven thousand miles. He�s a mental case, I�m sure. I�m sure he has a story just like anyone else. Today I get tired of his but I am polite and I don�t� encourage the story. He seems to have no problem with this, instead repeating it to everyone who will listen. I�m sure he�s a regular Santa Barbara train station fixture. God bless him.

I go inside the station. I make several trips to the bathroom because I�ve drunk way too much liquid today. Juice, water, tea, coffee. I talk to a lady she lives in L.A. in a condo we talk about condos and cats and I don�t remember everything. It makes passing the time pleasant enough. Train stations are relaxing that way, in a world where we�re always on the clock it�s nice to know I can finally just breathe. If I go to the train station with that in mind everything is fine. If not, then it�s one big stressful experience and that�s not what I�m interested in today. Today it�s all about unwinding and just being here along with everyone else. Thank God for train stations.

Finally, the train comes and I�m on it. One of the Amtrak conductors approaches me and shows me where to board the train. I�m always afraid I�m going to miss it or get caught under it or not be seen, but somehow it always work out and I always end up on the train. It�s really like that with metrolink trains they�re just in a big hurry to get nowhere fast. I�m glad we have Metrolink trains, believe me. Where would I be today without them? Probably home feeding kitties. Instead I�m racing across railroad tracks no longer frequented by one 46-year-old dark curly-headed engineer.

Two ladies end up sitting in the car with me, one is a school teacher, I don�t� know what the other one does. During the trip we talk about Danielle Steel novels and new authors, and the Metrolink crash. School teacher says one of her student�s aunts died in that crash. She can�t remember the name. I�m not sure I believe her. It might be true. People did die in that crash. School teacher�s daughter was going to take the train, she took the train behind it, the earlier one. Then she gets stranded at Union Station and her husband has to pick her up because no trains are running. I Don�t Know tells the conductor she didn�t get to use a ticket because of the accident. She also says her husband was stuck in Ventura he couldn�t get from Ventura to Irvine so he stayed up there. Everywhere I look people have been affected by the crash, they were either supposed to be on that train, or were not on it, and it�s just such a nasty accident.

�The engineer died, too� I said, �at the risk of being unpopular I feel bad for him.� No comments. There was a comment earlier on the Trolley a guy who has been in Santa Barbara 33 years says he read an article where the engineer text messaged twelve seconds before the crash. Twelve? Soon it will be down to 3, 2 1. Here�s what I think. Rob saw the train. He froze. He couldn�t hit his brakes. He hit the train. The text message he sent said �yea usually (at) north Camarillo.

The Chatsworth Crawl Part 2
Suddenly we�re at Van Nuys and then we�re at Simi Valley. We get to Simi Valley and it�s the Chatsworth Crawl again. This time there are a couple of tears. I keep thinking I have to do something for this engineer or I�m imagining I say that and there are tears. A few tears, not many but definitely tears. What kind of tears? The kind that come when your face curls up, your mouth clenches, the muscles in your eyebrows tense and tears lie on your lashes and maybe make their way down your cheek. Not easy tears, not tears of abandon, only the kinds of tears that are produced at the touch of strong emotion or something very moving. Here we go through the tunnel again and out of it right at the spot where the two trains met and lives were so irrevocably changed.

Today I shared the same track as Robert Sanchez. I saw his death place. Somehow I feel better. But I keep wondering what went horribly wrong. There�s not a whole lot of time to miss a light there. Not much time at all. Twelve minutes from Simi Valley to Chatsworth. Or the other way around.

People might ask me why I care so much about the reputation of the engineer. Certainly I don�t know everything about him. However what I have put together is that he would have been upset had he lived through the accident. If it were me and something happened like that on my shift I�d want someone to give me a second chance, to understand that I would have been sorry. I�m sure Robert M. Sanchez doesn�t need any torch carriers. He had plenty of friends in plenty of places, even if they are employees or acquaintances who remember him from long ago meetings. I never met him but I just want people to think that he would have been sorry. The NTSB will tell us who bears responsibility and there will be speculation and arguments and opinions in the days and months to come. Let this be one of them. Let mine rank up there with all the best: understand he would have been sorry.

Rocked by the Rails

After we leave Chatsworth, the conductor is on his cell phone. I ask him about it he says as long as they�re not in the controlling end of the locomotive they can use it for business. Someone turned in a cell phone to Amtrak, he explains to me, then it got lost and they had to fill out a police report.

We�re running ahead of schedule, our conductor who has been very entertaining on the public address system informs us. We sit for half an hour in Los Angeles and then we�re off again, a whole new group of people heading to San Diego and stops in between, another group of commuters riding the rails.

At fullerton, a place I�m very happy to see, I get off the train, and walk with people to the elevator. A man tries to help me as a glorious freight passes through. I stand in awe and watch the train pass. He wonders if I need assistance. I yell over the blazing sound that I�m fine. When the freight passes, I wish I could stay longer. I make my way toward the front of the station when an Amtrak employee approaches me and asks if I need help. NO, I assure her, I�m fine, this is home. And it really is.

The coast Starlight

It was a good train travel day. I enjoyed it. I�ll do it again. And I�m going to take the Coast Starlight (Rob�s train) up to Seattle. There were two entries on Rob�s page from people who had met him on the Coast Starlight, one who thought he was the coolest guy he�d ever met and the conductor I told you about earlier, the one who met him out of Slo. Reading those memories resonated with me because that was the first train I had taken as a child. I remember waking up at 2:00 in the morning as we crawl across the bridge at Dunsmuir, a spot on our journey that my mother did not enjoy. I�ve always found that 2:00 AM crawl very majestic. I guess I just like the relaxing rocking of the rails and it took a connection with a now deceased Metrolink engineer for me to remember it.

Rob Sanchez whatever they find and whatever people say, rest in peace.

Love, A New Rail Fan

 

 

Copyright © 2008 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"