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Four walks in a row now the Canadian National freight line has forced me to wait

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This time I crossed the tracks eastbound and saw the light of the engine coming from the north. Two hopes abounded: that I could loop through downtown quick enough to return before its crossing (since you can see several to a few miles north on the laser-straight tracks here) or that it would come quickly and complete its obstruction before I came back to the tracks.

It took its sweet time and blocked the sidewalk only a minute before my arrival. Of course I could change my route slightly to go under the viaduct a block south, but I’m just too obstinate. And that’s where all the freaks are at late at night anyway. Sure.

Growing up in Sparta, as I would lay in bed at night I could hear the trains roaring by along the Illinois Central tracks a mile to the south, and my overactive genius kindergartner’s imagination convinced me that the horns sounding as they flew over their intersection with Route 4 was the claxon of the Monster Truck going street-by-street to deliver all of the overnight monsters at the homes of Sparta’s children. I was less frightened by this idea than impressed with the precision the monsters used to dispatch the horror-bringers.

So I like hearing trains at night. It’s a comforting sound as the warning wail and the shudder of the tracks echoes through the silent city.

But I’m getting damned tired of the trains in Effingham.

I like to walk. Specifically I like to walk at night, often when Emily’s gone to bed and I can grab my ancient iPod Shuffle and bask in my peaceful constitutional. Effingham can be quite the quiet small town at night, and the busy stop-free intersections that tangle up pedestrians in the daylight offer easy passage under the watch of the stars, which all twinkle brighter than expected due to the small number of streetlights present in the town’s mostly safe neighborhoods. I stroll through newer friendly neighborhoods, past Saint Anthony’s hospital and along the classic downtown dotted with cute shops and the incredibly tasty Italian subs at Joe’s Pizza. Yum.

The Rocketeer release But on the west end of downtown I have to cross the Canadian National rail line.

This is the trail made famous in Steve Goodman’s tune City of New Orleans, and while the Amtrak cars fly quickly through town several times a day, smiling and tipping their cap as they hurry to get out of our way, it’s the long, plodding CN freight line that causes me ill. I can depart from our apartment, a good three miles northwest of the crossing, and hear the horn of a train beginning to violate my future path. No problem; it’s a good half-hour before I’m scheduled to be there, and this lumbering monster will by then be long gone.

By the time that thirty minutes is up, another train is already running through.

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Every train in the world, it seems, passes through The Giant Truck Stop, and thus this happens far too often. This week in particular I took walks three days in a row at different times (6:00 PM, 11 PM, 10 PM) and each night I stood – twice on the east side, once on the west – waiting for the entire train to pass through.

Each time the train waited until I was approaching the crossing to storm through, timing its appearance perfectly so that I was just far enough to be unable to run across yet close enough to have to stand and wait from engine to caboose.

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Every damn night.

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Now I lie in bed at night and hear the trains passing by miles away, laughing at me.

I curse them.

Emily and I spent the weekend in the Mound City with crafts and minstrels.

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Saturday we cruised to Kimmswick, a small village south of the city along the Mississippi River.  Many early homes and buildings have been preserved, and the historic town serves a mini craft and antique mall.  Mother and I had not been together for many a year, so we took my wife to revel in the treasures.  She walked away with a bracelet made of soda bottle caps (Northern Illinois Translation Don’t Say a Word the movie

: “pop bottle caps”) that is quite fetching, particularly due to the presence of a Ski cap.

The main reason behind our trip downstate was a Christmas present from my mother: tickets to the Beatles tribute band “Rain” at the Fox

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on Sunday.  Previously we saw American English in Hillsboro (pictures @ Facebook The Bucket List download ) and Downers Grove, and Emily caught both British Export and the Classical Mystery Tour without her boy, but this was a chance to see yet another group – and one that boasted to have some of the best production values of all the various troupes.

While it was an excellent show, the group couldn’t touch the quality of American English.  The production values were top notch as advertised, with video boards showing clips and classic commercials to fill the gaps during the four quick costume changes, and the giant screen behind the band added visuals that supported the music quite well (along with showing mocked versions of album covers featuring the members of the modern cover band.)  Playing mostly mainstream hits, though, the band’s voices couldn’t match the authenticity found with American English (especially with Paul) even if the instrumentation was quite accurate.  A very good show, just not what AE can provide, and the playlist was far too limited

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Lots and lots of pictures from the show: Facebook

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Emily and I had been to Ballard Nature Centre It’s Alive divx , this quaint private preserve along the Old National Road/US 40 just a few minutes west of Effingham back in the fall, and with the onset of the cold Central Illinois winter had not been able to venture out since.  The past couple Januarys had given us ample warm times to explore, notably in Giant City State Park

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near Carbondale and the Garden of the Gods down in southeast Illinois, but this year had not yet cooperated.  It was cold.

And. It. Would. Not. Stop. SNOWING.

Today was fabulous, though, and we ventured out, spending just over an hour hiking the soft, soggy trails through the restored prairies and woods, lugging my dSLR all the while.  Rain is on the way – and yes, of course, snow – and a high of 32 degrees in the middle of the week. Thanks for the brief respite, Mother Nature…short as it was.

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