Rail fandom is like the foot fetish: either you have it and understand it or you don't.
This pic here show the place where I became a rail fan. It's near my grandparents' house, behind that green house in left. See that lone birch in the middle? Little right from it there's a trail crossing the railway, I think it's just about observable. The trail was where the main road of the village used to be so a large stone had been brought to block path when an overpass was built. (Where this the photographer stood.) That stone was approximately rectangular, so it was good for sitting on and waiting for the train when I had become bored of the adults doing adult things.
So it would start. You hear the rails singing and popping first. Then the rumble starts, slowly getting louder. Just before seeing it, you discern the the engine from the noise. The ground shakes. The engine emerges from the curve and in just few seconds it and its loud murmur passes you. The overwhelming cacophony of the wagons quickly buries the sound of the engine. It hits you, immobilizes and hypnotizes you. It's rhythmic but chaotic, composed of thousands of individual mechanical noise sources passing you, yet getting louder, until it doesn't. Just when you are regaining your feet, the noise eases a bit, you see the last car of the train and when it passes, it's almost quite suddenly, for your ears are still blocked.
Then you'd go inside, tell dad how may wagons you counted and beg a glass of buttermilk and slice of bologna from grandma :))
>>1464820>>1465183 >cityplanningfags >publicadministrationfagThat is what an advanced transitfag will eventually become.
Also don't forget historyfags. Give them four numbers (five for wagons), and they will tell you the years when it was in service, when it was overhauled, where it served and all the alignment changes on that line.
