Sometime late on Tuesday morning, I picked up Harold and took him to the airport in G.C. If memory still serves, it is called La Aurora. We said goodbyes and I thanked him for all that he did for me.

Sorry, but I am not certain if the following happened on Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday.

Anyway, instead of just sitting around at a hotel in town, I realized that I was now ok enough to get out some on my own. I again drove to Escuintla. There was a mission to this. My friend back home had asked me if I could try to get some black & white close-ups of the pair of ex-Sumpter Valley articulateds for a friend who wished to model them. I had Plus-X in the second camera so was good to go.

The drive went ok, no road delays due to work or accident and I got through the one soldiers check point quickly. When I got to Escuintla, I found an open parking space right next to the station and out in the open. Got just the one camera out of my case and then locked the case up in the trunk. Pretty quiet here again. I wandered across the yard toward the house and was looking at a couple of dead locomotives when I heard somebody whistling at me. It was the roundhouse foreman and he was not in a great mood.

He did speak a little English and from what I gathered, he had just been told to get a helper ready for a trip up the hill to Palin and back. Apparently this was either on very short notice or he felt that the train that was soon to arrive did not really need the power. He did not take his sour mood out on me though.

We ended up doing a repeat of Sunday, getting Porter built Mike 154 ready again. This time, he turned her on the table and then had me back her a short distance to where we took water. I wondered where the crew was.

A long passenger train came into town. I do not know if this was the train from the Mexican border or the San Jose turn, which sometimes ran with a long consist. He had me back up onto the main and then come ahead a couple of cars once the switch was lined. Where was the crew? He held up one finger to say he'd be back shortly and headed for the train order office. Two young kids got up on the engine and one sat on the fireman's seat. The other one walked out on the running board to the front and had us come ahead to a joint with the last car of the passenger. Where was the engineer?

The foreman returned with a set of orders. He explained that we were to help Escuintla to Palin and then return light engine. The were no meets. He pointed to the orders and smiled. They had my name misspelled on them. He also told me that the fireman would help me with what to look out for on the way.

Escuintla is at 1112 ft. elevation and Palin is at 3697. The first 8 miles or so gets to 3.6% and that steepens to 3.7% the remainder of the way, a total of around 16 miles.

We got going and I really wasn't at all sure just how much to shove. Taking cues from the fireman, we got the Porter to working a little and that's when I found out just what a tired machine she was. Turns out that she had a good boiler and that's fine, but mechanically, she was long past a shopping and a real tired old dog. I have never experienced that much lost motion in machinery. I bet every joint in the front-end throttle had almost 3/32" of play. These together all added up. The reverse lever was just as bad. I finally found a combination of throttle and cutoff that I felt would go easy on water consumption and also provide a little help. The fireman gave a thumbs up and we lumbered up the hill at around 12-15 mph. We'd essentially be traversing along the side of a large volcano.

Hot day it was and humid too. I should have brought something to drink. The camera sat on the floor right in front of the seat box and I never touched it. I wasn't 100% yet and that took a little away from the experience.

We got to the top of the hill and went across the big bridge that spanned the highway. The fireman told me to give one whistle and pointed out front. On a right hand curve, the brakeman gave me a pin and got us uncoupled. I stopped the engine and when the kid got back in the cab, started backing down the hill. A bit of drifting throttle actually helped from having to use the independent much.

The pair tried to get across to me that it was ok to stop in the siding at Medio Monte. It was good for 12 cars. We sat on a rail while the guys chatted nonstop with each other and I kept an ear on the compressor that it did not quit on us.

Back in the yard at Escuintla, the tender went on the ground. I got pretty upset and really wanted out of there bad. I had visions of "Yank Wrecks Train" in the newspapers, but that was really overreacting. The yardmaster, my roundhouse buddy and a section man came over and looked at the mess. The tender apron was buckled pretty badly, one chain had broken and one of the hard rubber water lines had come off. We were lucky that the yard engine, a Consolidation, could get around us and then pull on the front end. Finally got back on the rail they still had me stay with her and put her back in the house. I got a friendly pat on the shoulder and was told "no problemo".

All I thought about on the drive back to G.C. was that my adventures on locomotives down here were all done.

That set of orders with my name went into a phone book in my hotel room to keep them flat and I put that out in the open on top of the dresser so I wouldn't forget it.