A stray New Haven RR FL9 didn’t add up when the commuter locomotive encountered a Seaboard System equipment detector.
When I entered engine service on the Seaboard Coast Line in 1979, the railroad was replacing many of its first generation locomotives, mostly aging Alcos and Electro-Motive Division road switchers. These locomotives had been ideally suited for SCL’s local freight business, which required enough power to stay out of the main line big boys’ way, while being light and agile enough to navigate light rail branch lines and sidings.
Finding nothing on the market to fill the void, SCL began a rebuilding program at its Utica Shops, in Tampa, upgrading structurally sound GP7s and GP9s into class GP16s. Everything from nuts and bolts to electrical systems was to be replaced — yielding a practically new unit. The GP16 was a placeholder until something better was available. The GP16 could “pick up and go,” and with their chopped short hood and as-intended road switcher configuration, they provided excellent visibility to safely handle switching chores. Until I opted for direct employment by Amtrak in 1986, I spent a lot of time on local freights, switchers, and work trains, often running GP16s.
A second vehicular crossing of the wide expanse of water, know as Hampton Roads, was then under construction and was named for the first two ironclad warships to confront each other at that very location during the American Civil War. Delivering building materials for the Monitor-Merrimac Memorial Bridge Tunnel resulted in three round trips weekly, hauling stone from a quarry near Emporia, Va., to the huge natural harbor surrounded by Portsmouth, Norfolk, and Newport News. We usually left Richmond’s Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac’s Acca Yard with a pair of GP38-2s, or a trio of GP16s, and a caboose, for a straight shot down the former Atlantic Coast Line main, paralleling I-95, to pick up the rock. Occasionally, we’d do a little local work.
One dark night, we coupled up to a real stranger in our neck of the woods — a Metro North EMD FL9 hybrid diesel- and third-rail electric, en route Norfolk, Va., for rebuilding. A railfan, I delighted in explaining the oddball engine’s history to my crew. They weren’t impressed. It was just another locomotive to them. All SCL defect detectors were audible, broadcasting the condition of a train and its axle count on the railroad’s radio frequency.
After we uneventfully passed a third detector, the local trainmaster radioed us.
“Rock Train,” he said, “that’s the third time you’ve gotten an odd-numbered axle count. That’s an error. When a defect detector transmits a false report, you’re required to stop and inspect your train.”
“False report?” I asked.
“I’m not aware of any cars with an odd number of axles,” he sneered. “Your crew would appear to be in violation of the rules.”
“Sir, we have a dead-in-tow engine with five axles — two in front, and three on the rear, so the axle count is correct.”
“You are pulling my leg, aren’t you, Mr. Riddell?” he asked, a little hesitantly.
“No, sir,” I said. “Come take a look.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Carry on.”
