I'm So Confident, I Have a Train Layout

Me and Mikado 3025

A few years ago, my son, Aidan, and I broke into the inner circle of a model railroad club when he discovered a rare, first generation engine at a yard sale. In the subculture of model railroading, most serious collectors won't bother with noobs. Aidan and I were embraced by the local hobbyists for finding a rare U33B Seacoast GE Diesel, one of the first models made by the manufacturer.

I've always loved trains. Perhaps it was the long, lumbering freight trains that crossed our patch of woods we played in as kids. Back then railroads were on their last legs so inspections of the track were cut back in favor of running trains at slower speeds. The giant engines, hauling freight, gliding gracefully on the rails moved so slowly that we often contemplated hopping the caboose for an epic adventure.

I've always been a buff, alpha kind of guy. My procreating days are behind me, but even so, I'm so confident in my manliness that I have a train layout without concern that my wife, Christine, will nix me for a 19 year old sailor named "Rickie." Let's face it. You never read in the personals,

"I like long walks on the beach, movies, going out to dinner. Train layout a plus."

Model railroading is intrigue in miniature. For some reason males like to make minute worlds featuring rail transportation. Women who are evaluating the available gene pool should probably pass on men who possess toy trains. Admittedly, my penchant for trains didn't surface when we were dating, but now that Christine was pregnant with boy number two, trains had once again hauled into my life.

I once read an advertisement on Craig's List in which a recently divorced woman was selling off her ex-husband's stuff. She listed a Scalextric slot car race set and a collection of Lionel trains as well as "other assorted man-shit." I was interested in the Lionel. Model railroading and unsocial hermitage go hand in hand, yet I seemed to have bridged the gap between the everyday world and that in miniature. Sensing this unique combination, the president of a local club asked me to speak at their next gathering. I was flattered, 

"It would be an honor, but I really don't know that much about trains."

Unfazed he responded,

"We don't want you to talk about trains. We want you to talk about girls."

It must have been my six month pregnant wife I dragged into the hobby shop that peaked this dude's interest. My manly presence had in some imperceptible way uplifted the ranks of the unsocial nerds who typically frequent stores selling model trains. I was after all, a man who had driven a steam engine, owned a fair amount of trains himself and somehow managed to impregnate a woman twice. I was the most interesting man in the miniature world of model railroading.

"Sure, I guess," I responded.

In advance I worked up a short presentation filled with pictures of my collection. On the night of the meeting, after I had burned through about ten slides, a guy in the front row with thick glasses raised his hand half way. I called on him,

"Yes, the dude with the Hubbell telescope on his face."

The man looked about the room as he slowly lowered his hand,

"Kevin Tillsdale. I thought you were going to talk about girls?"

"Oh yeah," I answered.

"Ted Billerka. I have a question," a swooping bald guy said from the back row.

"Yes, the gentleman with the half mullet."

Ted continued,

"On a first date, how long should you wait before you talk about your train layout?"

"Well I think... I would... never Ted. Never mention the train layout."

Another gentlemen sat up in his chair and interjected,

"Bill Watson. I disagree. I submit that on a first date I always discuss my layout."

The room broke into a golf clap.

"And how many second dates have you been on Bill?"

Bill slumped slowly back into his chair as the applause faded. A pale faced dude struggling to complete a beard raised his hand,

"Tim Stokes. What scales do women like best?"

“Scales? Well, I don't know?"

“Well, what scale does your wife like?” Tim inquired.

“N scale, I think.”

Each member pulled out a small pocket notebook and began scribbling on the pages. When Tim finished he turned to his buddy and exclaimed,

“That makes sense. Girls like the small trains.”

Another hand shot up.

“Yeah Bob. What’s a good first date?”

“You can always take a woman out to dinner,” I offered.

A short guy with fair skin and a lonely brown mustache stood to his feet,

"I tried that, but it didn't work!"

"Where did you take her?" I asked.

"To see my train layout in the basement. My mom made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

"You have to go to a restaurant," I explained.

An old grey haired man slapped the short guy on the arm as he said,

"That's why they call it 'going out', Mark."

The pencils broke out again and filled the pages of the tiny notebooks. Another hand from an overweight dude slowly rose,

"What road names do girls like Bob?"

"Road names?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know. BNSF, B&O, Union Pacific?"

"I know for a fact that girls like Santa Fe," I exclaimed authoritatively.

The pencils scratched furiously as the audience members looked to each other and whispered while nodding in approval,

"Ah, Santa Fe!"

Another question darted from the back,

"Tell me, Bob, how did you get your wife to marry you?"

"Well, the first time I ever spoke to her, she shot me right down."

"So what did you do?"

"I was persistent and patient."

This seemed to resonant with the group since, if anything, hobbyists are pathologically patient. I added,

"A woman is like driving a steam engine. You have to come up to speed slowly, don't make any fast moves and take care when crossing the road."

Time whisked by as my analogy stretched to the breaking point. I wrapped up my presentation then made for the exit. I was glad that I was able to reach the safety of my car as I was pretty sure that more than one club member had buried a body under his parent's porch.

On the drive home I reflected on my life with my wife and son. I wondered who the boy Christine was carrying would become. Would he play an instrument or a sport, would he be a good student, would he like trains? I thought about my dad, how socially awkward he had always been largely due to an absent father who died when he was eleven years old. I wondered if my father ever pondered on what kind of man I would become? I went to college to study engineering, returning later for computer science, then finally I turned to screenwriting. I was a husband, a father, a brother, a friend and a consummate ferroequinologist, a lover of trains.

There are many questions that this life will never answer, who is God, what is infinity, is there life after death? The goal is to find your place in all of it. In the end, I hadn't a clue which scales and road names women liked, but I'm pretty sure it didn't matter.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on April 3, 2018.