Until the last few years, I maintained a presence on Trainorders.com, which was once a was a great place for old geezers like me to share interesting historical tidbits in its History & Nostalgia section. Sadly, my favored correspondents had a nasty habit of croaking, causing my usual Nostagia & History haunt to progressively evolve into Nostalgia & History. How guys can wax nostalgic about the number of louvers on a GP9 or a photo of a searchlight signal, I don't know, but some do, God bless them. Thus growing evermore bored with typical postings, about all that I had to fall back upon was my sense of humor, which fell upon deaf ears, judging by a near total lack of response. Admittedly, my jokes typically did run contrary to nostalgia. Before the virtual torches and pitchforks drove me off, I did manage to get in a few licks. Here's one of them. |
My own professional take (edited for comprehension):
As a doddering old retiree, I am not versed on computer controlled anything, but older analog automatic sanders typically had an "automatic drain-the-sandbox feature" whereby they they on automatically, and remained on. Sometimes you could get them to "automatically" quit sanding by big-holing the engine and then recovering the air, but this was not very conducive to train integrity while moving, if you catch my drift.
Another common automatic feature was the "auto-clog sand conservation device", which dribbled moisture into sanding hoses, as the result of a carefully considered lack-of-maintenance program intended to counteract the "automatic drain-the sandbox-feature". This turned sand into a cement-like substance which could be mined for building material.
Auto-clog was particularly effective during freezing weather. If you absolutely required sand, you would grab a mallet from the cab (if it was not already stolen) and attempt to dislodge the sand by beating the snot out the offending hose(s). For safety's sake, one performed this operation while the train was stopped. An added benefit of this process was that it could be very therapeutic if one imagined the company logo on the sand hose.
Fusees generally were handy in freezing weather, but less so for thawing frozen hoses, since overly enthusiastic application of 1000 degree heat could melt hoses, or even them catch on fire. This usually was a self-defeating exercise until you got the hang of it. The auto clog feature was not accessorized with a console indicator, but it nevertheless could initially be detected by the whining sound created by the front truck's sudden ~30 million rpm wheel slip, and further confirmed by the screech of the overspeed warning whistle. A simple glance of the speedometer, which microseconds before had read 40 mph, but now reads 98 mph, served to confirm the confirmation of the confirmation that the auto-clog feature's operation was causing this massive wheel slip, but only if it was taking place on the #2 axle, the only one connected to the speedo. For all you know by then, wheel slip on the rear truck may have already spun themselves down to the nubs.
I must say that it was very helpful to have so many indications at your disposal confiding that your sanders and wheel-slip control were inoperative, but the ultimate indication of this - on freight trains at least - was not at all subtle: a sudden lurch ahead, followed by the explosion of emergency vent valves back in the cars as they parted ways. An experienced head brakemen was generally attuned to what this meant, should it occur in the unlikely event that he was awake.
Of course, I worked passenger trains in sunny California for the last half of my career. Freight guys who worked their entire careers in winter-prone places like Minneapolis or Cut Bank no doubt have a much fuller working understanding of automatic sanding features. Some of these lucky guys are still working on first and second generation rolling museums, thus are able to speak on the subject in a most colorful present tense.
I hope that this helps.
- EO
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