Bedford, Ohio, Thursday, December 13^th, 2001. A wet day, with temperatures in the 40s, but the rain had stopped. I took my son William to his Boy Scout meeting. I had an hour until I had to pick him up again, so I headed to Glendale Rd., my usual trainwatching spot. The westward signals were showing green over red over red for track 2, a clear signal. The scanner announced the approach of the westbound train. Soon the rumble of the big diesel and its lights from around the bend heralded its approach. Glendale’s gates went down, followed by the blast of the whistle and the roar of the engines and the rumble of the wheels. I watched it approach, and then turned to watch it pass. In the distance to the west, I saw the headlight and ditch lights of an approaching eastbound. As the westbound rolled on, I realized that I could still see the lights of the eastbound. It’s not an NS train; it’s a Wheeling!

Two railroads run through Bedford. The Norfolk Southern Railroad’s two-track Cleveland Line runs from northwest to southeast, paralleling Broadway and one edge of the Cleveland Metroparks’ Bedford Reservation. It is quite busy, with over 50 trains per day and a maximum speed of 50 mph. Trains can be well over a mile long, powered by four or more six-axle, 4000-hp or even 6000-hp monster locomotives. Trains of containers or truck trailers dominate, many destined for or coming from the new intermodal yard just to the northwest, in Maple Heights. Auto parts for the Ford plant in Walton Hills and the Chrysler plant in Twinsburg make up a large part of the remaining traffic.

The NS Cleveland Line makes Bedford a good town for trainwatching, but it’s the other line that has my heart. The Wheeling & Lake Erie’s Cleveland Subdivision parallels the NS tracks through Garfield Heights, Maple Heights and part of Bedford, veering east just past Bedford Square (for which it marks the western side). It passes Bedford Cemetery, runs into Solon alongside Tinker’s Creek, and ends in Glenwillow, where the Falls Junction station sits on Pettibone Rd. The subdivision is a run-down single-track line with mud between the ties, jointed rail wearing out at the joints, and a 12-mph speed limit on the curve between Bedford Square and Broadway. It sees four trains per day, with scrap metal making the bulk of the traffic, but just about anything else is possible. The Wheeling runs six-axle SD40s (now rebuilt into SD40-3s) and four-axle GP35s. A program to rebuild the GP35s is under way. The rebuilt ones have a very snazzy black and orange paint scheme; the others are black and rusty and ugly, but they still work. This little line seems to me to show the soul of railroading much more clearly than the big, busy NS line next to it.

Glendale is the best place to watch NS traffic in Bedford, but there are plenty of better spots to watch Wheeling trains, and the trains run slowly enough that if you see one, you can get ahead of it to wherever you want. One of my favorites is the Richmond Rd. crossing. The Wheeling line crosses Richmond Rd. near Tinker’s Creek in Solon. On its way to the Cuyahoga River, the creek runs under Richmond Rd. and turns right. Right away, it meets the bank on which the track was built. It loops back and returns to its original course west to meet the Cuyahoga. Coming toward Richmond from the west, the Wheeling track skirts the edge of Bedford Reservation, running through woods until a shallow left turn brings it alongside the creek and up to Richmond Rd.

That night, I thought I’d like to see the train and the creek up at Richmond. I hopped in the car and drove up Solon Rd. I know the train is limited to only 12 mph through Bedford and probably 25 mph once the track straightens out again, but I still touched 45 mph when I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I turned right onto Richmond, crossed the tracks and the creek, turned onto the parkway, and parked in a little lot that’s right there. I grabbed my scanner (for no particular reason, since Wheeling crews don’t use the radio once the train is moving) and hurried back along the road to the tracks, afraid that the train would arrive before I could find the best place to watch it from.

I needn’t have worried. There was no sign of the train when I arrived at the tracks. I had a couple of choices. There’s a grassy bank that rises above the tracks on the right, on the other side of the tracks from the creek, that might provide a good vantage point, but since the train would be coming from the right, I wouldn’t have been able to see it for very long. Instead, I walked a short way in between the tracks and the creek. The bank was wide enough that I could stay a safe distance back from the tracks, and it was good spot for seeing a little bit around the bend. The tracks were on my right, and the creek was below the bank on my left. Behind me were the lights of the Richmond Rd. crossing, and a few more lights marking the entrance to a landfill.

I stood drinking in the night, the cold breeze through the bare trees, the quiet rush of the creek falling over a tiny waterfall, the purr of cars on the road behind me, the tracks fading into darkness as they curve away to the right into the woods. But a little paranoia sets in: was that really a Wheeling train? Did it somehow get ahead of me? Why isn’t it here yet? A distant whistle reassures me, and I return to my surroundings. The cycle repeats: calm enjoyment of my surroundings, nervousness, a whistle, a little closer this time.

After a while, I noticed that the trees on the other side of the bend were just a bit brighter than the ones across the creek. Is it just wishful thinking, or is the train finally getting close? I stared hard at the glowing trees, wondering if I was really seeing the train’s light on them, and at the same time knowing that the act of wondering itself made the illusion more probable. But finally there was no doubt: the train’s headlights were shining on the trees. I could hear the locomotives around the bend. As the train entered the bend, the lights started reflecting off the tracks, two silver streaks running away from me into the glowing trees ahead, with the dark creek on my left and the dark trees running up the bank across the tracks to my right.

The train’s lights emerged from around the bend. The locomotives were loud; it must be a long train tonight. I stand staring as the train comes closer. The lights spear me. I can’t move, and I don’t want to. I’m staring unblinking into over half a million candlepower of headlights and ditchlights. The world disappears. All that’s left is three suns, with millions of rays of light of every color radiating out from them; the roar of locomotives straining to keep the train moving; and two silver curves shining toward me and curving past to my right.