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I have a love affair with anything that runs on tracks. I can't even remember when it started. Truthfully, I think it is in my genes. When I was about thirteen I entered the world of "boxcar tourism." Needing to get to Boy Scouts in the city (at the time we were living "out in the country") and not wanting to hitch or walk, I hopped a Western Maryland boxcar as it slowed for a grade, not quite sure how I was going to get off where I needed to. Fortunate for me, the train stopped just where I needed to get off. My riding companion was a grizzly old gent who offered to share his bottle with me. I declined. At that age there were still a few things about boxcar tourism that I was not quite ready to experience. In case you are wondering, I wisely never told my parents or my Scout leaders.