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Show Jim: . The "do not hump" on that boxcar you asked about: Railroad freight classification yards-where they break up trains and assemble new trains, have a small hill (the hump). Cars are pushed up it, then coast down, and as they coast, switches are thrown so that the cars arrive in the proper train, out of the many that are being put together there. This saves using a switch engine on each car. But when the cars coast down and hit the cars that are already there and couple to the back one, the collision can damage the car or its contents if they’re fragile. This might be called the special "Do Not Hump” edition of The Zephyr Feedback section. Over the last eleven years, this publication has addressed all kinds of issues and controversies and the response has been erratic. But in the last issue (Feb/Mar) I inquired about the meaning of a sign on the side of a railroad car that read, "DO NOT HUMP." The response has been unprecedented. Dozens of letters, phone calls and emails have flooded The Zephyr mailroom. OK! STOP! Now I know! What follows is a sample of some of the most informative and entertaining replies. At least I know there Thus some cars should not be "humped," and thus the warning. Either that, or you have so many people of strange sexual interests that it’s no wonder that Orrin Hatch feels compelled to protect the whole country ... Ed Quillen Salida, Colorado are a lot of readers out there. Thanks...JS Note: Ed Quillen is the noted columnist for The Denver Post and editor of Colorado Central. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, I keep getting the feeling that you've gone through life with tunnel vision. First it was “rightaway” instead of “right-of-way.” Now it is “hump.” Weren't you interested in trains when you were a child? Didn't you learn anything about railroads? As I recall from my childhood, the term “hump” has to do with railroad switchyards. In a switchyard, there is a small hill or “hump” that a railroad track goes across. This track then divides into many separate tracks. In order to make up trains, cars are pushed to the top of the “hump” one at a time and routed onto the appropriate track to make up a train. The cars coast to their determined location where they crash into other cars that are already there. Then other cars crash into them. It is rather noisy and obviously traumatic to whatever is inside the cars. When you see a “Do Not Hump” sign, it probably means that the contents of the car are fragile and would suffer from the impact. So now you know. It has nothing to do with sex. Of course this information my not be correct, but at least it sounds good. Owen Severance Somewhere in Southern Utah Dear Jim, Cactus Rat was just in Moab looking for a tire for Ol’ Willy and picked up the Z. and wants me to tell you about the "Do not hump" message on the railroad car. When he saw the photo and your request for information, he was pretty arrogant (as he often is about his limited knowledge) and said "EVERYBODY term." knows what that means—it’s an old railroad I patiently explained that there aren’t a lot of old railroaders around these days, so would he please elaborate. It took him awhile, as he was in the middle of polishing a dinosaur-bone bola he just made (it’s godawful—supposedly a miniature brontosaurus but looks more like an overweight prairie dog). But Jim, he told me there are actually pace where this "humping" goes on. They’re called, appropriately enough, "humpyards." There’s one as close as Grand Junction. Maybe even one in Cisco or Thompson Springs. Could even be one at the Potash Plant. ' In his slow patronizing way he carefully explained that a hump is a mound of dirt, kind of the opposite of a pothole (then he got all sidetracked about how that’s maybe where the Hey Stiles, You asked, so here goes... "Do Not Hump" on a railroad freight car means just exactly that--do not hump. "Hump" means to shove over the hump in a hump type classification yard in order to sort the cars out according to destination. In this type of yard a string of cars is shoved slowly but continuously over a rise, or hump, toward the classification yard tracks, or hump bowl. Near the top of the hump they are cut off from each other and allowed to roll by gravity down into the appropriate classification track, with speed controlled by retarders that grip the wheels and slow them down as needed. Switches into the various tracks are controlled remotely. This is as opposed to the old, less productive style of"flat" yard, where ee switching is done by a switch engine without the aid of gravity. Some types of cars and lading are sensitive to some of the things that can happen in a hump yard, such as overspeed coupling impacts, and are therefore marked as you have seen and must be flat switched, where greater care can be taken. Without knowing what was in those cars at Cisco there is no way of knowing why they were marked "Do Not Hump." I believe the old Rio Grande yard in Grand Junction is a humpyard. (Or was, at least, I’m not sure if it still is) Aren’t you glad you asked? Come to think of it, WHY did you ask? Did you think it might be suggestive of something unrelated to railroading? Do you have a dirty mind? Bill Wolverton Escalante Always...JS Writers of the West: dirt from potholes mysteriously goes and even got into his wild UFO theories). When he finally got back around to talking about humping, he told me that a humpyard is a railroad yard with humps. Apparently, these humps are used to make railroad cars smash together and thereby lock, sort of using gravity as an assist. Cars that say "do not hump" usually are carrying things you don’t want smashed (like C4 and other plastic explosives) and you therefore don’t want them to go over these humps. (The post office ALWAYS humps their cars, usually several times.) So Jim, there you have it, whether you want it or not. Best, Yellow Cat @ Yellow Cat, Utah Note: The Zephyr recently received this copy of a letter from Moab resident Jose’ Knighton to the membership services division of the Sierra Club. The letter is self-explanatory...JS Greetings As a lifelong resident of Utah, a longtime resident of Southern Utah and a committed environmental activist, 1 was really encouraged that the national Sierra Club had taken a positive stand on the removal of The Glen Canyon "Damn." Frankly it was a penance long overdue, since the Sierra Club’s surrender of Southern Utah’s premier wilderness was what cursed us with "Lake Foul" in the first place. Just ask David Brower. I joined the Sierra Club back in July of ’99 to support the Club’s brave new posture. But I have since been utterly disgusted by the behavior of the Utah Chapter. They have stone-walled the formation of a Southern Utah "Glen Canyon group" from the group’s Terry Tempest Williams I once lived in the City of Latter-day Saints I have moved. I have moved because of a painting. Over the course of seven years, I have been traveling in the Rcreee of Hieronymus Bosch. A secret I did not tell for fear of seeming mad. Let these pages be my interrogation of faith. My roots have been pleached with the wings of a medieval triptych, my soul intertwined with an artist’s vision. That night, I dream I am being chased by one of El Bosco’s monsters in Hell. The pink amphibious creature wearing a monk’s frock demands that the musical notes burned on the buttocks _of human beings be read. I do not know how to translate music into words. Suddenly, flaming rivers turn to ice. Everything freezes. The triptych shatters into a thousand puzzle pieces on the granite floor of the Prado. I am on my knees picking up the pieces, trying to put the painting back together again. Proceeds from "LEAP" will go to the Castle Rock Collaboration So this is how we dream the world into existence, a flickering of light, brushstrokes of belief. On our backs with a quivering of lungs, we breathe the great herds into being, we paint the great herds into being, above and below. In the secrecy of caves illumined, we create what we need to survive. An artist's hand on stone. A hunter's heart revealed. The bison’s soul restored. The bull's blood runs—the moon pulls its red tide out. And here in Altamira, the paint drips, the blood drips into underground pools of water. Eternal cavernous prayers. Available at Back of Beyond Books, 83 North Main Street, 435.259.5154 |