A lot of people ask me about how did my fascination with trains start?

When I was four my grandparents decided to give me an education about their lives. They showed me the steel mill that attracted their parents to America, and the butcher shop that gave them old world nourishment. They also showed me how they traveled.

One foggy spring morning in a small northern Ohio town they took me to the railroad tracks. I was groggy from being awoken early that day and I thought what could be so special about this? I’ve seen long freight trains that rumble along with rusty boxcars. The horn from those trains would make a loud monotone proclamation that annoyed my family at crossings.

I soon heard a whale of a steam whistle in the distance. It was so sad, yet so sweet to my young ears. I looked to the horizon and saw a beam of light piercing the fog. Behind the light came the thunderous exhaust that sounded like a summer storm quickly approaching. This was not Thomas the Tank engine I was about to see.

All the sudden a bullet nose streamlined steam engine the size of my grandparent’s house burst out of the mist. Giant wheels, polished steel rods and flecks of soot rapidly flashed before my eyes. My body just shook from the weight of the behemoth speeding by. I grabbed my grandmother’s hand from the shear shock of it all.

Perhaps it was love at first sight, or just a fascination with large machinery that most boys have and never outgrow. But ever since that day I’ve always been eager to grab a ticket and see what lies beyond the horizon.