Amanda goes working on the railroad

In the roughly 18 months that I've worked on this series, I've tried my hand at everything from fashion modeling to kickboxing and from belly-dancing to race-car driving. Sadly, I've not been good at any of these pastimes. Thus, I was delighted when, during my latest Amanda Goes outing, I found an activity for which I have an actual talent.

I can run a train. Well, just a train engine, without any cars or passengers. And I need a professional alongside me telling me when to slow down and speed up.

But under those specific conditions, I am an excellent engineer.

I learned this after participating in the Engineer for an Hour program, run by the Railroad Museum of New England, which allows regular folks like me to pilot a diesel locomotive along a stretch of the Naugatuck Railroad.

I'd heard about the program through a co-worker and, intrigued, I contacted Howard Pincus, chairman of the Railroad Museum's board of trustees, about setting up an EFH session. He willingly assigned me a time, and told me to show up at the Naugatuck Railroad's East Litchfield station.

When I arrived for my lesson, Pincus was finishing up with another client, who had traveled all the way from Pennsylvania for the experience. That's not uncommon, Pincus said. There are few programs like this in the country, and he's seen people come from as far away as Nevada to ride the train.

The locomotive even has a cameo role in the new Leonardo DiCaprio-Kate Winslet movie "Revolutionary Road,"

which shot scenes in the state.

Pincus said the engine I was to run and the line on which I was to run it, have a long and storied history. The Naugatuck Railroad opened in 1849, and ran from Bridgeport to Winsted. The engine, called the 529, was built in 1950 by the American Locomotive Company. It's referred to as an Alco — the same way you might refer to a Chevrolet as a "Chevy."

Though "See the USA in your Alco" doesn't sound quite right, does it? Unlike modern engines, which weigh 205 and have 4400 horsepower, the Alco weighs a mere 125 tons and has 1600 horsepower. It also doesn't have the amenities of today's trains, Pincus warned me. "This has air conditioning if you open all the doors and windows," he said.

During my session, I was to drive the train three and a half miles up the track, then back it up and make the return trip to the station. Then, I had to do it all again. It didn't sound too hard, especially since I had no cars behind me and I wouldn't have to do any turning. Even so, there was a lot involved in driving the train. Pincus took me inside the cab of the engine, to give me a quick tutorial before handing over the controls.

I learned to work the headlights, make the train go backward and forward, and to make it speed up and slow down.

Working the throttle was one of the most difficult things to learn. The throttle works much like a stick shift on a standard transmission car. There are different levels of power on the train, and you use the stick to increase or decrease power.

The brake was also a bit tricky. Unlike with a car, you break the Alco with a hand control, moving the handle right to brake and left to release the brake. The train brakes slowly, Pincus said, unless you yank the lever all the way to the right.

In that case, he said, it will "stop on a dime and give you nine cents change." He then advised me not to attempt this maneuver. So noted.

Pincus also taught me how to operate the bell, by pulling a level in front of me, and most importantly, I learned how to blow the horn. Pincus showed me a lever to my right and had me tug hard.

"WOOOOOOOOOO!"

As the horn screeched its greeting, it was impossible for me not to smile, even though I was still kind of nervous about the rest my train driving duties.

But Pincus assured me that he would be right beside me during my tenure as engineer, offering support and instruction. "I won't let you get into trouble," he vowed. With that, I prepared for my journey. I turned on the headlights, made sure the train was headed in the correct direction, moved the throttle out of idle and released the brake.

Oh my God! The train was moving! Initially, it felt like a mistake. I shouldn't be driving a train, I thought. I can barely drive a car.

I felt even more uncomfortable when I took a look around. The track is cut into the side of a hill above the Naugatuck River, so there are trees and rock ledges on either side. Though Pincus told me we wouldn't get the train above a snail-like 25 miles per hour on our journey, and that the train would follow the track without any steering from me, I was still a little concerned.

But Pincus kept telling me that I was doing fine and, no, I wasn't going to slam into the rocks and kill us all.

So I relaxed and concentrated on the task at hand. I kept an eye on the speedometer, and listened to Pincus as he told me when to increase the throttle or apply brake. And then, something happened. I went from staring nervously at the rocks bordering the tracks to concentrating the movements of the train. I felt it shake and shimmy up and down hills. I felt it gently pick up power as I increased the throttle, and was aware of the slow tug of the brake as the speed decreased.

Eventually, I got a feel for knowing when I should slow down or accelerate, and was able to sense my next move before Pincus even issued the order.

Pincus noticed my comfort with my new toy, and was impressed. He said people sometimes have a hard time adjusting to the controls, but that I seemed to have a natural feel for it.

This was new. The people I work with on my Amanda Goes adventures often tell me I'm doing a great job, but I can tell they're just trying to keep me from bursting into hysterics. Pincus might be the first instructor who actually meant it. After we'd gone a little way, I got to sound the horn again. I know it sounds childish, but that was by far my favorite part of the train ride.

Come on — I got to make loud, obtrusive noises in public, and there wasn't a darn thing anyone could do about it. How does that not rule?

Pincus had me blow the horn as we passed under a bridge — two long toots on the horn, one short one and one more long one. That, he told me, is the traditional American railroad warning signal when trains approach a level road crossing.

As there are no such crossings on that stretch of the railroad, Pincus just has his engineering "students" blow for the road bridges.

Shortly after that, it was time for me to head back to the station. I tooted along, adjusting brake and throttle as I went, until we finally reached the station. Then, Pincus told me he wanted me to pull up to the station platform and stop.

This is trickier than it sounds. The engineer has to apply just enough brake to guarantee a stop, but not so much that the train halts prematurely.

I nailed the stop on my first try. Again, Pincus was impressed. "That's right," I thought. "Bow before my awesomeness!"

Now it was time to make the round trip once more. At this point, I was old hat at it, and able to relax and enjoy myself. I looked out the window, and saw the trees and rocks glistening in the sunlight. I felt the breeze swoosh through the train windows, blowing my hair around.

I didn't feel nervous or anxious. I felt calm, at peace. It was kind of nice.

True, my run as an engineer wasn't flawless. When I made my last trip back to the train station, I didn't brake quite as efficiently as I did the first time — it took me three tries before I actually landed at the platform.

But I didn't mind. I'd already proven my superior engineering skills.

There was no need to be a show-off.

The Railroad Museum of New England's Engineer for an Hour program runs from June to October. Sessions for this season are booked, but gift certificates for the 2008 season are available for purchase.

A session costs $285, and reservations must be made in advance. For details, visit www.rmne.org.