It’s hard to put into words the feeling of being the only person for miles around listening to a steam engine’s whistle echo through the mountains and across the desert plains. The first faint whistle comes nearly forty-five minutes before it passes by, leaving you plenty of time to imagine life on the frontier when the train was your only connection to the outside world. Before long, Big Boy rumbles past and the massive steam engine disappears back into the vast West Texas landscape and all falls silent.
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