Build or Buy?

I work as a software engineer for a major pharmaceutical company; our group develops applications for chemists and research scientists of many disciplines. When we are approached by a research team or department to address a potential new challenge, one of the first questions we ask ourselves before lifting a finger is, do we build it, or buy it?

It's hard to know the right answer, because there is usually a long list of pros and cons for either approach. Generally speaking, buying has the potential of bringing a project to completion in weeks instead of months, but it requires a substantial capital outlay, and the project may still get bogged down with customizations required to get the application into a form suitable for the users. Building has the potential of providing an application that precisely suits the users' needs, but it might come at an expense of effort measured in man-years; we might also lack the internal talent required to deliver certain highly specialized solutions.

Perhaps not surprisingly, model railroaders face the same issues when it comes to creating our layouts. Do we build our models, or buy them?



Building a model is naturally very satisfying. And it results in something unique, something that will not be found on any other layout. Even before construction begins, though, a substantial time investment is necessary in order to research both the actual object as well as the model construction materials and techniques. It may also require skills that not everyone possesses, so it may not be an option for some of us.

Buying a model provides instant gratification and accelerates layout-building, allowing us to reach a satisfying level of completion earlier, leaving us more time to operate and enjoy our layouts. Also, being less emotionally attached to our models frees us to experiment more, to move or replace them in order to try different approaches.

Most modelers strike a balance and do both: it's impractical (or impossible) for many to scratchbuild locomotives and rolling stock. Indeed, it's safe to say that the vast majority of modelers buy their rolling stock: there would otherwise not be so much discussion (sometimes rather heated) at online forums over the accuracy of commercial locomotives and such.

Just as it is in the business world, though, time is every bit a commodity as materials. Scratchbuilding is of course more economical than buying kits or built-ups from a materials standpoint, but one must also factor in the time involved. These days, with time being a key factor in both my work and hobby budgets, I'm inclined to look at my modeling effort as an investment. That $20 kit might only represent $5 of materials if scratchbuilt, but it might take $100 of my time to scratchbuild it. Another business parallel is the Return on Investment (ROI) angle: will it be worth the effort to scratchbuild certain mundane detail items when perfectly adequate kits exist?



Lately, as I attempt to squeeze in a few precious minutes of modeling here and there in my crazy-busy schedule, I face the build or buy question almost continuously. As is the case for my work, I much prefer to build because it is far more satisfying, and I get exactly what I want (more or less, depending on skill and a bit of luck). But when my modeling progress can be measured in inches per year instead of feet, I must stop and think hard about striking a compromise in order to achieve my goals in a more realistic timeline. Yes, I realize that others will recognize nearly every building in my model town, and this will not accurately reflect my true desires or skills as a modeler. But at least I have a town, which would not be the case if I built everything from scratch.

For the time being, buying rather than building is a stop-gap measure, a means to cut to the chase and get up and running more quickly. I know that when I retire, all of the business-like time/cost factors will go away; I will be able to kick back and spend large blocks of time modeling at a leisurely pace, and I will almost always build before I buy, no question.

But I'd still like to be able to run a train through a landscape populated by buildings and scenery before I retire! So, out comes the plastic, and to the web stores I go a-shopping. (I like to further justify this approach by thinking that my relatively tiny contribution helps to support the growth of the industry...)

Thankfully, those of us who choose to buy—whatever our reasons—know that we are perhaps enjoying the "golden years" of model railroading right now. Never before has there been such a bountiful crop of quality goods. For some, it's the only way they will be able to enjoy a layout right now; for others, it's the only way to enjoy a layout at all.

What is model railroading?

I joke that I have been a practicing modeler since I was two.

One day, just before Christmas I decided that the operations on the christmas layout (not to be confused with the serious model railroad living in the basement) were not prototypical enough, and that it needed something. While my mother cooked dinner, and my father was at work, I took out my fisher price tools (the safe screwdriver was key here) and set to work. Somehow I pried up some spikes and removed some rail joiners and re-laid some track. Where these came from, and the other mechanics of how I did this are all lost to the intervening 23 years of time, but model I did, I assure you. My parents discovered my handiwork, and being suitably impressed (my father was a modeler himself, hence the layout in the basement) asked me what I had done. I informed them, very matter of factly that I had installed a passing siding.

Now, while you may say that what I did was playing, I posit that this was my first true modeling experience. I performed three individual behaviors that I find myself repeating to this day.

I observed reality. As a child (and even one of a scant two years old) my parents would make the pilgrimage to Strasburg PA's bastion of steam, Strasburg Railroad, what seemed like monthly during the summer. Arguably, this was my first real immersion in the world of prototype railroading, and I credit it for many of my later tastes. At Strasburg, I observed that real trains used passing sidings in their business of being railroads. I also observed that steam locomotives are loud, and that the headlight on their 2-10-0 #90 came from the pyle manufacturing company, and that it had a Sinclair style radio antenna on the cab. I also observed the color of the ballast, the color of the trees and the automobiles in the parking lot.

I filtered the reality that I observed and identified traits which seemed important to me as elements representing the reality that I observed. This process began with my observations of reality. At that point I made conscious and unconscious decisions about what parts of the experience I wanted to remember and committed to memory. When I was two, I imagine the aspects of reality which I committed to memory were much more unconscious than conscious, but I believe that the majority of what we modelers absorb is done this way. I know that lately I've been consciously looking at and attempting to digest the patterns of vegetation near various rights of way (railroad, highway, etc) so that I can better understand them and then reproduce them, but most of my modeling is based on experiences and observations that I did not intentionally commit to memory, but I know are there whenever I see something that "looks right". This process of interpretation is not restricted to long term memory. It also comes into play when observing photographs (since there is always a selective impression, call it memory of what we see in a photograph, even if we almost immediately perform an action based on a photo). When I look at a photograph of a locomotive in a scene, I may see take away "they used that locomotive in that service at that time", while another modeler might notice the weathering pattern on the trucks, while yet another may note that the three radiator fan styles do not match and a final may observe "wow, that locomotive looks particularly handsome in that paint scheme". I believe that how we process our observations through the process of selective recall largely dictates our modeling tastes and pursuits, even if we don't consciously acknowledge it. When I was two and performing my first track-work, I couldn't tell you the manufacturer of the headlight adorning 90's smoke-box, but I could tell you it needed a passing siding to run around its train at each end of its run.



I attempted to recreate the filtered reality in miniature. My reproduction of my observed reality was what lies, I believe, at the crux of what we all do in our modeling. We create our own interpreted versions of reality in miniature. Modelers do this in a vast array of ways. From very abstract versions of reality represented in many tinplate style layouts (that I have observed are not always O gauge, and since we do not seem to have agreed apon genre terminologies in model railroading, I use the term despite it's reference to a specific scale, guage and even manufacturer) to highly researched and intricately detailed layouts that are aim to represent a very specific prototype on a specific date. Our ability to recreate our filtered reliability rest in our skill levels in the various aspects of modeling, and the value we place on these aspects. For example, modelers who are primarily focused on solving the often complex engineering problems posed by model railroading may not care that their ability to recreate a winter forest scene is lacking, but they may be very interested in advancing their skills with a soldering iron, and what advancing that skill means for how rewarding they find the hobby. Conversely, my lack of soldering ability does not hold me back from enjoying the hobby because I don't tackle complex soldering projects, instead I focus on an aspect I do find rewarding, such as scene building. Some other modelers do not seem intent on replicating the details of reality, instead relying on more symbolic representations of reality to replicate their interpreted version of reality. It may not matter to model railroaders of this persuasion that they are creating more a caricature of reality than a reproduction, they still derive their enjoyment from their attempts.

In rebuilding my family's Christmas layout, I performed all three of these key modeling functions, and I whole heartedly believe that that was my first true model railroading experience.

I also believe that the spectrum of modelers that exist fans out not from different realities which they observe, but the different ways in which they interpret them, and the different ways they attempt to create the versions of reality that they have constructed in miniature form.

I also believe that much of the conflict that often arises on model railroad fora stems from the fact that we, as a community of hobbyists, have never really discussed and acknowledged these differences. Recognizing the differences in individuals modeling efforts as differences of approach as opposed to differences in value would be an step toward calming some of the animosity that often seems to manifest itself between "Tin platers" and "Deputized rivet counting members of the proto police".

What Am I Modeling?

Railroads are intensely interesting to me. Modeling is intensely interesting to me. It should therefore come as no surprise that I am a model railroader, and have been since the mid-60s. But what specifically am I modeling, and why is it all so intensely interesting?

Ed has previously explored some the many kinds of modeling that we do. Some choose to recreate the day-to-day operations of a line of interest. Some wish to accurately represent a railroad and its setting with no desire to reproduce its operations. Others have no inclination to remain faithful to any real railroad, and simply enjoy seeing model trains in action. These are but a few of the many possible flavors of modeler.

I've had a hard time classifying my modeling. While I am generally reticent to pigeon-hole myself, recent forum discussions and blog entries have had me pondering the meaning and purpose of my modeling efforts. Presently I am sitting on a commuter train bound for New York City, and as I have on nearly every such trip I've taken—which is a great many, since at one time I commuted to the Big Apple for several years—I am passing the time by studying the railroad.



I see countless disused spurs, bridges, industries and other railroading artifacts—so many that it's often depressing. For example, I am right now passing a big old factory complex near Newark, a sprawling sea of crumbling brick laced with a cobweb of rails buried in dirt. I wish I'd brought my camera. But this is a business trip, and I prefer to travel as lightly as possible, so I have only my laptop.

Perhaps it's just as well that I am without camera; I might otherwise be focused on taking photographs. Instead I'm focused on my feelings as I study the world outside, and recording them in near-real time. As a result, I'm coming to a better sense of my modeling passion: I want to bottle the bittersweet, melancholy mood I experience as I take in the remains of that great icon of the industrial revolution.

It explains why my last layout had so much abandoned track. I rationalized it as a means to heighten the realism of a modern-day setting; yet, for practical reasons, we all model things selectively, so why would I choose to include so much of something most modelers rightfully consider a waste of precious real estate? Because it supported the mood I wished to capture and convey.



My last layout also featured a vast factory complex, all abandoned save for a small recycling center staked out under an old transfer crane. One of the recycling center's most prominent features was an enormous pile of palettes, which was inspired by one that I passed on my commuter trips. The factory was an amalgam of many such places in and around Trenton, not far from where I lived.

A favorite activity of mine is chasing down old rail lines. I get a little thrill when I spot a strip of trees marking the path of a long-abandoned right-of-way, and then find it on an old map. For a long time I harbored a desire to render a map of New Jersey that detailed the condition of every rail line that ever existed in the state, all supported by field research. After a while, I came to realize that this was a much bigger task than I was ready to tackle, not to mention that I'd probably be eternally frustrated not being able to model everything I found.

I also have this inexplicable attraction to abandoned factories. Anything from a few telltale foundation stones peeking out from beneath the brambles in a wooded lot to enormous brick mausoleums housing the rusted remains of machinery—I'm drawn to them like a moth to candles. And if the factory was served by rail, all the better.



Thus the recurring theme of my recent modeling has been a depiction not of what was, as in period modeling, but of what remains. Somehow, owing to my singular personality, seeing things that are still standing is more evocative than seeing things the way they used to be. It's as if I'm an archaeologist (which I might have been in an alternate life) preserving artifacts as they are just before the dig or the reconstruction.



I'm not a rivet counter, but I enjoy modeling things with lots of rusty old rivets, and doing so as realistically as possible. I'm not married to modeling a particular railroad, but there are a few real roads that attract my attention because of where and when they ran. I'm not much interested in operation, but I do like learning about it, if only to get a feel for what used to take place among the weeds where I'm standing. I'm not much closer to comprehending why this is all so for me, but at least I've connected some of the dots and finally become better aware of what exactly I'm modeling.

I am modeling a mood.

Weathering Black: Ideas for Weathering the Hardest Color to Weather.

When my friends and I get together to discuss modeling, we almost always discuss weathering. And in our conversations, we always talk about how difficult it is to weather black locomotives and freight cars. How come it's so difficult? For starters, it's almost impossible to get rust colors to "show up" on a black surface. Simply painting surface rust and rust streaks over black is futile - the paint disappears unlike it does on lighter colors like yellow or even boxcar red. So before you weather black, you have to take extra steps to fade the black before you do any weathering work. Ok, follow along.

Getting Started

I wanted to paint Kato's new NW2 into Indiana Harbor Belt's early scheme. This scheme lasted at least until the late 70's, and a look through all the photos on http://www.rrpicturearchives.net show some pretty well-worn IHB prototypes. So in this example, we have the flexibility of mixing colors that custom painting affords. If your model is already painted and just needs weathering, the ideas in this article can also be used.

I start by stripping the Kato paint with 91% alcohol. It takes a few hours for the alcohol to break down the paint so that it can be brushed away with a toothbrush.

Layers of Grime

Typically, a black engine or freight car's will fade to a variety of gray/dirt/grime colors. It really depends on the prototype. It's possible to have a layer of green grime, tan dust, gray or brown dirt over top of a base coat of black or a faded black (maybe this is dark gray-again, it depends!). In the prototype photo that I chose to model, there was a fairly black base coat still showing through patches of gray, green, and tan.

Painting the Base Coat

I chose a slightly lighter color than black for a base coat - Polyscale Tarnished Black. If you have an already decorated model, you probably want to skip this step, since it'll cover up any heralds and road numbers. In this case, apply a fade coat to your model by painting with a thinned light tan or gray color. Note that in this photo, the shift away from true black is drastic. Subsequent additions of color will darken the model.

Adding "Dirty Blends"

The idea here is to apply overlapping colors with the airbrush, or if you choose, paint brush. Try a combination of dry brushing and washes. Remove some colors with 70% alcohol. Apply some surface rust.

Black washes allow you to tone down and blend colors that appear too bright. Since correction is so easy, it's better to go too light than too dark in the base coat.




Conclusion

By starting with a color lighter than black, any weathering you apply will "pop". Try these ideas out on hoppers and tank cars!

Model Railroading Scope (Or I'm ok, you're ok)

In the professional services business in which I work, we have a term called "scope". It basically is used to refer to what work falls under a contract, and what doesn't, or what we're doing on a project, and what we're NOT doing on a project.

A recent thread on TheRailwire got me thinking about how different many modelers are. The old notion of "we each enjoy our trains differently, and that's ok" is often brought out whenever there's an ideological disagreement on various forums to extinguish flame wars.

http://therailwire.net/smf/index.php?topic=13656.0

This notion is an important one in the hobby, allowing "daisy pickers" to coexist along side "rivet counters" without igniting feuds. However, I've realized that there's something else at work here. Aside from how seriously modelers take all this stuff, there is also a spectrum of what type of "serious" modeler people are.


(Photo changed, Sorry Jerry!)

It's very possible to be serious about building a model of "a railroad". For years, Tony Koester championed this from the pages of RMC and Model Railroader. His Allegheny Midland was a wonderful model of a railroad (even though it was freelanced). He modeled the way a railroad works, but the rolling stock and structures were important in as much as they supported the model of the railroad itself. Structures should all be roughly uniform, as that's how a real railroad does things. Locomotives and rolling stock should all be accurate in as much as they represent an accurate "fleet". While Tony had many outstanding individual models, I believe that they still existed mostly to support "the railroad". In this mindset, the individual "work" is the layout itself and the railroad system that it represents.



On the other hand, it's very possible for a modeler to be very serious about building individual models. NMRA contest rooms are full of these models, and while some may exist in the context of a larger modeling endeavor, many were built to stand on their own as outstanding individual works. They may end up being part of a layout, but in this case, the layout serves as a place for these individual models. Howard Zane's outstanding layout, I believe, falls into this category. Howard has a basement (plus) of very well done models, of both rolling stock and structures, however, Howard's layout "functions" to serve as a display place for these models. In this view, the "work" is the individual models, and the supporting items (like track, for example) are not the focus of the modeling.

These schools of thought are not always conscious decisions, but often seem to stem from the smaller micro-decisions of what's "good enough" that take place in all model railroaders minds. For some "good enough" means that the mix of cars in a train are correct, even if they're riding on Kato's JDM spec Unitrack, while others won't care if the cars are of mixed eras, as long as they all have full brake rigging, while even others only care if they're all weathered, but look "wrong" unless they're all rolling along on hand laid code 25 rail with tie plates and joint bars.

Either of the mindsets can be representative of people who take their modeling seriously (like I do), and I believe there is a mutual respect between people in both camps, but I believe that the more people acknowledge the existence of these camps, and the many modelers who try and straddle them both, the better and happier we will all be (mostly because it will spell the end of the "you're not a real modeler if you don't..." threads on forums).