Never saw THAT coming.

A vortex can defined as a a state of affairs likened to a whirlpool for violent activity, an irresistible force and so on.  If you go to Sedona, the locals make claim to the existence of energy vortexes surrounding certain rock formations.  I am starting to wonder if there is some kind of vortex for my truck in Spokane, WA.  Ever since getting sucked in at Couer d' Alene, the truck has been unable to escape.  Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that my truck was fixed yesterday.  That said, I made it 33 miles before it stopped being fixed and returned to the realm of Breakdowntown.  It's right next to Towedyouso.

Today, I was pretty excited to get a load back to the western half of Washington. To do so mean that I could get all the rest of my stuff too superfluous to put on an airplane, and load it in the truck. Granted, I don't carry much, but having some of my tools would be useful for this job.

Starting off out of the Spokane drop yard, I hook to an empty trailer, and wait a bit for my dispatch. I'm not into waiting, since the laws governing motor carriers (fancy government speak for truckers) are time based. I operate on two clocks, one set for 11 hours, and the other for 14 hours. The 11 hour clock represents the total amount of time I can drive before a mandatory break is required. Averaging about 50 mph, that gets me a good ways. The 14 hour clock represents the amount of time I have to drive those 11 hours within. So if I spend 4 hours either taking breaks, or doing other work related stuff (stopping for DOT checks, inspecting my truck, switching trailers, checking in at a location, getting loaded or unloaded... or today, staying with the truck waiting for a tow) then that leaves me only 10 hours I can drive that day. That said, I don't like screwing around when the clock is ticking. Not my style.

Motoring along I-90 eastbound to find my exit, all is well. There are some drivers out here that don't pay attention too well, so I remain vigilant. Ah, my exit comes and goes, with no issues. I start of down US 195, following the canyon then climbing up and out of it onto the plateau. Beautiful country out here. Ponderosa pine forests on either side of the highway, when I see the ABS light go on again. This time, I make it a point to pull right over since intuition tells me that I'm f*cked again. Messaged the office, letting them know the truck is once more rendered impotent. Long story short, I sit for 3 hours waiting for the tow truck to arrive. In that time, I decided to do that little writing exercise I thought of yesterday, and I thought I'd share that with you. For no other reason than this is what I did today. Trucking will always be an odd job, but you are free to do what you wish when you can, and for that, I am grateful.

As a disclaimer, I don't claim this to be a masterpiece, just something I wrote on the fly. Not even revised. Honest criticism welcomed for any who care to offer it.

What is it about these small towns that makes people like me? Maybe its the water. Perhaps it could be the relative insulation form the wider world. Maybe still it is the landscape itself. Goldendale is a small town of about four thousand souls, perched atop the Columbia River bluffs. Flatter than a pancake and surrounded by farms. Not much happens here, even though it is the seat of Kilickitat county. We get people coming in from Bingen and White Salmon, occasionally from further afield, but we like to keep to our selves up here. Maybe that is what makes us the way we are.

I've lived here all my life, never saw any reason to leave. Everything we've ever needed was right here. Living in town was wonderful, as I could just walk out the door to the grocer's and buy my supper for the day. Except when it snowed. Man, it could certainly snow up here. The wind would whip the drifts up to ten feet high after a nasty storm. We've all seen those. Best thing to do is to be ready for when that happens, so most of us will have a cellar full of canned food and bottled water, just in case.

The guy at the army surplus store, Hal, is really big on disaster preparedness. I went in to buy my coat, and he just went in on how the mountain could simply erupt one day, and that we'd best be ready for when it does. I personally think he's a bit off his rocker, but in these small towns, we learn to accept everyone. Part of the charm of these places is that all the people here know each other, and we end up helping out in all sorts of ways. Take Hal for example. He helped my neighbor construct a shed out in the back yard. Just because. I think we need more people like that, even if they are a bit crazy.

Now and then there are occasions in which I need to leave town. My sister lives up the hill a ways, and she was saying she needed some help with her court papers. Damn custody battle with the father. She left him after he beat the crap out of her a number of times. I'm happy for her, but I can also see that this court case is weighing heavily on her, so I'm happy to help when I can.

As I packed up my briefcase with what I hoped was helpful material, the dog started whining. Jimmy was a scrappy little fellow, saved from the pound. He's something like 6 years old now, so all of the piss 'n' vinegar has gotten out of his system by now. This mutt was the best thing to happen to me after my wife died a while back. It is a human condition to need love and affection, and this dog loves me without question. I still miss Haley, but at least I can help my sister look after her kids, so I have the semblance of family again. The kids love Jimmy, so I take a second to get the leash and he's just as excited as the kids will be.

Damn it's cold. I suppose that's to be expected this time of year. The first frost was weeks ago, and it is only getting colder. Today, there is a thick fog about the valley, and frost on the ground. I hope it isn't that freezing fog. There's Indian legends about that kind of stuff killing you. Jimmy doesn't seem to care though. We head towards the main north road, US 95. My sister's house is just off of this road, and I've arranged for a ride up there. As we get to the corner, Jimmy starts sniffing around. I know that routine. He needs to go. I see a big blue truck coming up the road, so I turn away to brace against the wind. It's cold enough today.