Through Hell and right into the developers

Tuesday, January 31^st, 2012

      That's more like it. I've decided that you can't be a real truck driver until you drive at least twice the number of hours you've slept. Certainly a long day today, but not without some good experiences. Happily, it was without bad experiences, which is great, but I also think that bad experiences are merely a state of mind. On to the day.

      Nice and early start today, driving through Texas in the dark. Well, part of it anyway. That place is friggin' huge. Crossing from south to north is a tad shorter than east to west, but I digress. Were it day time, I'm sure I could have seen endless fields of wind turbines, powering whatever it is they power. In the dark, it becomes more of an alien landscape; its a veritable sea of blinking red lights. They flash in unison as the turbine blades spin to obscure their transmissions.

      All of the red lights put me in the mind of Amsterdam, but then a new sensation assailed my senses. The pungent aroma of sulfur and perhaps brimstone filled my nostrils. This was certainly not Amsterdam. The smell would have been much different. I had stumbled into a circle of hell! The most odious of odors permeated the air, a slight breeze blowing right into my truck. It was all I could do to keep from vomiting or hacking up a lung. I'm sure that nobody lives around here, right? All of this petrochemical mining and resultant stench can't be good for a body.

      Exiting Hell, the sun rose. Faintly at first (as always) then gaining strength someplace around Ludlow. I could tell I was in the western section of Central time, as sunrise seemed a lot alter than the last few days. A fairly uneventful drive up to Amarillo, past many miles of cotton fields, presumably feed by the Ogalalla Aquifer, which is bound to dry up soon at this rate. Massive cotton ginning mills, and bales ½ the size of my trailer were strewn about the landscape. Stray piles of fluff littered the ground, discarded and ignored as waste in the industrial process. I wonder how many people all that spare cotton would clothe?

      Just north of Amarillo, the landscape changes dramatically, going from a very flat plain to rolling canyon lands. Sometime along the way, I blundered into Oklahoma without even noticing. Here, the highway narrows from 4 to 2 lanes. Being a slower truck, I find that all sorts of people end up behind me, usually faster trucks. I could be that guy who makes people fight for everything, or wants others to suffer because of my own circumstance. “Huh. you can go faster? Well choke on it! You're behind me and I can only do 62.” I could be that guy. Instead, I make it a point to slow down and take the shoulder when it is clear for the others to pass. Make no mistake, I don;t stop. I slow to 55 for all of 30 seconds while the other driver goes by. everyone is happy. I don't have somebody tailgating me, and they get to go as fast as they want. People seem surprised when a Swift truck does something like this. Good. They also seem very thankful. Even better, but not necessary. I do it because it feels like the right thing to do. It is self-less and selfish at the same time. I've heard that people are wired to be kind and helping in that it releases a shot of serotonin or some other happy chemical. Whatever. i just know that i feel better doing the right thing. We all know what the right thing is, just ego gets in the way sometimes.

      Coming into Denver, I was kind of excited. Not because of the commuter bus that crashed into a guardrail on I-70, but because there is a prairie-dog town near the terminal! I got to see a huge town on the way from Lamar to Limon. It looked like L.A. metro, but with cute little critters instead of McMansions. HUGE. I would so live there with a pair of binoculars. I'd even design little hats for them to wear. Maybe not, but SO KYOOT! So, coming into the terminal, one has to take a bit of an indirect route. This route goes past the former prairie-dog town. Yes. Former. The last time I was here, they had traps set out for the little guys (the live trapping kind). I guess they were relocated so that somebody could develop this (honestly) pretty shitty piece of land next to some railroad tracks and on a “paved” road that even Somalia would be ashamed of having. Sad. Well, at least they should still have bunnies that eat the lawn outside the driver's lounge. I'll have to wait and see in the morning.

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Holy Crap that was close!

Monday, January 30^th, 2012

      Well. Some days are certainly more action packed than others. If each day were a book, today would be more of a graphic novel. Not quite like Batman, 'cause that is too dark. Maybe more like Aquaman. Some exciting bits, but pretty lame for the most part. OK, maybe that isn't entirely true. It seemed to go by rather quickly, which is always a good sign.

      Starting the day off was a fairly simple trailer drop. Not much to report there, except that the guy helping the drivers looked at me, than asked me in Spanish what the word for “straight” was (as in parallel), as if I knew a whole bunch of Spanish. I know I have a sweet mustachio now, but I don;t think I look Spanish. If I so, then great! It should help me learn the language more easily right?

      I could go on about being at the Laredo Terminal, how the planner came out to the lounge and addressed all of the drivers in regards to the loads he had. I go spout off about how he had a few loads going west, but to Wyoming and Colorado. Were I to continue, I would say that I got the first load out that day, and was surprised at how few people wanted to go north west. What is wrong with Wyoming anyway? But I won't.

      Driving north on I-35, I got a very vivid reminder of how dangerous this job can be. A light rain was falling, much to the enjoyment of the local flora. You could smell the dust getting waterlogged. Hell, you could even see it in the road mist that sprayed onto you windshield. Light brown rainwater, swishing away with each pass of the wipers. Up ahead and to the left, a big dust cloud erupted from the median. “What the hell?” I slowed down, just in case. Fortunately, I was far enough away to slow down in time, for a truck had crossed into the median, got hung up on the steel cables, then jack-knifed across the freeway. Both the left and right lanes were blocked, but I squeezed around on the right shoulder. The truck blocking traffic was the second truck in front of me. The truck that was in front of me pulled right over, with just enough room to let others pass. I stopped ahead of him. The first driver ran to the crashed truck, then back for his fire extinguisher. I rushed over calling 911. Fortunately, the driver of the crashed truck was alright. His truck, on the other hand, was a different story.

      The trailer had come around at a pretty good speed. It startled me how fast it snapped around. Approaching to make sure that the driver was alright, I could see the destruction caused. The cab was ripped right off the frame, thankfully in one piece. The fuel tanks lay on the ground, still holding together. Fluid and steam leaked from the engine compartment, now completely separated from the chassis. I checked to see what the leaking fluid was, and it wasn't diesel fuel. Probably DEF (thank goodness) which is merely urea suspended in a solution. The driver climbed out of his truck on the passenger side. the driver’s side door was probably smashed in. He grabbed his two blue packs of Pall Malls, looking to make sense of the whole thing. I could feel the sadness and pain radiating off of him, and I wanted to give him a hug and tell him things would be alright. He may lose his job, but he still has his life. With trembling hands, he dialed his phone, presumably calling his company.

      I left the first driver ahead of me in charge. He said that he would be there until the EMS comes, so I saw no reason to hang around. I care, but I've got to get home.  Just after the accident site is the inspection station, where they check for drugs and illegal immigrants.  Dude jumps up on to my running boards and asks, "what's back there, (pointing to my sleeper)."  A bit confused, I reply, "umm, teddy bears, a banjo and some blankets."  He kinda smiles, "you didn't pick anyone up on you way out of Lardeo did you?" "Oh god, no!"  He smiles and waves me by.

      I made some good time after that, heading through San Antonio. There are signs posted around Texas at large saying, “Drive friendly, the Texas way.” Now I'm not sure how people interpret that, but in San Antonio, I believe they take it as “drive like a self important douche and cut people off. Letting people merge is for pussies, so be manly and stay the course. It is better to cut off a big truck than to slow down for a moment, you should survive that one.” I am seriously beginning to think that L.A. drivers are pretty damned cool, even the ones who exit from the far left lane in one swoop.

      The rest of the ride, however, was much smoother, and more peaceful. Heading through the hill country, there is all sorts of geology to entertain you, with a few aspiring badlands carved out of the rock cuts for the freeway. There is plenty of sandstone and limestone, and maybe some whitish shale too, which makes for some cool geological sculptures. Little caves hollowed out by the winds, under a little shale shelf. Hoodoos and goblins as well.

      Surprisingly, I saw a lot of goats out here. (I always thought of Texas as Cattle country) They were grazing the heck out the meager grass and looking cute with their floppy ears. Scrubby oak trees dotted the landscape, along with heretofore unidentified tress (at least by myself). I was surprised at how many of these trees had parasites. It is some kind of mistletoe to be sure, and I saw some trees engulfed by it. It makes me sad for those trees, and curious as to why there is such an epidemic.

     At the end of the day, I got some fresh veggies to nosh on, and a good story to tell. I've certainly been grateful for my safe arrival and for plenty of open roads. Today has been a good day, and tomorrow will be as well, I'm sure.

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Down for the Day

Sunday,January, 29^th, 2012

      Ah, another day in paradise. The Lardeo terminal is a fairly roomy place, with two televisions for your viewing pleasure. I enjoy resting here, in part because the weather is usually stable and there is a short walk to a truck stop. Outside, little yellow and purple flowers are dancing merrily in the light breeze. It was warm enough today which has been a nice change of pace from being so far north. That said, it wouldn't be trucking with out some of the standards.

      On the walk into the terminal, there is a smoking section. Since this is not a blue state, you can essentially smoke right outside the main entrance, no 25 foot restriction imposed. There is a row of blue picnic tables lined up a bit away from and parallel to the terminal wall. Since it is covered, there is plenty of reason to hang out here, shade and protection form what little rain passes through. I think that part of the reason for smoking is the social aspect. A kind of common ground rooted in self-destruction. It is a habit I certainly do not miss.

      Along with the rings of blue grey smoke come all sorts of conversation. Of course! How could this be a terminal without intelligent repartee? When I say that, I mean some guys trying to convince themselves and others that what they heard on Fox News has to be right. There was a discussion of economics. Obviously, we truckers are experts on economics, and can be trusted to solve all of America's fiscal problems by blindly trusting somebody who said something that one time. For the one guy who was defending his point of view against the onslaught, bravo to you sir. I just thought it funny that people were still arguing about tax breaks for the wealthiest Americans using the same sound bites I had heard over three months ago. Some things never change I suppose.

      One thing that did change, was that I did not jump in and go along for the roller coaster. These kind of things always seem more attractive to me when I am feeling emotional, like I am today. Instead of getting battered by people who will not cede any points, or even listen to a sensible argument, I kept to myself and my own thoughts.

      By being busy all of the time, I find that I don't take much time to listen to these thoughts, and having a day spent being down (“down” as in “not driving”) they come flooding in. This is somewhat akin to yesterday and how I was feeling that I need ot be doing something else more important. Just walking to the Pilot (truckstop) today, I walked along the fuel island to the sound and sight of idling trucks. Huge hunks of steel, metal and fiberglass, symbolic of industrialized humanity. On the one hand, I am glad it provides for me when I need money. on the other hand, I start to miss Nature in Her simplicity. What hath we wrought? Diesel engines idle at 12 Hertz. I find it amusing that this is analogous to cats purring. Sure cats purr at the same frequency, but the diesel engine just doesn't feel as relaxing.

      I spent some time today, getting in touch with my inner person, and I found a lot of pain. This is perfectly fine really, as it alerts me to the need to heal. Trucking may not be the ideal place to heal, but at least it will bring me to a space where I can. Yeah, a lot has been on my mind lately, and it all catches up to you when you stop distracting yourself with whatever it is. I'm sure that I'll be back on the road and moving soon enough. The feelings will still be there for me when I stop again, but being home will be a nice and welcome break.

Along the Gulf Coast

Saturday, January 28^th, 2012

      Have you ever wondered what makes people live where they live? Why is it that person A will live here, while person B can't stand it and needs to live elsewhere? On top of that, I wonder what makes people the way they are; is it shaped by the landscape, or by the collective local culture, or both? Or is it that they are all somehow interrelated, and that there is no simple answer. I suppose that it is the latter of all these options, but I did gain some perspective today in regards to the regional climate and landscape.

      The sky was just hinting at dawn when I decided to roll out of bed and into action. I had a hard time convincing myself to do it, but the teddy bears talked me into it. I walked into the truck stop for the morning routine. Mockingbirds clustered along the dumpsters behind the truck stop, along my route. They sang a bright and merry song as they scavenged for food (if that is what you call it) from the dumpster. A salty breeze blew in from the ocean. I'm not sure how far I was from the coast at the time, but I certainly couldn't walk down to the beach if I wanted to. The warm red of the rising sun painted the clouds in broad swaths. Who knew such a simple task would hold a sublime moment? I think it may be that every moment has that potential if we choose to see it that way, but alas, I am all too human.

      I really enjoy driving along the Gulf Coast. The landscape is flat, but it contains a riot of life. Not only that, I enjoy some of the culture too. For a change, I turned on the radio this morning. Normally, I prefer to be with my thoughts, since they are more entertaining. (seriously, I'll laugh out loud for no apparent reason, but something on my mind is hilarious.) A quick scan of the available channels included 4 evangelical christian channels, a few country stations, a mix station playing all the stuff I know I like but won't broaden my horizons, and a single gem. I found a station (104.3!) that played *ahem* “southern soul, zydeco, and today's R&B.” I'm sure that there was a fourth kind of music that was in there, but the mix struck me as only possible in southern Louisiana. One of the Zydeco style songs I heard sounded like Hip Hop with some accordion thrown in. Most amusing!

      A little later, I got to hear stories on one of the Christian channels about “Friends from the Pond.” The cast included a dim witted turtle, a grumpy duck, a frog with a Brooklyn accent, and an Alligator with a deep voice, named Methuselah. The one full story I heard was about mysteries and the gang solving one. A fox was in there on business. Turns out he was scouting the site for a movie. Everyone was excited until they asked if the movie would have “bad language.” It did, so they all turned down the chance at stardom on principle. I'm impressed at their moral fiber. I would have said, “f*ck it. How much they paying me?”

      The swampy lowlands gave way to a drier woodland, more akin to a scrub land the further south I got. I turned in a southwesterly direction away form the coast. This part of Texas is sparsely populated and huge ranches dominate the country side. Not as much to see here, mostly because I was getting tired. Plenty of oil equipment and tanker trucks though.

      Of late, something has been getting to me. I think it may be my slowly realizing that while this job is convenient and pays well enough, I can be doing so much more with my life. It is as if I am getting memos from the future saying that I need to do something more important and change something some how. I'm sure the answer will come soon enough. For now, I'm just going to do my best and look for the brightest part in everything. Unless it is staring at the sun. That wouldn't help much in the long run, would it?

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Southern Compassionality

Friday, January 27^th, 2012

      Despite all of the pleading, pushing and cajoling, it seems that my fate was sealed. I asked nicely. I made excuses. I almost begged. I'm still to proud to do that, and sensible enough to realize that begging is not something I care to do. I'm still heading to Laredo. So now that that whole bit has been cleared up, I was left to make the best of the rest of my day.

      I love driving in the South over the winter. There is so much more greenery than elsewhere, although I've heard that it has been amazingly mild thus far. I wonder where all those people last year who were saying, “How about global warming now, we got 6 feet of snow?” I've not heard much from them of late, but I've been in a truck avoiding the terminals the best I can. Today's drive took me through Mississippi, along a few of the back roads.

      I've always had an appreciation for the landscape of the South. Soft rolling hills, bedecked with a mixed forest of spare conifers and mighty hardwoods. The undergrowth is what I remember most from my youth. I'd spend the summers in Virginia with my aunt. That was when I got that first smell of a different land. Smells aside, I was certainly enjoying the sunshine and warm temperatures today. I was blessed enough to catch a glimpse of some daffodils in full bloom along a few sections of freeway. They were in little clumps, but certainly enjoyable for someone who has not seen flowers in the wild for some time.

      For some odd reason, there was all sorts of traffic today. I understand that it is Friday, but man, where the hell do all of these people come from? At one point, I found myself comparing the drivers here with drivers in L.A. Stupid amounts of traffic all around, but people are nicer in L.A. I was a bit surprised. Over here, if you put your blinker on, tough nuggets. You are going to wait until a space is already cleared. In L.A., when a truck puts a blinker on, people actually stop and let you over. I recall one time another driver and I got into it comparing New York and L.A. drivers. He maintained that L.A. drivers were worse, and they are in that they cut you off and ignore you. I still say New Yorkers are the bigger bastards. They'll cut you off, then cuss you out for being in the way. That, and they won't let you merge until you are almost crushing their car into the jersey barrier.

      On a less funny and more introspective note, there was a small almost insignificant back up on I-10 west bound this evening. Just west of Baton Rouge, someplace after the I-110 split. Three lanes of traffic, going all sorts of slow. Up ahead, an emergency vehicle is on the right shoulder. Down here everybody is obligated to move over a lane for emergency vehicles. SO, three busy lanes into two overcrowded lanes. Dammit. I get up to the flashing blue lights, and see the tow truck driver putting gas in a lady's car. I raise my voice, and shout into the air of the cab, “Nice going numb-nuts!” Not that she could hear me. More for my own benefit and feeling superior.

      Then it hit me. That is exactly what I did. I made myself feel better at the expense of someone else. Actually, the more immediate thought was that I have no idea about that woman's circumstance. She could be a single mother of 4, unable to afford to fill the tank of her car for want of food for her kids. I silently reproached myself for judging so quickly. Her look of frustration, hand up to her head leaned against the window, returned to my mind. I could tell that she already felt bad enough. There was no need for me to add my negativity to the situation.

Often times, we find that the lesson comes after the test, as it did in this case. I'm getting better at catching myself, I just want to get even better at it. I once wished aloud to somebody some where, “I wish I had a little screen in my head that would display what I am about to say, then ask if I want to really say that.” Kinda like typing, a self check. Given that we will only ever speak so many words in this life time, I would like to make as many of those words as kind and gentle as I can.

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Weighting and Appointments

Thursday, January 26^th, 2012

      Well, that's a load off my mind. No, I'm not trying to make clever puns, I feel honestly relieved to be out form under the last couple of loads. Sometimes, when you have a load for a long time, it becomes really familiar. Other times, it becomes too familiar. Like when you are pulling giant rolls of paper over some mountain range to a place that makes cereal boxes. Yeah that gets old fast. This time though, the loads were heavy, but much more valuable.

      For the last week, I've been hauling copper around; first in the form of anodes (thin flattish sheets about 3' x 2'), and most recently in the form of billets (3' cylinders with a 10” diameter). All told, both loads weighed about 78,000 pounds. Or, if you like, 39 tons. Today's price of copper (bright, clean) was 3.92 a pound. This week I moved about $310,000 across the country. This is my contribution to the GDP this week, not counting fuel and other stuff like eating and scale tickets.

      Normally, I don't give a rat's behind what is “in the box.” In fact, I really don;t care in most ways. It isn't my stuff. All that matters is that I get to where I need to go without incident or losing the freight (my life or health above all however.) These loads add the extra dimension of potential cargo theft. Perhaps it is a mild paranoia on my part, but who can say? I can't think of anybody who'd bust into a trailer with a massive lock on it then walk out with 1200 pound cylinder of copper. I have, however, heard a story about people stealing those huge rolls of paper off a truck (those weigh 7,000 pounds+). I suppose that if you want something bad enough you have to be willing to take it.

      So now, I'm hanging out just outside of Tupelo, Mississippi. The west end technically. I've been here long enough to watch the rain come and go. Long enough to get confused multiple times about how that lick goes in the two songs I am learning. Then long enough to watch the sun come out for a bit, then set. It is kinda funny, since I was asking for rain the other day to wash all the road salt off my truck that had accumulated in the shitstorm that was Wyoming. I'm thinking I wished a bit too hard. That said, it smells like spring here, with brilliant emerald fields of something or other (sod?) lining the highway.

      On a related note, I was also wishing for a run to Laredo, Texas. Lo and behold I get one! The thing is, I am scheduled to be home next weekend. That is all fine and good. Normally, it would not be an issue, but the “hours left to drive” thing comes into play here. I'd have to drive pretty hard and straight to get back to Seattle in any amount of sensible time. I messaged the planners to see if they could get me a more direct route home. Here's the thing though. I've already committed tot he plan (see yesterday's entry) and even called the shipper trying to get the trailer loaded early. He is already planning the bills around my trailer number. Man! *laughs* Still anyway, I am going to try to get back to Seattle sooner rather than later.

      In the meanwhile, I will practice banjo more, making mistakes as I go. It feels kinda good to be able to make mistakes and not have very serious repercussions. I'm sure life is that way to an extent, but not when it comes to appointment times. So I'll still push for Seattle.

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I wish I was in Dixie

Wednesday, January 25^th, 2012

      It has been said that there are no wrong choices. It has also been said that we make the best decisions with the information we have available. It has been said that it can't be done. It has also been said, “because I said so.” A lot of thing shave been said about everything. I was about to suggest that everything has already been said, but new things keep coming up to say as our collective pool of knowledge expands. Back to my original two points.

      While there may be no wrong choices, and we do the best we can with the information we have, I feel that having incomplete or changing information may lead to some decisions that are less efficient than the optimum. Perhaps that is setting the standard a bit high. Moreover, it may be an impossible standard to keep or even reach when the information is a variable you do not control. So I thought I was going to California. I'm not. The long and short of it is I thought I could take the load with the time I had left, but I forgot to factor in the hours I had already run yesterday. Like I said, best with the information we have at the time. Despite communicating that, I was still on the load, except I was now set-up to pull it to a terminal where somebody else would run it to California. So I went to bed.

      Waking up in the morning sometime around 0900 local, I scratched myself a bit in that kinda manly morning way rolled over just in time to hear a text message alert. Well. What could that be? Its a new load assignment. Huh. Better get myself together and out the door. Looks like I am picking up at the place I am delivering to, and taking whatever it is to Fulton, Mississippi.

      In the trucking world, there is this thing called “forced dispatch.” The meaning is fairly obvious, but essentially, you go where they tell to go and pull that load. Swift is not technically a forced dispatch company, but you'd better have a good reason not to take the load. A good reason would include, “I have to break some laws to do it.” Actually I think that is the only good reason. I hear tales of some drivers who will not go into New England under any circumstances, and more commonly with N.Y.C.

      There is a little system involved in getting loads, which does not ultimately guarantee that you will be doing that the next day. The company finds a load, and sends it to your truck. You then have to plan it out in your head (faster is better) and determine if you can run the load. You then respond to the pre-plan either accepting it or not. Clearly, there is plenty of room for error in this process, because the company doesn't know how much time you have to run (which makes no sense at all since you have to send in the previous day's hours every day) and there are people involved. I do my best not to screw things up, but I am only human. Then when all of this is said and done, you've accepted the pre-plan (it is still a pre-plan until you get a load assignment) the company can still take it off of you at their discretion. So I guess I am a bit bummed not to be going to Shafter, CA.

      On the bright side, I don't have to drive my skinny butt off to get somewhere. Getting up at midnight to drive is just crazy talk! So I'll enjoy to Southeast and the rain that came today. The rain is a lot different than in the northwest. It doesn't chill you to the bone. Then again, I wouldn't want to live here either.  I'll say hello to Memphis for y'all.

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Time and a Habit

Tuesday, January 24^th, 2012

Time is such a funny thing. In many ways it is an artificial construct of man. Maybe it is only that, maybe not. I'm no philosopher. I'm thinking about this because I'm jumping time zones lately. Anybody who has experienced jet lag will be aware of what all this shifting does to you. Granted, I've only shifted two hours earlier, but even that will mess with your head just enough. In the end, the only time there is, is now. For that is all we ever experience. Now, I am in Kingdom City, Missouri.

This morning found me wanting to stay in bed a lot longer. I just might do that tomorrow, since I have a 12 hour delivery window and all of 30 miles to go. I drove the better part of the day in a haze, just cognizant enough to drive, but not much more than that. Keeping up the gratitude practice was difficult, since my mind was blunted by drowsiness, but we do what we can. Nebraska went by mostly in the dark. However, one thing I really sincerely appreciate is how well routes are marked. Even before I was where I wanted to be, there was as sign telling me which way to go for the next route number. Fantastic! This is why I love driving in the States over Canada any day of the week.

Returning to time once again, it always struck me as funny how we have time zones. Don't get me wrong, I understand the concept behind it. (I'll stay away from daylight savings, mostly to spare all of us a rant.) I sometimes wonder what it would be like if all times were local. Hah! That would make delivery times such a pain in the ass wouldn't it? I was also musing the other day about how the people on the west end of a time zone totally have different noons. Better still, as I drove from Mountain time into Central time yesterday, I noticed that the border was a road running north-south. I saw a house on the East (Central) side of the road. So, if they had neighbors across the street, would they really be on different time zones? Then there was a manufacturing plant of some ilk not too far away. Do people come from MST to work in CST, and how do they set their clocks? I certainly don't understand.

Another thing that comes with time is habits. I'm not going to say that all truckers develop strange habits like I have, but I've come up with some strange ones to help develop a sense of home. Sadly, this has to do with using the lavatory, as most humor does of late, but I found it quirky enough to notice and poke fun at. Whenever I am at a terminal or truck stop, I want to feel like I'm 'home' or someplace familiar. When parked for a duration, I'll inevitably have to use the toilet. Naturally I go, since the other option is potentially deadly and rather anal retentive (pun intended). Fine. Wash up then leave. Of course use a paper towel to open doors with handles, because I don't want my hand touching the same surface as some other dudes hand that was just touching his a) ass or b) unit. Plenty of people don;t wash their hands out here. That is not the habit, that is just common sense. So time passes, and I'll have to go again. Given the opportunity, I will go to the exact same stall and use it again. It has become “mine” for the time being. Urinals included. They are mine. If it is a busy night or morning, I may adopt a second stall for personal use. Somehow this makes me feel better, and I don't get why. It just does.

So yeah, time has a way of doing strange things to you, even if only a little at a time.

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Meta-fer-iffic!

 

Monday, January 23^rd, 2012

      Hah! See what I did there? Pretty smooth eh? Yes, you too can make up words at your whim! Truth of the matter is that I'm now 2 times zones over, and I didn't sleep too well last night. That and a hot shower will do a number on your brain's capacity to think and/or stay awake. That, and my brain is tired from doing so much exercise today.

      The bulk of the day was spent driving in fairly featureless terrain, except for the first couple of hours. Beautiful! Driving East on I-80, I was up a little bit before the sun, so I got to see it rise. Just east of Rawlins is Elk Mountain. From far away it kinda looks like a shield volcano, a cross section of Kileaua, if you will. To the south of this shadowy pre-dawn blob is another hill. The best way I can think to describe it is as a horizontal lower-case “l” with the serifs (pointy bits on the ends). A shaft of sunrise light was shooting exactly between the two points on the end of the crater, looking like a brilliant beam of light shooting up across the remnants of the previous storm's clouds. Great start, no?

      As a part of the vague and yet to be defined “make my life a better work of art” project, I decided to spend the day flexing my gratitude muscles. I chose today, because holy cats, it can be a long drive! Especially when you can hit cruise control and, well, cruise. From about 40 minutes west of Cheyenne to about Iowa, there is no need to shift up or down, barring the occasional construction zone with markedly lower speed limits. I started with being grateful for the most immediate things. Heat in the truck (it was cold this morning), a truck that works, and so forth. Then suddenly four hours had gone by and I somehow didn't feel like so much time had passed. So I stopped and had coffee and ice cream for lunch. Well I had a cheese-stick and a couple of carrots too. This practice of gratitude got be be touch to constantly maintain. The mind wanders. In fact, it wandered right into today's topic of metaphors (spelled correctly here).

      I began to think of life like driving a truck. I suppose we could do this with any mode of living, be it trading stocks, pushing a broom, or splicing fiber optic cables on the sea floor. Sitting in my cab, I am in control of my vehicle (my body-mind). I can read the gauges and collect other input from my senses. We all do this. I make decisions based on relevant information, and take in plenty of wonderful, but otherwise irrelevant information. I move through life at a certain speed. In this case, it is dictated by the company, but regardless, it has to be a speed one is comfortable with. You will change your speed based on conditions. Sometimes the road of life is icy and you has to drive with care, usually slower. Other times we can just ride on cruise over a dry road. These times are easy, but don't push you much except in terms of endurance (how long can I put up with this?). Somedays, you'll run across people going slower than you, maybe because they are carrying a heavier load, or just move slower. Both situations are just fine. Some people will blow by, either because they are carrying lighter loads or are burning a lot more fuel (life force) to get some place faster. Maybe there's a balance between the two. Some people are in it for the money, others are in it for the love. I'm in it for myself. To take some time to be alone and reflect on things. When it is all said and done, we are all in it for ourselves, it just depends on how you want to look at things. We can do good for society by helping others make something (delivering raw materials or finished goods to improve a product), or by feeding people. We may bring people inspiration (ever see a little kid get a truck to honk?). Not only that, we are all going at our own pace. You can't push a truck out of your way, although I've seen someone in a car try to do that very thing (hilarious effort in futility). We all drive our own road. Some will be more considerate of others out there, some less. The best we can do is drive safely and with care for those around us, even the trees on the side of the road, since I'm sure they don't care to be driven into.

      I'm sure you could dive as deeply into this metaphor as you'd like. The parallels may spin into fractal infinity. I'm done for now. I'd like to play some banjo and do some personal work for the rest of the night. Take care all, and remember to drive with your lights on... especially in the rain.

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The Land of Ice and Snow

Sunday, January 22^nd, 2012

      I'm a lucky bastard. Really, I am. Well, I'm not technically a bastard, but I have been lucky so far. To date, I missed almost all of winter barring a few incidents in Canada in November. I feel as if that was another lifetime ago already. Being in SoCal was a treat, even Sparks was nice enough. Donner Pass seemed like an anomalous blip on the radar of crap weather. But now, I feel that I've actually stepped in it.

      My present load is going from Salt Lake City to Missouri (Mexico, MO to be precise) and the routing has me going across I-80 for quite a ways. This is a great route if you like to space out and stare off into the distance. I really dig on that. In the winter, however, the story changes a bit.

      Starting off in SLC, I dial 511 for road info. Smart move, Ian. No sense in getting all worked up if the highway through Parley's Canyon is closed. It turned out that the chain restriction had been lifted not too long after I was loaded, so I got on my merry way. Motoring up the hill, all is well. There is a bit of ice on the road (formerly snow compacted by many tires) but it fades away soon enough. Smooth sailing all the way to the border. Right on!

Crossing into Wyoming, the road is wet, which is cool with me, but I see a large number of trucks parked in the Port of Entry (a weigh station). Hmm. I wonder why. About 7 miles down the road, the surface becomes ice/compacted snow. It sounds like I am going over a continual rumble strip. This effect due in large part to the impressions left by tire chains used at some earlier point. There are a few clear-ish spots but they are short lived and barely a tire's width anyway. Looks like 45 m.p.h. for a long stretch. I resolve to get off the road as soon as I can.

A clear spot opens up, and a chance to pass some people doing 35. Seriously. So I zip by at a cool 40, and I pass a parking area. DAMMIT! Looks like I'm going to keep on truckin'. Someplace around mile marker 68, the road is still crap. I could park at Little America (truck stop in the middle of nowhere), but it is absolutely packed. The road has a couple wet streaks for tires in one lane with scattered icy rumble strips.

Then finally, at Green River, the road clears up. It's even dry in some places! Zooming along at 63 (top speed), I release my white knuckle death grip on the steering wheel and ease up on my tension levels. I take more time to notice the landscape. I spy two groups of antelope, presumably playing on the range. They looked like they were eating, but I'm told that they play out here. I look a bit more intently on the local flora. This snow may be the lion's share of their water for the year, and I notice that the plants seem to funnel the wind around themselves leaving little drifts leeward. Brilliant! I'm not sure how intentional this is, but it totally rocks for me.

Knowledge is power, so I dial 511 again. In the mean time, it seems that the road over Elk Mountain (11k+ feet) has become so crappy that they've shut it down entirely. In a stunning turn of events, they have re-opened the section from Cheyenne to the Nebraska border, which I'm guessing was closed because of massively high winds, since the roads are dry. I consider my options. In the end, I shut down in Rollins instead of going to Laramie, where the rest of the people who kept driving East will have to stop. I'll sacrifice a shower to have some peace of mind. I'll get my chance soon enough. For now, I'm resting for the balance of the day and calling it good. 

 

Perspective and interference

Saturday, January 21^st, 2012

      Today has been a good day. I didn't have to use my A-K, so I'm not wasting money on ammo. For the whole lot of nothing between Sparks and Salt Lake City, there was plenty to see, and a lot to be experienced. For a moment, I caught myself being bored, much to my dismay. More appropriately, due to lack of imagination and wonder. We are so full of both when we are young, and as we age it often becomes easy to lose that vital faculty. Just like any other muscle, it needs to be exercised, lest it atrophy, leading us to rely on external devices to tell us stories, like TV, the internet or radio.

      At one point this morning, just before I left, it started to snow. It was one of those wet heavy snows you get when the temperature is just above freezing, but not by that much. I got a bit discouraged for a moment, thinking that I could have left yesterday and beat the storm. Then reality struck. You don't ever beat storms, you just get ahead of them for a little while, then they sneak up on you when you are sleeping. So I felt better about starting the day, despite the weather. It cleared up quickly and became rather windy, but that passed as well. Enough of this weather business. I'm not a meteorologist. (I love lamp.)

      I've decided that when you live way out in the middle of nowhere, like northern Nevada, you have to make your own fun. Evidence of this has been presented to me on a few occasions today. For lunch break, I stopped at Battle Mountain. Not a big place, but it is “the base camp for Nevada's Outback,” so they'd have you think. The Flying J was small and a bit dumpy, but they had fuel and hot water, so who's to complain? I asked one of the clerks what Battle took place for the town to be named battle mountain. She looked at me a bit dumbstruck and admitted ignorance, which is all fine and good. Driving along, I noticed that they had put their town's initials on a hill in white rock, like so many other small town in the West with identity issues. “BM.” I giggled. Then I laughed some more when I realized where I was. I could say that I ate a big lunch at BM, NV. Maybe I should have had more fiber.

      Further down the road, there is a tunnel. For starters, that alone is cool. Tunnels always make the drive more fun. On the East side of the tunnel, a series of hoodoos and goblins decorated the north side of the road for a few miles. I spent probably more time than I should have looking at the wind carved caves high up in the rocks.

      Still further down the road, I got another laugh. Not that the ride is all laughs. Most of it was just enjoying the wide open beauty mixed with snow and wetness. Coupled with some speculation that when we stop using the roads (and salting them in winter) that roadsides are going to be nice little pockets of extra moisture for salt-hardy plants to develop and become a green strip along Nevada's shrub steppe. Then at exit 333 I saw the sign. “Deeth Starr Valley.” I turned off my targeting computer and just gave it a miss entirely. The next exit down? “Welcome Starr Valley.” So I suppose it is better to go east than west. Sounds like a trap going west.. welcome then deeth? no thanks.

      Cresting the hill just before the Utah border, one happens upon a picturesque scene. Large flats splay across your field of vision, flanked by rolling rocky hills. Since it has been raining, these flats are now graced by thin pools of shimmering water, which somehow shimmer in the overcast light. Heading into Utah proper, one sees more black volcanic stones arranged into shapes or words on the white mud/sand. As far as shaped go, there were plenty of hearts with initials, a few peace signs, a couple of Mercedes logos, some names, and not too surprisingly, a couple of penises (stylized of course). Aside from the rocks though, the real beauty was in the water. Most of it is brackish or even hyper-saline to be sure, but I did see some Canada geese swimming and feeding in a couple pools by the border.

      The land is flat for 40 miles. I find this awe-inspiring, driving on the bottom of a formerly massive lake, now shrunk to a pittance of its original size. Other people seem to take another view. It is a big fun toy. I'm guessing this because there are all sorts of tire tracks coming off the road and into the flats. Some are shallow impressions, made when the land was a lot drier. A few look like some people went in with mud tires and powered their way out. One was a massive rut, a few feet deep, in which the driver was very obviously towed out, and recently for there was fresh mud still on the road. I pray that the driver was just being dumb and did not fall asleep.

      In some spots, the land has been dredged to make short canals. I have no idea why, nor any real substantial guess. That said, the water inside is a very light and clear blue. The best analog I can think of is the color associated with the Bahamas. That light azure, clear blue. I understand that bodies of water that are clear have little nitrogen content. That got me wondering, if I went up to the shore and peed in it, would it get murky in some spots? Did I mention that the road doesn't bend or change elevation for 40 miles?

      After all this peace and tranquility, I get to the Salt Lake terminal. The place is packed. Everyone is staring at the 37” flatscreen TV or their laptops. I scurry across the room to scan my documents. Gunshots and screams on the TV. I go up to the window to see if I've been dispatched on my next load. I really need to leave this place. I shake my head and say, “violence,” to one of the drivers in line. She replies, “I love this movie, I am Legend.” Shooting and screaming, people dying (or something dying, I didn't care to look). It makes me sad to see what kind of culture I'm in sometimes, but also compassionate for these people, who have lost their sense of wonder at the world they experience everyday (or maybe they haven't, but they all seemed completely zombified by the movie). This is just more incentive to change my line of work.

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Resting in peace

Friday, January 20^th, 2012

      And on the eighth day, I rested. I looked at my hours and saw that they were good, but could be better. I looked upon my miles, and was satisfied. I went back over my typing since that was sub-par, but hey, I'm no god.

      Having ended the night so late yesterday, it felt really nice to sleep, to sleep well and long. I woke up sometime after 0800, which was nice , to a partly cloudy sky. What stunned me, however, was how familiar the yellow rolling hills of this part of the country were. It was like I'd been here all along at some point. It really makes no sense to me, but I was happy to see the hills.

      Somewhere south of here, those hills are on fire. So bad that they've closed down US 395 south of Reno. Not that this matters to me. I'm getting dead-headed east to Salt Lake City. Home to Mormons and punks I am told. I could have left Sparks today, but I felt that a rest was in order. So I took one. I played some banjo today, took a couple of naps, had my trailer inspected (it was 6 months over due) and ate some salad at the nearby truck stop. All in all a less than eventful day.

      Thank goodness. I feel that some days are meant to be spent relaxing, preferably with a cup of hot cocoa or some iced tea depending on the weather. Today was one of those days. I lounged in my sleeper, looking out of the windshield at the approaching weather. Yeah, I imagine I'll have some snow showers to contend with tomorrow, but it is a small price to pay to relax and heal a bit. In fact, perhaps the most exciting event of the day was playing banjo. It is nice to play as much as you want, with the sole limiting factor being how much your fingers hurt from wearing the picks. I call that a good day. Now, to read a bit and relax some more. Off in the morning!

Over the hills, but not too far away.

Thursday, January 19^th, 2012

      This post is dedicated to a guy named Rito. Rito was my room-mate for orientation here at Swift and a really good dude. He'll surface now and again on my Facebook feed. In one such instance, he posted a picture of Government pass, covered in snow. The caption read, “I'm about to make Government Pass my bitch.” For those who do not know Rito, he's a big guy, and like a lot of good dudes with huge frames, he is a bit quiet, so this quote, while not surprising made me laugh a good bit. In honor of you sir, I made Donner Pass my bitch tonight.

      Scanning in my paperwork in the drivers' lounge here in Sparks, three of us got to talking. Oddly enough, one of the guys didn't know about Donner Pass' claim to fame re:cannibalism. I was going to tell the story here, but that is what Wikipedia is for. Or Google. That said, Donner pass is now the home of interstate 80 between Reno and Sacramento for those who do not know. Again, one could look that up, but we are busy enough, amiright? On to the story.

      Having encountered less rush hour traffic than I anticipated in Sacramento, I was pretty jazzed to make some good time. There were some light showers in the city, and heading east up 80. Against all sanity, I was hoping that the pass itself would be merely wet instead of snowy. No such luck. Having driven some 4 hours already, I stop at a rest area to take a break. I've listened to the radio as advised by numerous flashing signs along the way. “Four wheel drive with snow tires required, chains otherwise.” So I'm still hoping to get by with my big honkin' tires. A few miles up the road from the rest area a long line of trucks is pulled over on the side of the road. It is time to chain up.

      When I first started, is was merely a light rain falling. As I got closer to complete with rigging up the chains and darkness settled (this was after the p.m. rush hour) the snow started to fly. I was at about 3000 feet. Uh-oh. Heading off with chains firmly affixed, I am glad to be going. Maybe I can make some good time. At this point, I have absolutely no sense of how long the pass is. Max speed is 30 mph. No problem. Well, I only feel safe at 25 or 20, with anything from one half to three inches of snow on the pavement. For most of the time I can hear my chains hitting the road, making a kind of zipper type noise with some extra clinking. Then there are times when all I hear is the clink of the free link against the wrapped chain, meaning that I'm driving solely on compacted snow, no surface contact. It took me an hour to put the chains on, but I am glad I did it. There is a feeling of bravery or heroism that comes with driving with chains on. Like you're so committed to getting through that nothing will stop you. All of this for a memory foam mattress destined for a K-Mart somewhere in the Reno area. Perspective can be a cruel mistress sometimes.

      The top of the pass sits at 7227 feet above sea level. It drops of sharply as you continue east, with some tricky curves. I slow to 15 mph. Of course there is somebody whizzing by to get some place, and that same car ended up spun out on the side of the road not 4 miles afterwards. No rush. I take my time getting down from the summit. Forty miles and two hours later, I am across Donner pass. Taking my chains off, I find that one of them has completely shredded and became lodged between my trailer tandems. I work to get it out, fingers burning with metallic cold. Yeah, they don't pay me enough to do this. At least I got to eat when I got to Sparks and a story to tell. You will not see a snow story about me going over the pass the other way, I promise, for my own sanity if nothing else.

     In the map below, the points between "B" and "C" represent the part of the journey spent driving in chains.

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