A Bad Trailer, and a Great View

Monday, February 13^th, 2012

      Is there any better feeling than going home? I'm sure there is, but those usually happen when you are already there. I'm finally on my way back after five weeks on the nation's highways.

      This morning, I called in to the shipper, hoping that I could pick up the load early and put some decent miles behind me before dark. So, I woke up early only to find that my trailer would not be loaded until 10 a.m. Having secured this knowledge before acquiring coffee may have been the brightest thing I did today. Taking advantage of this circumstance I went back to sleep and rested for a while, thinking that they would call me back when the load was ready.

      Despite the promise of a call about the load's status, I decided to get there shortly after 10. The lady at the desk was none to thrilled about that, saying that when she said she would call, she meant it. Not that I am one to doubt anybody else's integrity, I'd just as soon be there when the load is ready, instead of driving the fifteen minutes there and back. Accordingly, I waited after dropping what may have been the crappiest trailer I've seen in a while.

      I did my pretrip this morning, as per usual. This time, however, I noticed that one of the mudflaps was missing. As sad as it may sound, I sincerely hope it was gone when I picked it up in Sparks. This mudflap was one of the ones that was welded to the frame. There's some serious metal holding that thing on. I would hate to have lost that on the interstate and cause some kind of accident. That said, I debated going back to the terminal in SLC to have it fixed. After the last few times of doing the right thin, I figured it was my turn to be that guy. Perhaps not the best philosophy to live by, but I am human, and having stopped there would have interfered with me getting home. Well, not really. I just did not want to go back and forth again.

      So I drop this trailer, slide the tandem and go to open the doors, only to find out that one of the chains with which the doors are secured to the side walls (to keep the doors open) has long since vanished. No wonder this was the last empty on the lot in Sparks. All I could do was laugh. Well, I could have had the company fix it, for which I feel a bit of remorse, not living up to my ideal best.

      Having played some banjo while waiting, I get my load and head down the road. Salt Lake does not particularly resonate with me, so I was happy to leave. Being out here, you will find places that sit well with you, and some that don't. I've certainly become more aware of both in my travels, and I have grown to appreciate places that feel good to me.

      Along on stretch of I-84 in Idaho, one crosses the Snake river. I swear that It must've been dark the last twenty times I crossed that part, since I felt like I was now seeing something that I'd never noticed before. The river winds it way along a rocky cliff face into the valley. Curving gently, the road hugs the north wall of the valley and a driver is blessed with a phenomenal view. It is not on of those far reaching expansive views. Rather it is one of the more intimate, close in views, a little microcosm to be enjoyed by the few present.

      I am looking forward to moving right through Oregon and into Washington. Days off are a treasure to be sure. I've a bit concerned that I've become overly acclimatized to living in the truck. I hope I can adjust to society and “normalcy.” Or maybe they can adjust to me.

(maps seem to be on the blink. Maybe another time)