Really, Saint Louis?

Monday, March 19^th, 2012

      For anybody driving long haul trucks, getting home is perhaps the most compelling event that can happen. When it comes to stopping for a while with friends and family, you'll be willing do things you normally would not. I'm not one to sling iron, but I will if it means the difference between getting home or not. (“sling iron” is trucker speaking for putting snow chains on your tires). We become willing to drive the last bit of our hours to get that much further the next day. Today felt quite good to roll out of the southeast, let me tell you.

      I was pretty jazzed for leaving my pick up an hour and a half before my appointment time. Blasting out of Nashville and into Kentucky, I just wanted to put the miles behind me. To be quite frank, it went smoothly. I listened to unit 7 of Pimsleur's Spanish 1, and will certainly have to listen to it again. Otherwise, the drive was wonderfully uneventful until St. Louis.

      I have a friend from St. Louis, and the place reminds me of him. Driving across I-64, you get a splendid view of the Arch that the city is so famous for. I've heard it was quite the feat to actually connect the two separate legs. Apparently, the sun and heat would twist the metal so much that it would have been exceptionally difficult to fuse the towers barring an engineering miracle. Then come the billboards. I saw several advertising Budweiser. It seems that they take their beer somewhat seriously here. Some blurb about some kind of 2011 sports championship. But what struck me the most was how beautiful it could actually be.

      I've been on the northern side more often (along I-70) and it tends to be a grittier place than what I saw today. A park stretched along the interstate for miles, with people walking, biking and jogging along a path. Union Station looked well cared for, and the buildings looked spiffy.

      To help me get a feel for the place, I like to look into the windows of cars that pass me. I do this mostly because I pass so few cars, and I can't see into them when I am passing, the truck is too wide and high. So I am compelled to look down into the cars going by. Sometimes, I'll get a wave and a smile. Rarely, I'll get a kid wanting me to honk my big horn, which I happily oblige. I was that kid once. The most common event is an empty passenger seat with nothing going on.

      Sure, I get people talking on cell phones, people texting, but some days you get some odd balls. Disappointingly uncommon is sighting animals riding shotgun. Nothing is more fun than seeing a dog hang its head out the window, tongue flapping in the maelstrom. I recall an incident involving a man reading a newspaper. Impressive, but foolish. This evening just outside of St Louis, I had a girl picking at one of her feet. Very flexible!

      The most memorable one happened today. I looked over and saw some guy *ahem* pleasuring himself. There should be such a thing as eye bleach, or a mind wipe. He was driving just slow enough to pass me, but not fast enough to pass quickly. Its just after rush hour, so maybe he's enjoying himself after a hard day of work, no pun intended. I mean, this has got to happen all the time right? Sure, why not? My first instinct was to vomit, which I luckily repressed. Not that the act itself if repulsive, more the idea that I got the impression that he wanted me to see it. I so hope that is not true. There are some odd people out there for sure. I'm going to comfort myself and choose to believe that he did not think anyone could see him workin' it. Please let that be true.

Still in Purgatory it Seems

Sunday, March 18^th, 2012

      Some few days later, I still find myself in the Southeast. Nashville is hot today, but the breeze is gentle and welcoming. It's too hot in the truck to meditate or play the banjo, so I'm inside the truck stop relaxing. These last few days have been curious to say the least. Honestly, I'm not even sure where to begin, or what to mention, so I'll start with what is the most obvious to me.

       It is fairly apparent that if I want any kind of life, I can no longer drive trucks over the road. Technically, I can have a life of sorts, but it is similar to being a nun. Obviously, I'm not a woman married to Jesus (he's totally pimpin' with all those wives!) rather a guy married to the road. For the record, I will say two things: 1) the road doesn't put out and 2) I imagine it would either a) burn like hell, or b) rub your junk off. Consequently, the road allows for other companions, but not for any length of time to be considered enjoyable.  Not only that, the road does not offer companionship beyond your own thoughts, or the opportunity to do anything but drive.  Five days a month is not enough time to live a good, balanced life.

      In light of this seeming engagement, I am opting for a divorce of sorts. I am considering other career paths. During the last few days, I have spent time meditating on this, reflecting kind of passively and actively weighing the ups and down of various enterprises. The honest truth of it is that I'd just as soon hang out and play banjo all day, but that is far from realistic at this point. I'm not even to a level where I can consistently play the same few songs I know without the occasional flub.

      Practically speaking, I will need a job that pays actual income if I want to purchase some land to steward. There are options that are way out there, from sustainable building to intuitive healing, all of which I feel would require extra training and more time devoted. More time than I can find between loads and the minutia of this job. There are so many experiences that I would like to have between now and whatever comes next, and they all require money. So, practical concerns win out for the meantime.

      Between now and then is a tricky amount of time to commit to a particular field. Perhaps five years, maybe more. As I was contemplating my options, it came to me. I can do anything honestly. If I can put up with the alternatingly frenetic and languid pace that is trucking (never mind the intermittent showers and frustration of things breaking down), then I am sure I can put up with any other job. Yeah, people can be tiresome. I see it everyday on the roads. It becomes easier to deal with when you start seeing the idiot that cut you off while driving and talking in his cell phone, is just another person, with their own experiences and subjective morality.

      Not only can I probably survive anything, chances are that whatever I do doesn't matter in the end. During a meditation, I came to realize that succeeding on a physical level holds little interest for me other than maintaining my somewhat modest american life. I'm sure I could pare down even more. Perhaps what is lacking is the connection in my own mind between the mundane and the sacred. Inevitably they are both cut from the same cloth, one a reflection of the other. The thing is, I can fly, teleport and dive into the sun in other realms. Here I can appreciate what has been created, and work to make things better. Which is cool and all, but teleportation... kinda hard to beat that one. Wait until i get better at energy manipulation!

      Long story short, the most pragmatic options honestly bore me. I'm not inspired by mundane work as I conceive of it. I'm not sure if I can find inspiration in going to a job for the next 10 years or so. Therein lies the challenge.

We're on a Mission from God

Wednesday, March 14^th, 2012

      Ah Dixie, you are indeed beautiful and nice this time of year. Your trees covered in purple flowers are a sight for sore eyes to be sure. Where else can you get a lush emerald green and 80 degree daytime temperatures? On top of that, where else will you get honest-to-goodness hushpuppies? I'm starting to wonder if the Universe is trying to convince me to stay in this corner of the country. There has to be some kind of progressive thinking people down here someplace... it can't be all 'red'. Which reminds me, wasn't being “red” a bad thing once? Like communist, or socialist? I digress.

      Today has been a bit of an adventure for me, and not many miles traveled. Starting sometime before sunrise, as is usual, things kinda went wrong on the truck fairly quickly. I had finished my pre-trip inspection, knowing full well that the light cord from truck to trailer was a bit wonky. Seems that it was out sometime last night before hitting the truck stop. I manage to get the lights working, but the mere act of turning the engine over was enough to loosen the plug from it's socket. I stopped to readjust it again, and was set to go. Pulling out onto the access road, the lights went out again. This time, I reversed the plug and swapped the ends for a much better fit. Down the road I go.

      I get to the shipper a bit early and enjoy some time playing my banjo. I'm done well before I expect to be. Right on! The thing is, I had to drop the trailer and let the yard jockey put it into the door. He pulls it out of the door and drops it in an easy to get to place (dude was way cool!) and I'm backing under the trailer, ready to roll. This time, it seems my mud flaps are dragging on the ground. That's odd. I pull away, and the truck won't build air pressure for anything. After a few bumpy blocks, I am at a Pilot truck stop under my truck looking at the leveler valve. (I know right? What the hell is a leveler valve?) Despite the fact that I had never heard of it before, it was certainly broken and leaking air.

      Three hours later, after a suggested 2 hour wait time, the repair guys come to fix my truck. Long story shorter, I unhook and drive 3 miles to their shop so they don;t have to work in the rain. The boss man starts to work on the truck, only to find out he has the wrong part, which is not uncommon since truck parts change so quickly. That's the thing with being a mechanic or technician. you make good money, but a lot of it can get eaten up with buying the ever changing tools.

      Dude goes out for a while to get the part. I'm in the shop with the younger guy, who's name is Cedric. Pretty cool guy. He was telling em how amazing it is to be down here. What with fishing and all. He enjoys being a diesel mechanic, despite the fact that his boss talks down to him a lot. It was straight out of a southern stereotype, which really surprised me. “Now Cedric, don't ratchet wild now. Faster Cedric. No, you ain't listenin'” Imagine all of that with a southern accent and a hint of acid in the voice. Cedric took it like a champ, and was all “yes sir.” During our chat, Cedric was seemingly trying to convince me to live down here in Birmingham.

      Some time later, the truck is repaired and I'm on my way. I extend my best wishes to Cedric and roll down the road once more, hooking up to the trailer I left in the Pilot parking lot. Probably shoudl have locked it, but who's going to steal a truck load of Chep pallets? Out of Alabama and into Mississippi. I'm wondering where to stop for the night. I'm thinking that I can make it to the town I'm set to deliver these pallets in, but not to the final, drop this trailer pick up another and park for the night. I don't have that kind of time. Just north of Tupelo, I hear a loud boom. Checking my mirrors, I see a piece of ejecta fly across the lane in my left mirror. That was a tire. Or a bit of one. Limping to the next truck stop, 5 miles away, I settle in for the night and call the breakdown hotline again.

      By this point, I am really starting to wonder what the hell I need to be learning from this situation. Both times, I had a load going west; the first load was to Amarillo, the second to Aurora. Now my next load picks up in Missouri, then back to Eastern Tennessee. We'll see if something else malfunctions before then.

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How long has it been?

Monday, March 12, 2012

      Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I seem to have entered purgatory. To be fair, it is greener than I had expected, but the drivers lack courtesy and cognition, failing to see that there is a very large truck on the highway, and he's not moving over for you to get on. Hang up and drive for Christ's sake. At least the weather is warm, for now. It still seems in flux, cooling then warming, much like I expected in purgatory. Enough to be kind of alright, but not steady enough to be comfortable. Neither heaven nor hell. It is Georgia.

      I don't know why, but the sign of “NEWT 2012” roadside campaign signs fills me with dread. Now, I'm not entirely political, or at least much less so than I used to be, but this man is clearly pandering for votes. $2.50 gasoline? Sure, and I'll wave my magic wand and give the bottom 99% a raise. What an odd place.

      On the plus side, spring is arriving here. It is quite comforting to see the fresh yellow-green of new growth. Maybe not so much “new” growth, more like an expanding regeneration of existing life. I've seen butterflies, daffodils, and myriad other flowers already. By far the most captivating for me has been the wild grapes. A soft, delicate purple flower, hanging in clusters against a medium green background. Would that I could pull over and smell the flowers.

      Oh yeah, purgatory. It looks like I'll be running back and forth in the southeast until they see fit to discharge me for my sins, whatever they may be. Generally speaking, I don;t much care for driving down here. I enjoy exploring the different climate, and seeing landscapes I would not normally enjoy. If nothing else, I'm certainly busy now that the weekend has passed. My next load has me going almost all the way down I-75 to the Florida border. What could it possibly be? My guess is dry groceries, but time will tell.

It is the Only Conastant

Saturday, March 10^th, 2012

      What would life be like if your sleep cycle was always in flux? I wonder that sometimes, then I get to live it on occasion. Now that I am, more or less, back to my normal schedule, I get the leisure to take the day off. Maybe “take the day off,” is a bit incorrect. Rather I should say, “there's no freight so I get to sit for the day.” Sounds less exciting, and certainly beyond my control, which is a more accurate assessment.

      Yesterday, I delivered about an hour ahead of schedule. That worked out really nice. Normally at distribution centers like the one I was at yesterday, live unloads are simple affairs. Back into a dock, and the forklift guy comes and takes the pallets out. Right on. Then the pallets get broken down and sorted onto a massive conveyor belt running through the entire building. This is no small feat. If I had to guess, I would estimate this particular center to have a footprint of around 5 acres. Huge.

      I was a special case. I'm sure lots of people said that about me from time to time, but the flat screen televisions are known as NC, or non-conveyable. I was informed at the window that it would take the better part of three hours to unload a trailer that was approximately 1/3 full. I could either park then return to the driver's lounge and take a long nap, park, drop the trailer then head over to the truck stop and wait for a call, and sleep in my cab, or I could help unload.

      Seeing as I had been awake and working for the last 9 hours, a nap sounded good, but potentially losing the trailer did not. I chose to help. We unloaded all the pallets, then broke them down. There were huge rubber bands employed to keep full pallets together, 2 to a layer. On double stacks, the were four sets of 2 bands; one for each layer and 2 going diagonally. In the end it took us just over 2 hours to unload and break down the trailer. Not bad, and I got to see the inside of a distribution center.

      Today, I've been simply relaxing and doing my best to enjoy myself. Well, that and consider where I am going in life. I think my current headache is a result of the latter. Trucking is a dangerous profession for many reasons, including the constant travel. Not because of the other people on the road. It is far more insidious than that. Most people spend their lives in one place, maybe doing a bunch of different things. Now and then, people get out and take vacations. Or maybe even move to someplace else. By and large however, the bulk of time is spent in one area doing one thing. It gives you a sense of doing-ness, or maybe a sense of stability, even if the situation is less than ideal. Such situations allow you to develop a perspective on things. Going places helps to alter that perspective. If you are impressionable the same way I am, you pick up the energy of these places. See where I'm going with this?

      Bouncing all over the country gives me all sorts of perspectives. Constantly changing views. New information all of the time. I am beginning to feel a bit overloaded by all of this information, as well as pressure from outside forces to choose a path. Having a sense of place and purpose can be difficult when you live out of a truck. I'm not sure how to properly convey this notion. When the world around you is always different, it is hard to form a concrete idea in your head. Even while the truck will always remain the same, it is always someplace else.

      For now, I'm taking the day and stepping back from my normal routines, like meditating and doing things that are simply enjoyable. I promised myself that I would have a plan of action by next week, and I will, despite the constant change. I will.

Wednesday, March 7^th, 2012

      Living in darkness, I steal the souls of other men. I move from one city to another, bringing destruction in the guise of gifts, poison in the guise of food. Paper, in giant rolls or bales. For a minute there, I was starting to sound like a vampire or assassin. Nothing so exciting. Still driving trucks for a living. Maybe stealing souls is a bit of a stretch, but I think a bunch of entertainment devices that can spirit a person away into another dimension of reality without their *really* knowing it might count.

      At first I thought I was going to the Detroit area, then off to Pennsylvania, near Harrisburg (and my old college!). Turns out that wasn't going to happen. Seems like they did not want me driving another 300 or so miles empty after the 500 to get me to Illinois. Crazy, huh? Having gotten up around 0730, and having some coffee for the next run, I fixed the situation with my transponder that pays my tolls for me. I was reading the next plan, getting ready to accept it, when it was removed from me. I was literally writing down the information and was all of 2 minutes away form sending the committed macro, when they took it off. Doh!

      In the mean time, my DM called to tell me that he needs to get me back to Sumner for the local thing, which may not be so good after all. I've not heard much detail about it to begin with, and I seem woefully unprepared to accept the job. Living out of my truck is wonderful and all, but a local job would preclude that and necessitate and physical residence. While I can stay with Jen in Redmond, that is a serious commute each day, and therefore, unlikely. Not much point in being home everyday if you spend 3 or so hours of that time commuting.

      While deliberating on questionable apartments in the South Sound area, I get another preplan. Romeoville to Tifton, GA, hauling idiot boxes. (or idiot panels as the case may be these days) The thing about it is, they are giving me 36 hours to deliver a trip that takes 16 hours. Translation: you can do it, but you have to drive overnight instead of sleeping twice. Taking 2 10 hour breaks, as mandated by law, would be cutting it WAY too close, impossible if you factor in fuel stops, pre-trips and general breaks for the biological aspects of life. So I've slept all day today and I am catching up now.

      For those who know me, I'm a fairly nice guy. Not all the time though, and I think yesterday in Chicagoland kinda pushed me over the edge a bit. I want to say this to all Chicago drivers: “F*ck you you fat, ignorant, inconsiderate f*cks. There is a reason that every cross street has a sign saying DO NOT BLOCK INTERSECTION, and it is because dicks like you have no concept of consideration for other dirvers. Take your pizza eating asses to a manners course (I know I'm setting a great example here) and start realizing that other people are important too. You pompous asses.” That is all. Now point me to the nearest pizza place.

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Pissing in the Wind

Tuesday, March 6^th, 2012

      It was a day like many others. Some part of me expects things to be magical the entire time. I'm sure that is the 7 year old in me that never grew up. Some times, he can be at odds with the reality of adult life. Perhaps everything can be novel with the right frame of mind, but that isn't as easy to come by as I would like. Not yet anyway. I'm working on it.

      Really nothing spectacular to report today, save some amazingly sunny weather with very comfortable temperatures. I've enjoyed the sun and welcome the feeling of spring, however early and due to global climate change it may be. Out on the road, I ran into a bunch of Mayflies already. Seems like a fairly solid indicator to me of how we're adjusting seasonal norms. I mean, we don't go around calling the “Marchflies” or anything so preposterous.

      Along weather related lines the wind has been fierce today gusting to 45 mph. Having an empty trailer in these winds (like I do) is a bit precarious. It kinda feels like driving on ice. The back tires of the trailer will kick into the passing lane, usually not by much. Little or no, one can certainly feel it in the driver's seat. What scares me more is when the drive axle does that. I'm not sure exactly how I can tell, but after a while you get a sense of your truck.

      In other news, it seems that I have an incredible sense of timing, almost to the point of being psychic. In the Edwardsville lot, there is a profound shortage of trailer sin working order. This means that I spent about 3 hours this morning either hunting or waiting for a trailer. Instead of sitting hawkishly by the trailer repair bay doors, I took my laptop and went inside to have a nice, but unexpected chat with my sweetheart.

      Out of the the blue, I decided to get up and check on the trailers. Just as I walked out of the drivers' lounge, they were opening one of the bay doors to release the newly repaired trailer. There were another 4 guys on that row waiting for a trailer, but I followed the yard jockey to where he dropped the trailer and connected to it right quick! There's a lot to be said for being in the right place at the right time.

      Now I'm in Kankakee, IL, just south of Chicago. And by “just south” I mean an hour away. There is a new truck stop here so I had to stop. Going to the bathroom after a few hours is a great relief, so I made that a priority. Heading to the men's room, I make for the furthest urinal from the door (some odd feng shui thing for me Ii suppose). If you've never been into a men's room, first of all: really? What kind of woman hasn't ever even looked inside of one? The answer may be a sensible one, but certainly not curious. Anyway, I'm sure we all know what urinals look like, but we may not all know that there are these plastic things in the bottom that serve a couple of purposes: to keep the tiny bits of urinal cake from getting washed down the drain, to make it smell nice in some cases (really!) and to catch the inevitable tangles of pubic hair that “trickle down” Today I found that there were advertisements written on these plastic do-hickeys with a sharpie marker. The ads below matched one of the ads on the flyer at eye level above the urinal itself. No kidding. Each of the four urinals featured a different product that was being promoted this month. My urinal was casually mentioning “ear buds (brand xyz) for 12.99, normally 14.99, $2 savings”. This sounds like a brilliant merchandising scheme from someone who knows that guys look down when peeing. Brilliant. And very disturbing. Next it will be an LCD inside the urinal itself I swear.

Moving day

Monday, March 5^th, 2012

      Almost forgot again! This is certainly a sing of waning interest in blogging. Most likely cause? I've got a lot of other things going on this time around. I'm still learning to play bluegrass banjo, which is going well enough. There will be videos at some point when I can play through and entire song on camera and not goof up. Additionally, I'm pursuing more spiritual matters, training myself in sensory projection, which is astoundingly easy and interesting for me. Now I've somehow stumbled into the spirit realm and I am exploring journeying, which also seems to come quite easily. It amazes me how thin the veil between the worlds are. All of this while working 10-14 hour days. (not the last few days, but it is what it is).

      The biggest news of the day is that I switched trucks. Instead of waiting for them to fix the ProStar I had sometime around the end of the week, I moved into a Volvo 670. This is a cool model because you can stand up in it, and it has a second bunk to put extra stuff on. I dig on that a lot. The hood looks shorter and closer, and there are extra closets in this truck. The bed is narrower, but that doesn't matter much. I can sit up in the bunk without hitting my head on the upper bunk, so bonus.

      Sometime during the moving process I was standing between the trucks just observing how I felt. I didn't much like doing what I was doing. It is a mini-equivalent of moving your home. I thought about this some more, and the idea of going into another truck after this one did not really appeal to me. The idea of joining yet another company was certainly not on my mind in any favorable light. By most standards, I don't have a lot of stuff, but it still took me the better part of 2 hours to transfer all my belongings and get them arranged in the new truck.

      The simple fact of the matter is that I was becoming comfortable in that truck. The energy was familiar and inertia was setting in. It happens like that sometimes. I can imagine it happening with this job, but I know that it would not last. I really like the idea of being home more.

      Just as a heads up, I believe that my blogging is going to become less regular. I know. Think of the masses. Well, for all 4 people who read this, I'm sure that you all understand. *laugh * I find writing this less compelling at the moment than a multitude of other things, and I know everyone out there has lots of better things to do than read a blog about trucking by a guy they've not seen (for some) in years. To be sure, if something interesting or story worthy happens, I will be posting. In the mean time, I'll continue to find beauty in the ordinary aspects of life, and laughter in the serious.

A momentary lapse of reason

Sunday, March 4^th, 2012

      Well, it seems I did not write yesterday. Perhaps the job is getting to me. Or maybe it was the 3 hour long nap in the middle of the day that totally messed with my head. Suffice to say, I made it to the Edwardsville terminal, just outside of Kansas City (both of them).

      One of the main reasons for me to get down here was to have the shop fix my fuel gauge. Well that and the door. I got here sometime around 1030, I took my time and had a nice leisurely drive, because I could. It feels really nice to be able to relax and not be on a schedule. I drop my trailer and bring in the paper work for someone else to haul it away. I wash my hands of it. I scanned in the scale receipts for reimbursement, and they totaled to just under $50. Hehe. Ah well, at least I'll see that all back again.

        The next order of business was to check in with the shop. Well, it seems that a few techs called in sick yesterday. They were already short handed as it is. There is a flock of trucks waiting to be looked at. I took my nap in front of the garage doors waiting for the initial inspection. Apparently i really fell asleep, long enough for the shift to change. I had no idea how tired I was. I suspect not having coffee in the morning may have contributed to this. It is for the best really.

       The door is more or less fixed, but it seems the hinges are warped enough for them to want to replace them. The big issue is the fuel gauge, which will involve taking the whole left side apart and turning the tank around. I can honestly say that I do not understand it. Oh, and they won;t be able to even consider doing it until Tuesday. Guess I'm laid up here for a while. The upside of that is that once I am fixed, I'm sure to be moving right along with a load to some place far away, in any direction. That's the best part of being in the middle of the country. Stuff is going wherever you want to go.

      While they were looking at my truck, I spent my wait time talking the ear off a couple of other drivers who were in the garage as well. For the life of me, I can not recall what the hell I was saying, but I'm sure it was rather light and banal. Fun talking. Making silly jokes about nothing in particular. Small talk about being broken down and such.

      The terminal is a different story. I have only now escaped what feels like the crushing despair of the drivers' lounge. It is a low energy kind of place. Even the shop is. I wonder if the terminal manager knows anything about this. Each terminal has a distinct energy which I readily pick up on. I am glad for my banjo and my best friend to talk to (and the bears too!). In fact, Barnaby wants to hear some more banjo.

A cold wind blows

March 2^nd, 2012

      Another day, another adventure. More aptly, another series of adventures. When you are going a mile a minute, life tends to change fairly rapidly. Situations arise and pass away, like so many sensations during a good meditation.

      Sleeping in for want of rest, I woke up sometime after the sun. Not what I was hoping for, but ultimately a wonderful thing. South Dakota is a beautiful state, and it would be a shame to waste such an viewing opportunity in darkness. Generally speaking, it is all down hill from the west end of the state as you move east. I remember looking at the political/geographic maps of the U.S in elementary school, admiring the changing colors, wondering what they looked like in real life.

      The landscape here is essentially prairie. Soft rolling hills with lots of grass. The Black hills are kinda short and frumpy, and yes, they look black from the dense thickets of trees growing on them. Just outside of the Black Hills region, one will catch glimpses of badlands in their infancy. Severe slopes carved by sudden storms, combined with variegated layers of natural colors, simply amazing. Before they become water sculpted and wind crafted masterpieces, the formations seem to start as dumpy round hillocks. Much less wondrous to be sure. They kinda look like a scoop of cafeteria mashed potatoes with grass on them. I surmise that the badlands start to form via extreme saturation leading to slumping, and then mass wasting. This exposes the friable and loosely accumulated rock, thus making it more susceptible to physical weathering. Over time and repeated rains, little differences in elevation become more and more exaggerated until we are blessed with the badlands we know and love today.

      Elsewhere, rivers cut deep swathes thru the hills, bringing another interesting element into the equation: trees. By and large, trees are hard to come by out here. They tend to hunker around water and human settlements (probably because they are brought in and watered). Despite winter's tenacious grasp on this corner of the country and lack of signs of spring, there is much beauty to be had in the trees here.

      To my surprise, many of the trees were dead, bereft of the greater portion of their bark. Still, the skeletons were bleached white in the blustery cold, partially bent by wind in their living years. I'm not sure I could even find the words to describe how graceful these ex-trees were in their state of mummification. It is as if they were dancing to a tune long since gone, frozen in mid stride.

      In more mundane news, I will certainly be putting my truck into the shop upon arrival tomorrow in Edwardsville. I was a bit on the fence about it until now. You see, the fuel output sensor goes on the fritz occasionally. Well, that infrequent occurrence has become so frequent that I have to actually keep track of how much fuel I use. I've got that down though, I simply track how much I've put in, and multiply by the average MPG and viola... I have a good and safe guess of when I should get fuel next. What ever happened to using floats anyway? Everything is all electronic now. Probably hackable or something I'm sure. Somebody get on that.

      The clincher happened today at a rest area. The winds in South Dakota were a steady 25 to 30 mph, which was great for me since it was a tailwind. Woe to the poor slobs driving west! Parked at a rest area, I open the door, and it flies out of my hands from the wind. Now it won't shut. I slam it a few times. No dice. Putting gloves on my very cold hands, I lift the door a bit and slam it closed again in hope it will shut. It does, but not quite all the way. So I try to open it again. No dice. Now, I am climbing in and out of the passenger door, for which I am extremely grateful. I shudder to think what it would be like if that door went on the blink as well. In the meantime, I have lined the crack with socks to keep the cold at bay and noise to a minimum. I'm certainly not putting up with that for as long as I've put up with the fuel gauge.

      Like everyday, there are some bits of mundane, and some sublime moments. Perhaps the hardest part is remembering to let myself be human the whole time.

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Your brain on trucks; a disjointed ramble

Thursday, March 1^st, 2012

      Oddly enough, it seems that I have stopped at the only Pilot truck stop in the nation that does not have wireless internet. I will not grieve for lost time staring vacuously into the shiny screen. In fact it fits into the theme of the day. Actually it would be just as appropriate to stare blankly at a screen as well, but screens are so limiting.

      Starting off early, I left Anaconda behind. The guy that was next to me idling his noisy ass p.o.s. truck left before me, which is just as well. Consequently, I did not sleep as well as I could have, and I am certainly ready for bed. Here are some observations I made during the day.

      At one point, I was totally spaced out, but still being with the road. It is like you see what is going on, but your body mind is completely elsewhere. I was alert enough to be sure. Someplace past the Little Big Horn Battlefield, I considered it funny that they actually pay me to do this. For some reason it had not occurred to me at the level of “I am holding a steering wheel and contemplating everything.” The idea of it being work was long gone.

       Driving past Little Big Horn, it gave me pause to reflect. Were Americans such a bunch of ethnocentric, mean spirited bigots? Are we still? If our nation is mostly a nation of Christians, I would say we are setting a poor example, and/or ignoring what that Jesus dude said the whole time. Just driving past the site, one can feel the resentment in the earth. Furthermore, it is a monument in the Crow Nation. Why immortalize someone who slaughtered a bunch of people because they did not agree with him/his system? I found it hard to believe that being an American myself, that I was somehow linked to this inhuman madness.

      Late into a long day, there is a certain kind of momentum going. You've already been driving for so long. Your body takes a bit of a back seat as your mind takes over. That full bladder? It can wait another 60 miles (and it did). When you do finally stop, it is like hitting a wall. Suddenly not moving at a good speed feels foreign to you. The head thinks you are still going, but the body is stiff and sore from hunkering down in one position for 6 hours straight. Nothing that can't be walked off, which is just as novel.

      I found it funny the things I remembered about certain stretches of road. The hill south of Billings is long and more long. I remembered the hill as you turn onto 212. There is a stretch of 212 in Montana that I have a vivid memory of passing a truck driver, who was on his cell phone. I would keep catching up to him at 65 (back then) and I went to pass. I don't think he even looked into his mirror the whole. He was up to 65 some time just before I pulled along side him on the two lane road. In the end, I honked my horn and he slowed to let me pass, still on his phone. I later found out that he could have been going quite a lot faster than he was. I was less patient then.

      Today it didn't matter. I had almost the entirety of the east bound drive to myself. In 180 miles, I was passed 5 times, by cars. That certainly contributed to enjoying my spacey time. Road hypnosis is a strange thing, and it leaves you tired in the end. A shower rounds out a wonderful day, which can only be made better by some good sleep, since my brain isn't functioning too well. Good night all.

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Escape Velocity

February 29^th, 2012

      At last! I have escaped Washington state's gravity well and have traveled to someplace else! What was beginning to look like another day in Spokane turned out to be a good long trip after all. How long, I am not certain yet, but at least I am heading someplace else for the time being. Lots of time to ponder on the open roads, Especially tomorrow since I'll be taking a few state routes on my way to Rapid City, SD.

      At this moment, I am parked at a rest stop outside of a town called Anaconda, Montana. To the best of my knowledge, there are no large snakes living here, certainly not of the tropical persuasion. I am also fairly confident that the movie of the same name was shot somewhere else, despite having never seen it. From what I gather, this is one of those little towns that was a mining town so long ago, but is now becoming more attractive to affluent types who enjoy outdoor activities and art of sorts. I think “Art in the Park,” speaks volumes. It is also really freakin' cold out here tonight, so I'll pass.

      The one thing that did grab my attention in this rest stop (okay, one of two things) was this dull whumping sound. It remained rhythmic, but changed pitch when the wind gusted. In the dark, on the edge of sight it seems that there is a wind turbine powering this amazingly modern installation and all of the security cameras that are installed here. The cameras, being the other thing that grabbed my attention, are mounted both outside and inside, to discourage wrong doing I suppose. Putting Big Brother behind me, I am glad to be so near a small wind turbine, as it gives me plenty to think about for powering any future domiciles or other structures I may wish to inhabit or use.

      Earlier, I awoke to a preplan already on me. Sweet! 1500 some odd miles sounds great. Delivers in a week? Not so great, but I figured i could t-call it some place. Then I saw the attached note: “T-call in rail yard.” They did not say which one, so I asked about it after already saying I would take the load. A message comes back, I am taking it 5 blocks from the shipper in Spokane to the rail yard, also in Spokane. Hah! I would be alright with local work, but they certainly aren't paying me by the hour. After some phone wrangling and essentially asking “wtf?” the office may or may not have it straightened out. Some of them are of the impression that I am going to take it to the Edwardsville terminal and drop it there. Others thought I was still taking it to the rail yard, but then figured that I would be taking the load all the way to the final, next week.

      For my part, I'm convinced that I'm going to Edwardsville, KS. Maybe I'm supposed to take it to the final, maybe not. I will certainly ask them tomorrow to make up my mind for me. Either way, it gets me rolling and puts some money in my pocket, which is the thrust of the whole “job” thing.

      I've also decided that I really appreciate the scenery here in Montana a lot. I wrote about this some time ago when I worked for Gordon. This time around, it is still just as beautiful, but I am somewhat less moved by it. Still, I can see why people really enjoy being here. I'm sure I'll have plenty of it to see tomorrow, with about 400 some odd miles left of my journey here to go.

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