Songs, Time and stars.

Wednesday, July 11^th, 2012

      I think it is still today. My system is still adjusting to the change between diurnal and nocturnal cycles. I'm sleeping in fits and starts, usually no more than 3 hours at a stretch. Totally worth it in the summer time. Granted, it is hot in the day time and I end up idling my truck to keep cool, but the stillness of the nights is all the payback I could ask for.

      A few hours out of the Bay Area, heading north, the Pilot at Dunnigan is the first good stop to stop at. There's coffee 24 hours a day, unlike the Oakland truck stop which stops brewing at 9 p.m. Granted they close at 2300, but dude... the wheels of commerce turn 24/7/365. These wheels are fueled by diesel and coffee. Apparently in 50% of the cases by nicotine as well. Dunnigan at midnight is a more or less peaceful place. You can just pull right through the fuel island with no wait, a rarity at this location for sure. No lines inside, again rare. The temperature is bearable, once again, not all too common this time of year. So I grabbed a cup of Joe (which is by no means anything homoerotic) and got on my merry way.

      Hopping in the truck, the radio turns on, playing the Allman Brothers Band, “Midnight Rider.” Even more ominous was that it was, in fact, midnight. Well played DJ, well played. The really uncanny part is that right before I turned the ignition switch, I was saying to myself that I gotta run hard to keep the feeling from catching up to me. If you've never heard that song before, there's a line that goes “not gonna let 'em catch me no, not gonna let them catch the midnight rider.” Somehow appropriate.

      Further along the road, I learned that the Swift Terminal in Willows, CA actually closes at night. No shower for me. Climbing right back in I decide that the next stop will be Weed, CA. Along the way, one drives past Lake Shasta and a few cities and towns that bore me frankly. Most note-worthy is the smell. Western mountains in the summer have a particular smell. To me it recall Trout Lake and times I've spent there. While the central valley has an earthy, sandy agricultural smell (mixed with occasional cow flops) the hills smell of fresh air. More than that, there is the elusive scent of pine and chocolate. It is a dry musty smell that is pleasant and refreshing. It smells like wilderness to me. I am so glad for that.

      Arriving in Weed at 0400, the truck stop is mostly full, but very quiet. I get a sandwich and get back in for the ride. Leaving town, the first inklings of sunrise show themselves, sky just starting to grow lighter. The time? 4:20. Seems like my timing is right on today.

      Crossing into Oregon, the is a ginormous mountain along the border. It is a beast to climb with a truck full of Gatorade, but nothing impossible. The sun still has not quite come up yet, and the world is bathed in that pre-dawn grey-blue light. Venus and Jupiter twinkle merrily in the morning sky, indicating the Elliptic of our solar system, and I am dwarfed by the scale of things. Atop the hill is a brake check area. Perfect place for a quick nap. A quick hour and a half.

      Having missed the sun rise, I was happy to enjoy the hillsides bedecked with madrone trees resplendent in the warm morning glow. Velvety red bark making an astounding contrast to the dark waxy green leaves. With such simple enjoyment, I was surprised to find my trip over for the day. Back in Oakland / Rice Hill. Now to get some sleep for the next midnight ride.

The Cemtral Valley and New Eyes

Monday, July 9th, 2012

 

      Today started with a bulge.  Before your minds go wandering off along all sorts of strange places, it was a bulge on the tire.  A potentially dangerous situation, lest the tire explode sideways and take out a car or pedestrian or some other object known for frailty in the face of shrapnel.  I was about 90 miles away from the nearest terminal.  I thought to myself, "Yeah, I got this.  They'll let me know what's what and fix what needs fixin'."  That was early this morning, now it is working up to noon here in Ripon, CA.  

     Trundling out of the Pilot in Dunnigan, I looked poised to hit that Monday Morning rush hour traffic into Sacramento.  I've hit traffic there before, but it was on the Friday after work rush out of town.  But I was getting ahead of myself.  You see, Dunnigan is at least an hour north of Sacramento, and there is lots to see and do beforehand.  Acres and acres of farms.  Rice fields to one side, some now flooded with water, vibrant green in the early morning light; some fields brown and dry, the barren stalks mowed and neatly packaged into massive rectilinear bales.  On the other side, I frankly didn't pay too much attention. The west side of the highway was closer and more important in that I was driving on that side.  It is much easier to stare a bit to the left than to the right and pay attention to traffic.

     For some reason, I was astonished to find other "flatland" crops being grown in the Central Valley.  Sunflowers, a scene I would usually reserve for Kansas, bowed their heavy, laden heads in the general vicinity of the sun.  Stalks of presumably GMO corn for processing into High Fructose Corn Syrup grew taller than me in the amazing extremes here.  I could not help but consider how high the price of corn must be for them to farm it here in this unique region.  Almonds grow here by the acres.  Pistachios, citrus fruits, avocados, an assortment of heat loving trees.  Corn threw me for a loop.

     I was pleased to see a large egret flying north along the road.  Such an amazing bird certainly deserves respect and my appreciation.  I can only imagine what this place may have once looked like before man.  I am sure it was a vast wilderness filled with swamps, trees and dry prairie.  So much going on here to be sure.  There are a number of bird sanctuaries along I-5, would that I had time to stop and enjoy them.

     For now, I am off to bed, the strange oddities of trucking demand that my schedule become an overnight run.  For now at least.  This will always change.  Before I depart however, I was thinking how writing this helps me appreciate and notice what is already around me.  Instead of seeing things and quickly forgetting them, I take note more carefully and closely at the natural beauty of the world.  Sometimes it may be about the people that inhabit this world.  Or it may even be about philosophy.  I reflected on how I am a part of this nature that I see around me, yet cut off from it by this steel and glass box.  Perhaps a metaphor for the human ego, but there we go again.  I better get some rest before tackling that one.

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.

View Larger Map

Escape from L.A.

Wednesday, January 18^th, 2012

      Now I've done it. You step a little out of line and then the whole pattern gets out of whack. Delivering that load at 0100 has totally messed with my sleep cycles, which makes for an interesting workplace experience. Tomorrow, however, I will attempt to resume my normal sleep cycle. Today, it gets a bit funny since I am writing this blog and it is technically 4 hours into tomorrow already. I'm going to focus on stuff that actually happened today, partly because the last 4 hours have been night driving (read: uneventful).

      Much to my surprise and pleasure, I was given a load out of Southern California. I'm even leaving the state for Sparks, Nevada. For those who have not heard of Sparks, it is Reno's ugly step-sister that is somewhat nastier than Reno itself. Okay, Reno isn't that bad. Sparks is just way more industrial and way less fun. I'm not sure why Reno is fun per se, unless you care to gamble. Maybe it has something to do with some legend of past fun times. Who can say? Back to the load, I was directed to pick up any time before midnight, but after 16:36. Why so precise, I don;t know, but I decided to wait until after rush hour. Just makes more sense.

      After fueling, I motor down the freeways. When I hear the word “Freeway,” all that comes to mind is “Who Framed Roger Rabbit;” and Eddie Valiant's line,“What the hell is a freeway?” The freeway system of SoCal is an amazing feat of engineering in that you can go 5 different ways to get to the same place, many in a comparable amount of time. They are especially nice after or before rush hour. After an hour's drive and 5 different freeways, I get to the shipper. Before I get to that however, I would like to note that on one particular section of highway (CA-60 and CA-57 junction) I counted nine lanes going the same direction. Heck, even on the 605, there were 6 (which quickly and bafflingly dwindled to 3). On to the shipper.

      California Cartage Company is a neat sounding alliteration. It was also the shipper at which I would pick up my load going to K-Mart. They are located very close to Long Beach, CA, in a little section of Los Angeles proper fittingly called, “the port of L.A.” Checking in at the gate, all one can see in the fuzzy yellow light of mercury halide lamps is a tangled mess of shipping container on trailer chassis. My instructions were vague, and it was dark. “Go straight but keep right.” Seriously. No where in that statement was a left turn mentioned. “You'll see the guard shack,” translated into, there's a little hut buried back there that you won;t see unless you turn right again after that left turn which goes past a ½ mile of containers and a warehouse. In the meantime, bob-tail trailers are buzzing about everywhere, people obviously knowing what is going on.

      Cutting to the chase, I find the guard shack and check my empty in. The guard was super friendly. SO friendly in fact that he started to get a bit too curious about where I was going and when I planned to stop. That kind of stuff tends to make me a bit suspicious. It is dark and spooky down there after all. He directs me to drop my empty along these 4 rows, 3 of which are going the opposite direction I am facing, and the fourth row already being full, probably for the simple reason that everyone comes in the same way. SO I look for a place to turn around. It is so narrow in there that I end up driving almost all of the way back to the gate to find a circle to drive around. Normally, I would just swing around in an aisle, but nothing doing.

      I drop my empty and head over to warehouse 13, where I am to get my paperwork and be instructed where to find the trailer in this jumble of trailers. I half expected to find a minotaur waiting for me somewhere. I find the building, being grateful for being bob-tail, because driving errors are easier to correct without a 53' trailer following you around. I manage to guess the right place to enter, since it is dark, a touch foggy, and lots of frenetic activity. People in a rush to be someplace. Walking in, there is a small group of gentlemen talking animatedly at a time clock in the hall way. They are at window five. There are twelve windows, and I have come in at window twelve and need to go to window one. As I enter the long, poorly lit, mostly empty hallway, the three guys look up, and all chatter ceases. I feel like I've walked in on some conspiracy or smuggling operation. I nod as I walk past and they resume their conversation in Spanish, as before.

      The guy at the window is not at the window. The window next to me has a sign that states, “window 2 is now window 9.” It still has a 2 above the window, so I'm guessing it is some secret code for people who are on the inside. The guy at window one is sitting at his desk talking on the phone. I got the impression that it was a personal call. Maybe I came in during break time. I got my papers all checked out, received my bills, then went back out to my truck.

      It was indeed break time. Hordes of people were milling about the edges of the building. I presume that they were either smoking or waiting for the roach coach to deliver their next meal. I can safely say that because I saw a food truck come in just as I was going to get my trailer. I hook to my trailer and I'm ready to go. Not so fast. In the distance, I see a sign marked “EXIT.” So I drive thataway all sorts of happy to leave here. I'm already sketched out as it is. Turns out that the exit sign is for pedestrians, and I had just missed the truck exit by about 50 yards. I could back up, but foolishly I try to turn around. Seeing that a 180 would result in a crushed faring, I decide to drive around the building. What's another ½ mile? Going around the back of the building was an experience. Some dude stands up off the ground where he was huddled smoking (presumably) a cigarette and chatting on the phone. I'm driving slowly since it is dark and the speed bumps are hard to see. Ahead a bit further, the trailers open up a bit and I look to my right, where I see a veritable army of dock workers taking a break. Not only that, I see them seeing me, like 80% of them.

      If ever there was a time that I felt like I was someplace else, this was it. I felt like I was in an old port. I could feel the pirate-ness of the whole moment. Longshoremen standing around, waiting to extort the next ship. Some of them even looked like pirates. One guy in particular had a black and white broad stripped shirt which for some reason makes me think “Pirate.” If he had a tri-corn hat then it would have been complete. I did not want to be anywhere near that kind of scene. So I drove a bit faster and found myself roughly back where I had started. Then I went down a blind alley. With no place to turn around, I backed the truck up for ¼ mile, blocked traffic for a bit, then left as fast as the truck would go.

      In retrospect, the whole trip was worth it, just to feel like I stepped into another era for a moment. An era of lawlessness and brigandry. All too well, I could see the cutlasses, sabres and pistols. Talk of money and women, and perhaps illicit trade. A Pirate's life is not for me, parrots or not.

View Larger Map

A Hobbit's Holiday

Tuesday, January 17^th, 2012

      Irony is defined as “an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.” Technically, that is the 5^th and final definition given, so maybe I shouldn't put much stock into it. Perhaps irony is simply a matter of an improper initial belief. Or maybe some naivety on the supposer's part. So yes, I was dead-headed out of L.A. metro yesterday. It would seem that I am going back there tonight. Words almost fail me. If they did, there would be no blog.

      What can I say really? Today has been a fairly short day retracing the steps I took yesterday. I asked the planners to send me somewhere else next time, since it feels a bit self defeating to keep running back and forth into L.A. I could have signed up for a southwest regional run if that is what I wanted. Granted, the weather here is sunny and dry, so no complaints. It is even kinda chilly up here in Hesperia, CA. High desert indeed.

      The best part about the run so far is that I am hauling empty beer cans to be filled in the city of Commerce, CA. Empty beer can rule as far as loads go. The whole trailer is filled with the dern things, but all 215,000 of them together weigh in at 7530 pounds. So I'm zooming up hills, which is a great change of pace. I'm not holding my breath for this streak to continue by any means, but I'll take what I can get.

      The city of Commerce is an interesting place. So interesting, that it got a story done about it on NPR a while back. Something involving corruption. The city proper has so few people in it that all of that property tax revenue gets put into outlandish salaries for executives and council people. At least, that is what the story posited. I personally have no proof. The landscape itself looks like something out of a dystopian future movie like Robocop, or some other industrial movie that I am failing to recall.

      Even better, my delivery is scheduled for 0100 local time. This means no traffic! Well, some traffic, since I'll be out there. I'm sure others will be around as well since this is a ginormous metro area, but nothing like yesterday morning. I swear that driving down here makes you a harder person. One's head has to be on a swivel, but one of those swivels with a divot in it so you end up looking at one particular place, like ahead of you for some people doing something unsafe. If I haven't said it before, I'll say it here. Were I condemned to live in this part of the country, I would make it a point to live and work close to the Metro system. Maybe that's just in Pasadena, I don't know.

      That all said and done, I'm going to try to get some sleep this afternoon to wake up by 2200. I intend to leave Hesperia at 2300 with the intent of arriving at 0030 tomorrow morning, or half an hour early. At least, that's the plan. Here's to having a wacky sleep cycle! 

View Larger Map 

New tricks for an old fat dog. And a visit from a dead friend

Monday, January 16^th, 2012

      So, it seems that my company is turning over a new leaf. I suppose even the giants have to change at some point, of fall behind the more nimble companies. Allow me to elaborate.

      I made my delivery today with all sorts of extra time. I wanted to beat the traffic, and I beat the heck out of it, to the tune of 1 and ½ hours early. I planned some extra time for traffic (an extra 90 minutes... L.A. gets bad at rush hours) that it turns out I did not need. Then again, it is hard to say. I am of the opinion that if I had left later I would have taken longer and run the risk of missing the appointment time. In the end, I don't suppose it mattered anyway. I sat at the dock for a good 40 minutes before they even started to unload me. So I took another cat nap. And played some more banjo.

      Returning to the Fontana terminal, I was blessed with the chance to park in a space with an adjacent space open. Life is good, since that makes the backing a no-brainer. It may sound like I'm anemic or something, but I took another light nap and had some mild day dreams about something or other, then got off my butt to scan in the paperwork (so I can get paid). After the scan, I went to the dispatch window to staple the papers together. (Gripping!) While I was there, I figured that I would ask the lady how far behind they are for loads. You see, since SoCal is soft on freight and heavy on trucks, there is a bit of a waiting list for loads out of town. The list was 2 days deep. More precisely, “that is what they are shooting for,” was the response I got. So, back out to the truck for a real nap.

      I awoke to a text message. There is that “funky” ring tone you can set on my phone, and that is my text alert. Not very soothing, but it gets the job done. Turns out my next load (so early?) was a deadhead order to North Las Vegas. As much as I wish it had something to do with Jerry Garcia and his fun time pals, deadheading is simply driving someplace with an empty trailer. I also understand that dead-heading as a verb refers to the practice of cutting spent flower heads off their stalks in order to compel the plant to produce more blooms. Obviously, driving a few hours is in no way related to lopping off some flower's spent reproductive organs, but it sure is more fun to zoom up the hills at whatever speed you choose! Normally, Swift would have just let me sit for a few days in Fontana. I guess they really do want to keep the wheels moving. Yaa for change!

      North of Fontana on I-15 is a beautiful place. A few cities punctuate the otherwise desolate Mojave Desert. Joshua trees are quite a beautiful sight to behold. Pinon pines occupy lower elevation where the Joshua tree will not grow, along with any number of smaller shrubs. Barren, craggy eroded mountain sides border the landscape, a testament to the region's aridity. In some fantasy, I would strand myself out here just to prove my mettle, but I'm glad it is only a fantasy. I think I'd die withing a couple of days left to my own devices in all honesty. I grew up wanting to live out in nature in the woods, off the land. To be sure, Upstate New York is a very far cry from the Mojave.

      So for now, I will enjoy the desert night a few miles north of Vegas proper. There are less lights out here, so hopefully I can see some stars. Who knows where tomorrow will bring me? Enjoy what you have today! 

View Larger Map 

Farms, Friends and Fiends

Sunday, January 15^th, 2012

      Well, I made it. There were actually a few spaces to choose from at the Fontana terminal, which was a bit of a surprise. I suppose that I could have stopped the truck earlier and saved myself the aggravation of driving through Metro L.A. today, but I figure that I'd have to deal with it at some point. The terminal here is rather shiny and new. The last time I was down this way was sometime in early '07 and back then it was under all sorts of construction. They had those mobile trailer thingies you'd see at job sites; these were the drivers's lounge, bathrooms and showers. A bit nasty. I'm glad to see that it has come along, although the lot is smaller than I recall. On to the day.

      For a second, I had forgotten where I started at. Apparently, Lathrop is not that memorable of a terminal. I awoke before dawn. I put my shoes on. I went into the terminal for some coffee, but the machine would not take coins for whatever reason. Bleary-eyed I pressed on, figuring that some coffee would be waiting for me down the road. It was about an hour or so away, but I got some. Just writing this simple blog makes me realize how tired I am. I suppose that I've not been getting enough sleep of late.

      After I had some coffee, I found it much easier to appreciate and love the rest of the world. Maybe a little bit harsh, but that is how I was feeling this morning. Driving through the San Joaquin Valley is a fairly mixed bag. I'm glad for the comparative flatness, since that makes the drive easy. If you're as into farms as I am, (but not more) then it can be quite a fascinating drive. As a general rule, I abhor mono-cropping. That said, the rows and rows of staked up tress and grape vines can be rather mesmerizing. If you look at them the right way, you can see what appears to be a radial burst of clear spaces between the rows, some more apparent than others, some closer, some farther. This may be the only aspect of mono cropping I enjoy. Seriously.

      Along with large tracts of mono-cultures, there are some other man-made features to break up the monotony of the drive. There are a large number of concrete canals to please the eye, the stillness of the water surface reflecting the lifeless concrete into the heavens. There are a disturbing number of political signs. In particular, I saw this one sign repeatedly, “CONGRESS CREATED DUSTBOWL,” along some plowed, unplanted fields. This tells me a few things. 1) Whoever is posting these signs seems to blame congress for plowing up that field and leaving it fallow. 2) It was more profitable to collect a subsidy from congress than to plant the field. 3) Whoever is posting those same signs along the highway has a shitload of land in the valley and probably a good bit of money. 4) The posting party wants us to blame Democrats for the actions leaving the fields fallow. I am a bit flummoxed. Granted, I do not understand how agricultural subsidies work, and if I had an internet connection here, I would look that up right now. Ah well. I'm not going to change anyone's mind by logic, that's for sure.

      Not too far from the South end of the valley came, in my opinion, the highlight. There is a natural swamp area, which I am guessing is some form of protected wetland. I saw a roadrunner perched upon a fence post. A flock of grebes wattled in unison from the water under the fence to the highway side for some forage. A crane stood patiently waiting for something stupid to swim close enough. Raptors perched in high tree limbs, again waiting for something stupid to stop moving long enough. I saw a family of rabbits browsing by the roadside. For lack of more precise identification, a pack of ground squirrels foraged as well. Beautiful stuff.

      Coming into L.A. metro is always an adventure. Even on Sunday, the people here drive like they are not even remotely risk averse. I understand that in California, the driver coming onto the highway has the right of way (correct me if I am wrong) but I would certainly advise looking. If I had a dollar for the number of multiple lane changes I saw today alone, I'd buy something nice. Well, I'd probably save it, but you get the idea. There was a bit of a close call involving an on-ramp for which I was at fault. I decided that it would be a good idea to be in the far right lane instead of the second lane over. So I started merging. Looking back in my mirror, I saw nothing, I was almost done changing lanes. I looked back again and suddenly there was this car driving on the shoulder that I didn't see the first time I looked. That was a bit of a shock, and a touch hard to swallow. I stayed away from the granny lane after that, all the way back to the terminal. I'd get into the how tight the lot is here, but I am just going to be grateful for finding a space, and the idea of a shower tomorrow.

"Bird of the Rings"

Saturday, January 14^th, 2012

For having been away for so short a time, today's 10 hour day felt long. I've only been away for a couple of weeks, but the impact has made itself known. Today's drive was along the famous I-5 corridor, starting in the emerald and picturesque Willamette Valley, and ending in the broad, less scenic yet more agriculturally productive Central Valley of California. The Siskiyou Mountains lie in between the two valleys, and they are nothing to sneeze at. Abrupt, jaged and undulating, these mountains offer many scenic views and plenty of time to see in during the arduous climbs. As it stands now, I am in Lathrop, CA at one of the many Swift terminals, yet all of these are mere details in comparison to earlier events.

Today I got up at 0600-ish. I say “ish” because I hit the snooze a couple of times. I got my head together, went outside to go get some coffee. I was still tired, it takes some getting used to. The sun was just hinting at rising and the air still held its chill from the night before. Coming back after securing caffeine, I noticed that I was still too early to leave. So I played some banjo. After blundering through the few songs I know, I estimated that I could start my pre-trip inspection and still be within the legal parameters. Not that any one ever checks that stuff, but I feel better for doing it mostly right. Truck looks good, but it is still too early to go. I head outside wondering if there is something I missed.

Walking to the end of my trailer, I hear a shrill cacophony. Knowing full well that this is not my trailer tires leaking, I mosey to the back and stare out across the broad field of sod (which is a big part of what they grow in this valley... sod for lawns). In the brightening dawn, streaks of orange-red dazzle across the sky, which itself is punctuated by what looks to be about 20,000 Canada geese, wheeling overhead and clustered on the ground. Waving too and fro, they cling together then separate in a endless airborne dance. One group wheels off, only to return from a different vector. Other smaller groups find their way to the mass assembly. Scores of birds descend to the earth, resembling an armload of maple seeds tossed from a tree branch. The visual effect of the fluttering was matched only by the accompanying sounds. The rest of the world had turned off for a moment to hear the thousands of heartbeats across the air. I was completely spellbound. A light breeze reminded me how cold it was, but it would not diminish the beauty.

Sometime later, having driven a number of hours, I pulled into the Pilot in Dunnigan, CA. It was certainly shower time, and the sun was setting. The ominous clouds of earlier this morning were left far behind in a different world. The air here is warm and inviting, making it hard for my body to comprehend that it is January. I saw a tree with ripening oranges hung heavily on the branches. Having fueld and parked my truck, I walked towards the building for that shower. Looking into the sunset, I saw it again. A goodly number of songbirds had collected themselves and were flying in a big circle over the parking lot. They chirped and warbled, some alighting upon some nearby trees for the night, continuing their conversations.

Something is happening, and perhaps I'm the only one to see it. Maybe these spots are magical, or perhaps it is some kind of message that I have not yet seen. The odds are too slim for this to occur twice in a day. I'll sleep on it.