The week in review

Thursday, April 12^th, 2012

      As with anything in life, adhering to a rote pattern for its own sake does nobody any good, especially me. After nearly a month away now, I feel compelled to write. However, I do not feel compelled to write daily, as was my mandate before. To be honest, it seems kinda hard to top my experience in Saint Louis. I am still trying to burn that image out of my mind. In the meanwhile, I've returned back to Sumner, then out again, but this time, exploring the back roads of the heartland, which I'm sure is called that not because of geography, but because people here have hearts. I think.

I've seen all sorts of things this past week. Driving from Superior, CO to Golden is a wonderful drive, especially if you are not pulling any weight. This drive takes you abreast the Rockies themselves for a short span. The further south you travel from Boulder / Superior the more it becomes foothills, with less splendid views of mountains. For those interested, Superior is where Boulder has located all of the big box stores like Costco, where you can buy 100% recycled (80% post consumer) paper towels in bulk, because really, there is no irony there. Speaking of which, I wonder if this town has a complex by being so close to an awesome place to live?

      “B-Double E, Double R, U, N, beer-run!” Traveling from Boulder to the middle of freakin' nowhere Montana was more amazing than I thought. The trip through Wyoming along WY-59 certainly made pulling 45,000 pounds worth it. This road is fairly lonely, but not as lonely as one may think. Along the way, There are all sorts of industries. A number of tanker trucks passed me going the other direction. Most bore hazardous materials placards, number “1267,” and a couple with the number

“1203,” both flammable liquids; crude oil and gasoline respectively. I was wondering where this all came from, then an answer presented it self in the form of myriad pumps. Even better, I passed a site calling itself “Peabody Energy Mine.” Wait... I've heard of Peabody before.. oh yeah! The coal guys who wanted to mine coal under the Navajo reservation and use fresh aquifer water to sluice it over to Vegas! Then I passed another 2 “energy mines” along with miles of train cars, either filled or waiting to be filled. That and empty wind swept miles of ranch land, which cna be very breathtaking to behold, especially now as we head into spring.

      Up to Montana and back into Wyoming for the next load. Unbeknownst to the entire world, except for a select few, the North East corner of Wyoming holds a massive deposit of bentonite. I'm sure you are all waiting with bated breath, “what the hell is it?” It is often called bentonite clay, but it is in reality a volcanic ash. Light gray in color, it cakes very much like clay and is slippery as all get-out when wet. Or so I am told. The principle use is to make cat litter, the clumping variety. Talking to a local in the nearby truck stop, I learned of myriad uses for the slippery grey dust. It goes into cosmetics. It is used in steel production. It was, at one point used to create molds for engine blocks (single use molds), it goes into all sorts of food products, from hot dogs to all this other stuff I wonder about (as a binder). Yes, this little area of the world produces something like 70-80% of the world's cat litter. No shit!

     Then Off through South Dakota and Nebraska. The town of Mission, SD is buried in the heart (well, upper heart) of one of the Sioux Reservations. The town itself is not much to look at. Lots of squat buildings, some nicer than others, a few boarded up, graffiti along the perimeter of a steel building on the main drag. A shiny C-store on the west end of town, a university I've never heard of Sinte Gleska, but most of all I noticed the people. This town had more people on the streets than I had seen in mid morning Bellevue, WA, a place certainly 100 (perhaps even 1000) times larger. People of all ages walking around town going about their business. I'm not sure how to convey my amazement at this simple thing.

      Then there's Nebraska. Ever hear of Sandhill cranes? Well Google it if you haven't. Ever wonder why they are called this? I sure did. Turns out that there are endless miles of sandy hills pocked with marshes in north central Nebraska. Seems the cranes breed here. Muskrat lodges by the dozens!

      Fast forwarding to today, I got to enjoy quite a lot of the back roads here, almost driving off one of them just contemplating the landscape. Passing through the town of Farwell, NE (home of the largest Polish Catholic Church in Nebraska, a surprisingly specific sign) I got the sense that I was, in another place. Poland specifcally, even though I've never been. The land is flat, green, windy and probably cold as heck in the winter. Further along the road, is Loup City. The self proclaimed “Polish Capital of Nebraska.” I'm sure there's a tasteless joke in here some place.

      Back through Broken Bow and down to Lexington, to pick up an empty trailer. I learned that I was going to IBP, or Iowa Beef Processors, which it seems Tyson had bought out at some point. On the way down, I had driven past a number of expansive feed lots. Cows standing in complacency for want of a place to go and graze. Air so foul with manure and urine that I gag as I drive the 2 miles past one of these places. Yes, right to a “processing plant.” Waiting in line to get my empty trailer, 4 cattle trucks pass by, sending more cows to their doom. Yet I still eat chicken, and I know their fate is no less worse. Ah morality. That said, I apologized to the cows as they gazed out of their mobile metal prisons, only to be prodded into the jaws of death, and prayed that they have a better life in the next incarnation. What else could I do?

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HoLy MoLY!

Thursday, February 2^nd, 2012

      You know what makes this job so interesting? If you do, write your answer on a $100 bill and send it to me. Listening to Car Talk, is not the answer (but thanks for the inspiration anyway). The most surprising and intriguing aspect is all the people you meet. Landscapes and nature are always spectacular (I did manage to spy a bunny on the lawn at Denver!), yet they will always be so. Granted, they may appear different in varying seasons and weather, which is part of the reason I find the natural aspects of this job enchanting, but for sheer stun power, it has to be the people.

      We'll skip right to the people. I pulled into Inland Empire, my shipper for this load. They make cardboard boxes. A cat's dream job (well testing them anyway). I have no idea what is going on, so I talk to the yard jockey. They are the guys that move trailers about on these tiny little truck-like vehicles with an itsy-bitsy turn radius comparatively. I do as instructed, go inside after a small jog and grab my paperwork. Jogging back to the truck, I find the trailer which bizarrely had two sets of numbers, one stuck over the other. I'm checking the trailer for the ride, making sure the mudflaps are secure, the lights work, the load is secure, the wheels are inflated, and so forth when the yard jockey comes around and informs me that He'd like to shuffle a bunch of trailers around, and it would help if I move the trailer I'm hooking to. Well of course I'm going to move it. I seal the doors (which is less grandiose than it sounds) and make my way to my truck.

      The yard jockey is there explaining how he plans to move everything, not that I care, but I listen top be polite. This is how the conversation went, to the best of my recollection.

      “The yard is too small. It feels like it has gotten smaller since Inland got bought out.”

      “By who,” I wondered aloud.

      “IP,” Since I've hauled all sorts of paper products before I know he means 'International Paper' yet he continues, “International Paper.” Then out of left field he asks, “Are you a Believer?”

       My response, “In what? International Paper?” Seriously. I felt that I had missed some kind of segue here. I guess there wasn't one.

      “Well who do you work for?”

      “Uh, I work for Swift, it says so on the side of the truck.” He smiled that condescending smile of 'you are so going to burn in hell.' I played it a bit more, just because I enjoy this sort of thing.

      “There are only two kingdoms,” he continued. I wish I could invent stuff this comical, but real life is way funnier. So I started to get his drift, which I had since the first question.

     “Oh, if you are talking about religious stuff, then I consider myself more of a Taoist.”

      A blank stare. “What the hell is that?”

     “It is something like a Buddhist, but without the detachment from the world, rather the acceptance that you are a part of it [and by extension divine, which I did not say. No need to irk him more]”

      “Oh, well then that's too bad, (something about sin, I forget.)”

      I'm feeling that it is tie to wrap this up and get going, I've got to get out of Denver before the shit... err... snow storm hits the area. “Well that's all well and good, I respect that you have a different belief than I do, and that's cool. I'm content with my belief system, and you are welcome to respect that as well, or not.”

      “That's the greatest sin!” What? Letting people think their own thoughts? God forbid! Or is it agreeing to live and let live? Man, I could only imagine what he would have said if I were a Muslim!

      In the back of my head, I leave thinking, “Well dude, you can enjoy your beliefs. I cannot fathom the idea of a god that judges you, for one, then hates you so much as to separate you from the rest of life. Inconceivable!” More to the point, I'm straight up baffled that people still believe in things like “sin” and “god's wrath” If I didn't have a calendar, I would have sworn that we were sometime in the Dark Ages.

      Heh, I wonder what he would have said if I told him about all of the nature spirits that surround us, and help make the planet grow, Or perhaps about all of the other planes of existence that go far beyond 'Heaven' and 'Hell.' Or the myriad of pixies, gnomes, sprites and Divas that romp and play in the forests. Or even talking to trees. Yeah, I'd totally be burned at the stake. Well, maybe not. I would more likely be preached at about how I am 'sinning.' But like I said, to each their own. I hope he has a great life!

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A Day at Denver Terminal

Wednesday, February 1^st, 2012

      Sometimes I've found life to be rather insistent. Other times, it is less so. We can fight against the flow of events, in a vain yet entirely human effort to force our wills upon the Universe. Then we get laughed at. However, when life is in one of those pliable and flexible stages, it becomes easier to force our wills upon the world. Today was not that day.

       For the most part, I've been in the Denver terminal all day. Well, not in the terminal precisely, maybe “at” would be the proper preposition. I woke up early today, in hope of getting my starter replaced and on my way to home in Sumner, WA. To be honest, it isn't home there. I am essentially homeless, and I'm alright with that for now. While I am able to use a couple of different addresses to get mail and suchlike, those places aren't home either. Regardless of this objective situation, it was my intention to get back there before too late on Friday.

      Having awoken at 0600, I promptly went back to sleep and dreamt about something I did not remember to write down, and hey, when did “dream” become a regular verb? It seems that “dreamed” is correct now. Oh ever evolving language. Then I got up and had a bite to eat, since the breakfast truck had come. Good stuff! I played some banjo and went right back to sleep until about noon. Still no knock on the truck. You see, when somebody wants to talk to a truck driver they think is in the truck, they bang on the side of the cab, usually scaring the shit out of anybody who may or may not be sleeping. Nothing wakes you up like adrenaline.

      Thankfully, that was not the case, and I was able to simply wake up, no chemicals racing through my blood stream. At this point, I figured that I would most likely not make it back in time, but that didn't sit too well. So I played some banjo and got over it. I sat inside the terminal, waiting for the construction crew up the road to go away so I could go for a walk, without having to take a pesky detour. Not that I couldn't use the extra mileage on my feet. I just don't care for the view along the road.

      I did, however, manage to forget that there is a commercial bakery not too far from here, and the wind was just right today. The terminal was awash in the smell of buttery bread, whether it is artificial butter or not is beside the point, although I have my suspicions. That may have honestly been the most exciting part about the day that wasn't Chinese food dinner. They make an amazing vegetarian Vietnamese spring roll there and the dipping sauce is amazing. In the end not much of a day. I'm here in the terminal now, writing this with headphones on. I'm sure that they are telling stories the next table over, and I caught an earful of one about some attractive woman doing naked exercising in front of a window somewhere. Stuff of urban legends I'm sure.

      I figure it is about bed time. I've set my PTA for 0400 MST, in hopes of getting out of here before the storm comes my way. I hope to get a good bit of asphalt between me and this storm, hopefully going south, now that I've reset my scheduled home time. A couple more weeks away just means more money in the end. Make the most of it!

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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