Turning the Page

Monday, July 30^th, 2012

      What keeps us running? Is it personal achievement? Fear of something? Desire to get somewhere other than where we are? Trying to lose weight? Doctors orders? I have my own answer for this question, but I will certainly note that I've been running pretty solid for the last four days, driving from Springfield, MO, up to Aurora, IL, then over to Tacoma, WA. All this to make it back in time to leave again going the other way.

      When you run so hard to get somewhere, the days go by in blurs. You take the federally required minimum ten hours off, sleeping maybe six or five of them. Hygiene takes a bit of a hit, since it seems like there's no time for anything. There are some incidents that hold prominence in my memory of the last week.

      Leaving Springfield, I was assigned a load out of the Kraft factory. I had no idea how much different stuff Kraft makes, but have a look sometime. I had settled in for a wait, since it was a live load, but I was still in a bit of a hurry. You're always in a hurry when it is time to go home. And I was hungry. My stomach was about to jump out and get its own food. Walking into the shipper, the entrance way is a makeshift break room, with vending machines against the far wall, and a low table built into the near wall. The narrow path between the obstacles was decorated with a smattering of chairs of varying makes. They totally had a microwave. Rummaging in the truck, I found that I had some microwavable Velveeta shells and cheese. Oh yeah. Guess who makes that? I went in and joked with the clerk about my lunch. He came back with a pouch of the cheese sauce, flopped it on top of the microwave and said jokingly that the big pouch was the real stuff. He walked away. A few hours later, the pouch was still there, so I took it and put it in my truck. Sitting on the floor, I found that after a couple hours it was rather hot, as the floor heats up from the exhaust filter not too far under the passenger seat. I will say that in a pinch, Velveeta makes a good hot pack and will stay in your shirt for a good spell, the foil stuck to your skin. Later in the week I tried easting the Velveeta with some salty corn chips, figuring “nachos.” Bad idea. That stuff is way to salty to be used as nacho cheese, at least with chips like Fritos. So I tossed the bulk of the bag, sad for the loss of my heating pack, but not that much.

      Blowing through Iowa and South Dakota, then a touch of Wyoming and into Montana. In the South East part of the state, one will find the monument to Wounded Knee. More specifically a pretty boy turned slaughterer. (curly hair that would make Fabio jealous!) They even named the national forest after that Custer guy. This time was much different. A fire had swept through some time before. Entire trees still standing upright, looking like spent matches. The Earth was blackened in many places, in others it was scorched red, devoid of any trace of organic matter. Some surviving trees showed traces of where the heat had singed all of the needles off, as if the fire still haunted the area, leaving a shadowy trace of its existence. Little burnt out nubs of bunch grasses set amidst a blackened landscape. And the smell. It still smelled like an ashtray. The area reeked of char. For all of that, some annual grasses had sprouted, brilliant yellow green, vibrant with new life among the failed cinders, brought about by the recent rain that had swept through. That whole scene will leave an impression for some time.

      So now I'm back, getting ready for the next adventure. I'll be hanging up my CB for a little while at least, maybe for a long while if I find something else I wish to pursue. Chances are that I'll be back out on the road, running. From what though? I've been so busy running for work that I've not really had time to take stock of my life, to reflect on events, to experience my emotions, from joy to grief. I have a lot I need to work through. I can see why some people stay out on the road all of the time. Your problems can't catch you if you are one step ahead of them. If you're always focused on what you are doing right then, the thoughts get crowded out by the present, for better or for worse. Still, some things do need to be experienced, and this is what is happening for me now., now that I've stopped moving. For now.

Just Observe

Friday, July 13th, 2012

 

      Another busy day today, and another hard run tomorrow.  I am totally looking forward to taking the day off in Fargo.  Upon awakening, I was pleasantly surprised at how good I felt after a scant 6 hours of sleep.  On the down side, I did not recall any dreams.  On the up side, I made it here alive.

     Of late, I am working on becoming more present in the moments.  The gist of the whole thing is to still the mind and just observe.  Nights are great for that because there are so few distractions.  That said, it is no small feat.  Monitoring every thought is like trying to grab hold of a fish, coated in Vaseline, swimming in an aquarium, in the dark.  I may have gotten to the point where I've turned the lights on, but there are so many metaphorical fish lurking about that I just end up staring at one of them for a while.  Such is the mind.

   The benefit here is the few glimpses you do get of stillness, and how enchanting it is.  Just before dawn, I was driving through Montana.  It had been getting light for quite some time, but then it happened. Looking off to my left, there was a break in the clouds, Thick and grey, the lower clouds were stacked like mountains, while the clouds higher in the atmosphere floated in thin wispy contrails and brushstrokes.  Set between a pair of modestly forested hills, the sun shone through, golden red for the briefest of moments.

     In that splendid moment, thinking ceased, and all was right in the world.  No pressures, no concerns, no worries for anything but the here and now.  I was sad to have the scene disappear as I rounded the curve.  I tried to find that moment once again, but it was quite gone.  This seems to often be the case in life; we'll find something that leaves us breathless for a moment, then strive to cling to that moment, as if we could grasp a curl of smoke.

      Shortly thereafter I took a short nap.  This seems to be a great routine for driving the overnight.  Rest about 1/2 an hour around dawn then you're good to go again.  In some way, I think part of me was trying to cling to that sunrise moment.  I found myself more irritable and impatient as I drove down the road.  At one point, I felt my heart just ablaze with fire and anger at some guy passing me too slow for my taste.  As he drove by, I saw him driving completely distracted.  That got me going for a few moments.  Then  I watched the body's response to the thought.  Funny how the emotion subsided so quickly just by observing.  This is not to say that my fuse was any longer, just less explosive.

     For now, I am going to get some rest, meditate and maybe skip the banjo again today.  I'll have plenty of time in Fargo!

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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Field of Beans

Friday, February 24^th, 2012

      It is so easy to forget some times. Other times, it is so easy to not want to know. If not knowing or forgetting are not one's forte, there is always willful ignorance. Well, maybe it isn't willful per se, rather a lack of curiosity about things. This is certainly something I don't believe I will ever suffer from.

      Honestly, I thought I'd seen all that southeastern Washington had to offer. Tiny little towns, rolling fields of wheat (or some kind of mowed down stubble, since it is still winter) antique shops, paper mills, Walla Walla and the Tri-Cities. Yep. That sounds groovy and well rounded. For all of this, I still found myself surprised at a tiny little town just over the border in Idaho.

      A stone's throw north of Lewiston and Clarkston, just a few hundred yards east of US-95, there is a town by the name of Genesee. Being from Upstate New York, Genesee reminds me of a river that flows into Rochester, as well as a local beer- Genesee Cream Ale (Genny 'screamers in local parlance.. apparently they make you belch something fierce). So with this in min and a bit of childish nostalgia, I drive into town to pick up my next load.

      Cresting the hill that separates the town from the highway noise, a little slice of America unfolds. I am on the main street of course, which all relevant buildings abut. There is a small school building, all sorts of farm implement store thingies, a self- serve diesel and gas pump accompanied by an above ground storage tank and no people, and what appears to be the main employer of the town: two huge grain elevators, both run by a seemingly communist organization calling themselves “The Pacific North West Farmer's co-op”. I bet it is like those nature food stores with all these dirty hippies owning a share of it. I can sense that this town is a bastion of liberal do-gooders.

      Pulling into the second grain elevator as instructed, I stop just short of the scale. It is customary at some places (recycling plants, and grain joints apparently) to weigh before going in, so they have a pretty good idea of how much product they are shipping out (thank you tare weights). It is also customary to sacrifice small animals to the local gods, but not here. We get a pass. I would have pulled onto the scale, but seeing nobody around, and a forklift parked on the scale I park and go in.

      Behind a 1960's era metal teacher's desk sits the very incarnation of rural farmer-dom. He's a big guy, maybe about 240, I'd say 6'3” and a bit round about the waist. He's totally got the mesh ball cap on, a pair of plastic thick framed glasses, a pudgy flattened nose, pocked with years of wind burn and sun, and the quintessential Carrhart ® brown insulated jacket and thick pants on. I'm not sure, but I swear he was chewing on something, like a piece of straw, but I may have hallucinated that as part of the experience.

      He gets me all checked in, and I pull into a bay with a metal ramp in a different building. Like the old dude at the scale, there is a young guy on the forklift who looks like he is waiting his turn at the higher ranks. He totally looks like a farmer as well, but with a hair net under his mesh hat. Then comes the grizzled veteran, with a few weeks of stubble on his chin, a few less teeth in his mouth and a lifetime of experience at this co-op. I take back any sentiments of liberal do-gooders I may have had before.

      Instead of being in the way while they load me, I decide to look around a bit. This is no grain elevator! It's a trap! Actually, it is technically a grain elevator. A dump truck pulls into the stall perpendicular to where I am loading. A loud hissing noise is all around me. That could be the sound of the elevator itself (which is amazingly noisy, I think I saw the young kid wearing ear protection.. I hope) but it turns out that the dump truck is dumping a few tons of yellow peas into a grate on the floor of this shed. The peas go down, getting sucked into the whirling machine then up and off to somewhere. I stare at the pile after the driver leaves, amazed at the pile getting eaten by some invisible means, and also at the notion of how industrialized agriculture has become. I push an errant pile of peas to their doom.

      Heading off, I scale my truck once more. I am on the phone trying to get the routing right for whatever crazy plans the company has for me after this load. The man in light brown is there to collect my weights and sign my bills. He's a bit standoffish. He's been like that his whole life with strangers... especially with strangers who are multi-tasking, and apologizing for being on the phone in his presence. Hanging up, I say to him, “this is fascinating, what you all do here. I'm seen all sorts of neat things in my travels, from copper mines, to smelters, to recycling plants, paper mills, cereal factories and so on, but this has been really amazing to see.” He brightened at this and actually smiled, and then I was out the door. (only to run back a minute later to use the restroom, but that would ruin the nice ending, wouldn't it?)

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Fire and the Mountains

Tuesday, February 14^th, 2012

      Nothing like a fire drill to keep you sharp. Truth be told, every one in the driver's lounge in Sumner just kinda looked around, confused at first. People watching TV looked around, waiting for someone to care enough to leave. Sure, There may have been an emergency somewhere, maybe the building was about to blow up, no one knew. We sat around a bit more, enjoying the shrill noise only a fire alarm can make. Eventually, someone got up. Then another person. Then We all kinda decided that, yeah, maybe we should go outside or something. Nobody saw any flames, so it couldn't be a real big deal yet. Some moseyed, others ambled, one may have waddled out the door, only to be found shortly huddled together in a large group by an open shop bay door. Apparently, some driver was doing a DPF regen in the shop. This produces extremely high temperatures, and as you may have anticipated, set off the sprinkler system and thus, the alarm. That was the evening thus far.

      While there are many such odd events that make up our days as we dance through this waltz we call life, it may become all to easy to lose ourselves in the hectic pace of this modern world, bombarded as we are by so many external stimuli. Throw in the never ending internal monologs from the restless mind produced by the media of this world, and it is a recipe for confusion. From hence forth, I will do my best to describe a single moment, with as much detail and emotion as I can muster. We can have so many profound moments each day, if we chose to see things as such. That said, I will do my best to keep this from becoming a boring log of events, as yesterday seems to me, but I will also make it a point to include odd and humorous events like the fire alarm story above, because hey, who couldn't use a laugh?

      It had been a couple of miles already. Chugging up that hill with a heavy load. I knew that it could be heavier, and was thankful that it wasn't. Still, moving at half speed was taking its toll on my patience. Although that has gotten better of late. Eastern Oregon is filled with grand undulations of rock, sprinkled with the dusky green of juniper bushes. The sage is a dull light brown this time of year, waiting for the rains and warmth of spring. Bunch grasses are a desiccated but vivid dry yellow, standing alert, for fear of fire.

At the crest of the hill, sunlight washes into the cab of the truck, breaking free from the persistent clouds. At long last, I can see a horizon in the distance. The hillside drops down along sinewy curves to a sparkling band of silver below. The Snake River. The water is occluded by a number of rocky spurs, decorated much like the rest of the hills. Far in the distance, the hills along the north side of the river valley glow in the sun. Further still, a ceiling of thin, dark grey clouds hangs low over the hill tops. Along the ridge, 5 wind turbines turn, radiant white in the sunlight. From here, they look all of 3 inches tall, rather than the 300 feet they actually reach. Against the backdrop of the foreboding sky, the turbines stand out, a beacon of power and hope.

      My road does not go there. I flow downhill along the river side. It crosses my mind that we climb our hills to get a better perspective. Seems like some kind of metaphor to me. My mind cuts to a scene from Bladerunner. “I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. ..... All those moments, lost. In time. Like tears, in the rain.” I shed my own tears only to have the moment lost. 

Here is a video link with that very line:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pw6D_QfsmUY

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A Bad Trailer, and a Great View

Monday, February 13^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Road less Traveled

Friday, February 9^th, 2012

      Today has certainly run the gamut of emotional experience for me. There have been ups and downs, vile anger and blissful enjoyment. Some of it intentionally created, some of it mere reaction to things beyond my control. On the whole, I'd say that today falls on the plus side of life experiences.

      So last night, I thought I was in the middle of nowhere, bar a few houses and some lights down the road. Well, after waking up and getting myself together, I get exactly 1 mile down the road and find out that there is a gas station I could have parked at for the night. So I stop in and get some coffee. Grand total? Eighty-four cents. I had to ask a second time to make sure it was the real deal. I haven't had coffee so cheap since I bought 5 cent coffee at Wall Drug in South Dakota. So that put the day in a positive spin, as drinking coffee is now associated with gratitude for me.

      After a number of small (less than 600 people) towns along US 95 in Idaho (and their 25 mph speed limits) the coffee started to wear off. Then I crossed I-84. Bam! A wall of fog. In the end, I would have to drive 65 miles through this river mist, until I got sufficient altitude to shake it. Someplace towards the end, I encountered three school buses. The fog was thick enough to prevent a safe pass, but not so thick that I could not manage at least 55 mph. The bus driver in front, however, would have none of that. They cruised at an agonizing 45. I know! So slow in the thick fog. What the hell are they thinking? If they can't handle it, they should get out of the damned way and let a professional drive. Such were my thoughts. It occurred to me a number of times that this attitude was by no means professional. Nor was it remotely safe. I convinced myself that getting close to the bus ahead and letting my engine brakes sound would show my displeasure and convince them to pull over. Well, one bus turned off, but I followed the other two for another 12 miles, until I was the one who turned off, relived to be away from all of that.

      Having cooled down, I started climbing out of the fog, looking at is as a metaphor for the whole experience. Letting anger cloud my perception. Like I said in another blog, everything can be a metaphor if you are of the right frame of mind. Some 2500 vertical feet later, I am well above the fog, but I seem to be running into some low clouds in Eastern Oregon. Those pass as I think of people I love, and remember to be gracious for life and all of the blessings that come with it.

      There is a town in the SE corner of Oregon called Rome. It is not so much a town as a gas station, a general store two (seriously) houses and a boat launch. The scenery is amazing. Rolling hills covered in sage and various bunch grasses. They are all brown this time of year for want of water. The landscape, where not covered in drought tolerant plants, is slowly morphing into badlands, some areas accelerated by the passage of a road and the resulting rock cut. I suppose this is free range country, since all the signs say so, but there are no cattle in sight (what is the singular neutral version of cattle anyway?).

      Further along the road, south of the Burns junction, a number of snow capped mountains appear through the distant haze. A dark storm cloud rolls across the plain, but I am bathed in sunlight. I drive for miles without seeing a house. Indeed, I am the only one going south it would seem. A small number of trucks pass me going northbound, perhaps the busiest it has been since Idaho. On occasion, there is a structure of some ilk beside the road. Most of them for road maintenance. Off in the distance, one can make out the infrequent appearance of houses. Roads that go for miles, to serve a handful of people. A string of power lines, going to that one house on the hillside. I feel the strength of the natural world out here, calling me. I wonder if they feel the same?

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Reloaded and off like a shot

Thursday, February 9^th, 2012

      Where the hell am I? After it gets dark, it all starts to look the same. This is different than starting in the dark, because now I'm tired and kinda dopey. When I start, I tend to be more awake, so the dark is more fascinating. Having just driven through the “S-curve National Forest”, I'm happy to be parked for the night, civilization in sight.

      I awoke this morning, not knowing what was going on. In Many ways, that was a huge bonus. It means I got to sleep in a bit. Rising much later than usual, I ate last night's leftovers for breakfast (salty spiced fish with a smidge of mashed potatoes and white gravy) out of the styrofoam box I stashed them in. I've found that environmental concerns somewhat diminish when you take up this lifestyle. So much to the point of overcompensation whenever I'm not driving. You have to make it a point to not get a plastic bag for that one item at the C-store.

      So after a leisurely breakfast and more banjo practice (I've almost got the Basic breakdown memorized!) I called in to see what was going on, since nothing came over the computer while I was asleep. Well, nothing relevant to what I needed to know. After a warily brief wait, I spoke with some people, and was instructed to stand by. So I stood by. Sat by would be more accurate. Then the instructions came. “Take the load back to shipper.” Whoosh! into action.

      Before acting though, I messaged them asking, “then what?” knowing full well that it would take them the hour and fifteen minutes of travel time to answer that. Well, I was wrong. They didn't know when I got there. The mill workers knew somehow, but my dispatchers had no clue. While I waited, i visited the driver's facilities. A simple heated building, with microwave, a toilet and a phone. Not all in the same room, thankfully. There were some magazines on the microwave, and since I was going to do some business, and I'm a sterotypical guy in that way, I wanted something to read. Its like my brain hungers for printed material while in the john. Well, it turns out that all of the magazines on the microwave, are in fact pornographic. Some still in the plastic wrapper, all of them of the same title.

      That came as a bit of a shock, especially considering that this is a public place. Nevermind that there are more and more lady drivers (well, female drivers) out there these days. I wonder what their take on this would be. Forgoing the reading material, I take care of business and get back to business.

      I find out that they'll be trans-loading the entire load, meaning taking it off one trailer and putting it onto another, the next door over. After some bumping and jostling, I switch trailers and go through the motions of making it all legal and so forth. Whoosh! Down the road I go. (if going 60 mph counts as a whoosh).

      Since the load is now due on the 14^th, the planners decided to drop it off some where. More to the point, to have me drop it off, in Sparks, NV. This is cool. Mostly because I'm still not going down I-5, and I get to ride the back roads down US 95 instead of US 97. Today I passed through Salmon River Canyon in Idaho. I swear that this place came out of one of my dreams. Would that I could remember the context for that dream. There is nothing in the world so spectacular as being dwarfed by towering sheer rock faces.

      Coming out of the canyon, the road starts to wind up hill. By this time, the sun was not long gone, and a light rain began. The lovely, smooth road eventually dwindled to little more than a two lane paved cow path. Sharp turns with no shoulder, no white line. The truck rocked back and forth around the corners. Any opposing traffic veered dangerously close, for fear of falling off the other side. If you look in a trucker's atlas, this part of the route is NOT a designated truck route. I now understand why. The state requires you to get a suicide permit to travel these roads. They call it an “overlength permit” technically, but suicide is more accurate. So I climbed up into the snowy bits. Honestly I was a bit shocked that it was raining this high up, in Idaho, in early February. Seriously not right. I told myself I wouldn't stop until I started going down hill. After a small ton and the “S curve National Forest,” I found an old weigh station to park at. It isn't a truck stop, so no bathrooms, but also no idling trucks next to you. Or the smell of diesel fumes as you walk to the restrooms. Yeah, good and bad, but mostly better. Off to bed.

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Foggy Foreboding

Monday, February 6^th, 2012

      Ah. My day is done, and it looks like there will be no internet tonight. This is a good thing. Keeps me offline more than needs be, and lets me focus on what I want to get done. In particular, writing this. There is always banjo to be played, some exercises to do, and breath to observe. Being online certainly detracts from all of those things. While a valuable tool, it can be abused and be made into a master instead of a servant. That said, on to today's adventure.

      Getting out on the road from Boise went well enough. Traffic was light and the weather fair. The only crimp in the day was having a mirror out of whack. Somebody bumped it last night with their mirror pulling into a parking place. This isn't the first time this happened, but at least the guy didn't go back and forth ripping the mirror off it's anchors. The odd thing about this event (despite how it was easily remedied by a properly set pair of vice grips) was how strange it made me feel. I felt a sense of foreboding for the better part of the morning, like something was wrong. I certainly needed to adjust the mirror a few times, some of them whilst driving down the road (love those motorized mirrors). Maybe on some deeper level it was a symbol of changing how I look at myself, or how my perspective (literally) was askew.

      Then I stopped for a shower and the feeling passed. Showers are wonderful inventions. The Flying J I stopped at was in LaGrande, which I have no idea why it is called such. Not much grand about it (or grande for that matter). It seems like a quiet little town in eastern Oregon, with not too much going for it. The people were friendly and polite. I'd go back.

      Continuing westward, we come to a place called Deadman's Pass. I wish I was making this up, but I guess even clichés need to be true some of the time, right? To my delight there were no dead men (or women) present in the area. The area itself reminded me of Flagstaff. Fairly high altitude coniferous forest, the only snow covered ground I'd seen in a while now. It just felt like you were on the roof of the world. Certainly nothing like the Himalayas, but still very cool.

      Looking south of the interstate, one would catch glimpses of fantastic, distant views. Towards the end of the pass, the land opens up a little, and you can see canyons in the distance. Even better, the canyons today were filled with fog, probably because of some temperature inversion or something. It looked as if you could drive off the edge of the cliff and into the clouds. Speaking of which, further west one has to drive down Cabbage Hill.

      I don't know why it is called that. There's no town named cabbage nearby. My guess is that they grow lots of cabbage on the plains below. Coming to the high point, where the road bends north and down, one normally has a spectacular view of the plains below. No such luck today. it was much cooler in fact. The clouds were at such a perfect and uniform height, it looked as if you were driving to the shore of a placid lake. The only comparable experience is when you're flying (in a plane, not in your dreams) and you just break above the cloud layer. Fluffy undulations obscured by mist blowing silently up the hillside. Driving through the mist was an amazing and surprisingly uplifting experience.

      It has been said that border lands, like sea-shores, and foggy regions like this, are the gateways to the ethereal plane. Maybe it is. It certainly seemed other worldly out there today. Freezing fog decorated standing plants in the valley below, white outlines in an otherwise drab tan landscape. How lucky am I to get to live all of this? Darn lucky, I'd say. Now to combine this with being home at night and we're set.

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Timely lessons.

Sunday, February, 5^th, 2012

      Man, I tell ya, these short days are messing with my head. I have all this extra time of late and I get to doing things. Time just zips right on by. Heck I was almost asleep when I realized that I didn't write yet. That said, the banjo is coming along nicely. My fingers just might be up for the task.

      So tonight I am in Boise, Idaho. I took the long way around this time, since my load was in Utah. Today's drive started about 0530 local time. I tried to go earlier, but my body was having non of that. Another restless night in the truck last night, something I hope to change by sleeping in tomorrow morning. Well, maybe until 8.

      Driving at night is great, for many reasons. No traffic, better able to focus, probably some other things that are less important. This morning was different though. Driving down the I-15 corridor one finds themselves driving along some valley floors. Mountains loom nearby. While the details are certainly not apparent in the dead of night, that seemed irrelevant this morning. There is something about the rough silhouettes or the rocks. A deeper black tear, hewn from a deep inky blue fabric, speckled with stars. It was certainly a sight I wish I could have enjoyed longer, but you know, eyes on the road and all.

      Picking up my load in Ogden, UT, I noticed the trailer was overdue for a federal inspection. Certainly not a serious offense, but no sense in me getting a citation for it, so I drove down to SLC to get that taken care of. you see, while it is still the company's equipment, ultimately it is the driver who bears the responsibility for such silly things like that. No permits? Driver needs to check that thing. Broken mudflap? Should have seen that on your pre-trip.

      The quick lane in SLC certainly lived up to it's name. They simply walked around the trailer, took a cursory look at it, repaired a tail light and I was off again. I may have been more concerned about this had I not felt like I needed to rush, which upon reflection I did not. I'm not even sure if they checked the brakes. To my knowledge, the brakes are fine, and within tolerances. I'm just saying that I don't think they even looked. Still, it was satisfying to get out of there so quickly. The energy in that terminal is not something I care to wallow in. It just feels really negative.

      I suppose I could work to turn it around, and I do my small part. I have realized recently that I can only do what I can do, and most importantly, I can only change how I am. My trying to fix the world around me will, in the end, have less impact than fixing the world within me. For as I change my inner world, the way I see the outer world changes, and my circumstances change based on my new perceptions.

      While the above has nothing to do with trucking directly, it certainly has been a product of all the time spent behind the wheel. Here you are mostly powerless to change circumstance. Dude cut you off? Yeah. Happens all the time. You can accept it or resist it and get all angry at something beyond your control. Lots of little practical lessons. It certainly flexes those non-attachment muscles.

      Trucking has also helped diminish my sense of self-importance. A very useful tool for the kid who had to be the best at everything. I seriously doubt if many people from High School would even recognize me these days. Or even college for that matter. Driving down the road for so many hours a day, one begins to realize that other people have stuff just as trivial, or as important to do as you have. No sense in getting bent out of shape because you need to break your cruise control. you'll always get there in the end.

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Well, at least it ended well

Saturday, February 4^th, 2012

      Well, we all have our days. Today had parts of it that were “one of those days,” but I was able to short circuit that bit. Or maybe not. There is some kind of residue lingering. No, I'm not talking about a layer of grease from eating like a trucker. Some kind of emotional imprint, or maybe even something more far out than I care to admit to. But eh, we all believe what we believe.

      The day started after a lack-luster night's rest. I fueled up on some coffee and started my pre-trip. See, there ya go? No breakfast is a bad thing. Remember that kiddies. Skipping breakfast turns you into an irritable douchebag. Pre-trip completed, I fire up the machine and roll down the road. I'm only a few miles from the delivery, but it looked so much closer on google maps. I cross the mighty Snake River, on a bridge I considered at the time, less dignifying than this river deserves. Flat concrete? No arches? C'mon people. What gives? Maybe a budget thing. I did notice a distinct lack of signage here (notably road names I needed to know at some intersections.

      Anyway, I get there 20 minutes early, and there is a truck parked in the middle of the road, 4-way flashers on. Seeing that we are in the right place, I notice that the gate is shut. now that I'm all amped up on coffee, I get out to look, talk with the other guy (he's the 1000 appointment, I'm the 0900) then call the number given. I am informed that it is quarter of nine (duh) and that I'm the nine o'clock appointment. He's on his way.

      So emptied out soon enough, practiced some more banjo in the meanwhile. Very tricky song. It just doesn't sound right yet when I play it. Taking a break, I message people, “so how's it looking for me to keep rolling?” “Not much freight until Monday.” This happens a lot. So I roll back to the truck stop, thinking I'll be hanging here for the weekend. Then I eat some breakfast, to take the edge off.

      Some hours later, I am informed that I have a load. I am to drop my empty trailer someplace down the road, then pick up a different one. Cool. I look at Google maps, then start down the road. Well heck. I missed a turn. So I'm tooling down this little two lane road, hoping for a driveway big enough top turn in. As luck would have it, there is a road going north, in the general direction of the interstate. Ultimately, it led me back to the truck stop I started from. I made my turn the second time, dropped the trailer, then asked for directions to the new trailer. “Directions not available for this stop.” Seriously? Why do we not have directions to a trailer repair place?

      So I go back to the nearby truck stop with free interwebs, and google the address. Oh. It's right down the access road on the near side of the free way (the drop was on the access road on the far side of the freeway). So I get there, and the place looks like a ghost town. I peek in the tiny garage windows, only to see empty space. The address on the door is correct, and the hours are M-F only. Huh. I call in to work, and they're just as baffled.

      I decide to ask the truck stop people where this trailer place is, and it turns out it is on the road behind the truck stop. Locked up for the weekend. No kidding. So I call in and explain, then I get told to go get the empty I dropped and take the plan anyway. Yeah, a lot of driving in circles. Being fed up with the Idaho Falls area, I motored down the highway to McCammon. Ultimately, not that far away, but far enough for me to feel the energy shift for the better.

      I took my deep breaths, realizing that me wanting to rip something apart was doing just that, only it was me. Then I realized why I was so frustrated. I've spent my life trying to live up to the expectations of others, even if circumstance would not permit the realization of those expectations. That, and perhaps I am demanding too much from my employer. Sad but true. I give it my all, and I expect them to be on top of their game, when in reality, I'm not always on top of mine. That, and then I considered the sheer number of trucks (around 16000) and trailers (someplace north of 50,000) and what a giant pain in the ass it must be to keep track of it all, never mind all of the customer directions. Yes, I found that perspective came with distance. Sometimes we need to get out and away from something to change our views. it is so easy to get wrapped up in the echo chamber of our mind, especially when you live out of a (roughly) 6'x8' tin can.

      As an added bonus, I've marked all the stops I made today! check out the map :D

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A lonely gratitude

Friday, February 3^rd, 2012

      Well, this snuck up on me. Today has been a rather short and leisurely day, so I put off my writing until just now, and now is late. Funny how we don;t realize how quickly time passes when we aren't paying attention to it. Ah well. I'm still going to write (obviously) but after yesterday, I find it hard to think of something so eventful today.

      Today I drove from Little America, WY to Idaho Falls, Idaho. I know, saw that one coming, right? I started off in a light snow, which gently covered the road ways. Hitting US 30 West, the snow was dry and cold, covering my side of the road like a thin lace tablecloth. The other side was certainly more heavily traveled. For the entire distance of US 30 in Wyoming, only one car got stuck behind me, and no trucks. I'm certainly not used to that. This was a fairly lonely road. Unless you were gogin east bound. Plenty of people to wave to in that direction.

      You see, people who drive trucks lead a kind of lonely existence by necessity of choice. While it is true that there are all sorts of other jobs out there, a lot of drivers do not fit into the general mold of society. For some, it may be due to the dread of a nine to five job. Others may just have the “traveling bone,” as often mentioned in many CCR songs. Still others are just plain anti-social. Then there are those who think hygiene is optional. I wish I was kidding. For me, I find it a useful occupation that is always hiring and that I can leave at will and return at my pleasure (or need for money).

      That said, it is still a lonely life. I could hang out and talk with the other drivers, but quite frankly, none are on the same page as me. It is hard enough to find a liberal truck driver, let alone one who thinks loftier philosophical thoughts (or metaphysical, I'm not too picky) any higher than “Jesus is the only way, because this book tells me so.” I'm just not into that.

      If you ever get a chance to eat at a truck stop diner, you'll notice that there are “trucker only” sections in some of them. I'm thinking Petros' in particular. This is so that the drivers get served and on their way quickly, but it also makes them feel special. The server of that section will always be a woman, almost without fail. In these little spaces, drivers banter back and forth about whatever bullshit is going on that day, be it some freaky loads, or the weather. But watch more closely. The servers will actually touch the drivers. Nothing inappropriate, just the accepted, non-sexual harassment same side-of-the-body shoulder touch, accompanied by a smile. I'd be willing to wager that those waitresses do better on their tips than the rest do.

      Human contact is a wonderful and cherished thing, that I feel is easily taken for granted until you have it taken away. But then, isn't that what taking something for granted is? It's always there until it isn't and we never realize how important is is to us as humans. Even a smile is a welcome aspect of life that people out on the road see with alarming infrequency. That is why I try to smile often. A lot of people out here are, frankly, miserable. To be fair, that is their own doing, but if a simple smile helps make their world a better place (it does for me!) then why hold that back? Better yet, simply appreciate what you have of you have someone nearby, in your life physically every day. If you don't then appreciate that you have a place where you can go and see the same people with regularity. that would be a comfort out here, let me tell you. Just seeing the guy I met in the Denver terminal the day before yesterday was a welcome surprise. The odds of him being at this truck stop are alarmingly small, but I could tell he was thrilled to see me.

      I get along fine with myself, so the loneliness is not as oppressive as it could be. For some, it is everything to share a smile, a laugh, a story, whatever. Companionship is a wonderful gift. Please enjoy it :)

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Bumbling in the dark, looking for coffee

Sunday, December 18^th, 2011

      I awoke at 0200 PST on the side of the road. I wasn't in a ditch or anything, I parked in a turnout. I really enjoy waking up so early. The world is so peaceful. I stood outside of the truck, making sure that the APU was turned off. The silence washed over me, disturbed only by the wind. Clouds blew over slowly, and the trickle of water accompanying the silent nocturne. It was surprisingly warm for this time of year, almost 40*F. Snow was slowly melting all around me, and I bathed in the primal wonder.

      I took some of this snow and wiped the road grime off my headlights, then dried them with a paper towel, ready to roll. a mere 45 minutes later, I was at the border, waiting for a guard to come out and give the green light to take my papers. I handed over my passport and manifest, then waited patiently with my debit card to pay the crossing fee of $10.75. He handed my passport back with no questions asked and sent me on my way. Easiest border crossing ever. This is why it is best to cross under the cover of darkness at 0300. Everyone is tired and nobody gives a shit. Unless you look like a terrorist. Then I believe many shits are given.

      Driving through Idaho at way too early in the morning, I realized that I had made and kept a promise to myself. I felt a reward was in order, so I went about hunting for a place to sell me a cup of coffee. The truck stop in Bonner's Ferry was closed, so no dice there. I could only think of how much money they would make if they were open all night. Then I re-thought that they probably tried that already and didn't come out in the black.

      The next town is Sandpoint, Idaho. It seems like a pretty cool place. Very pedestrian friendly, bordering a huge lake in the mountains. I was here once before to pick up about 40,000 douche bags. Seriously. Summer's Eve has a facility here. Or Massengil, I forget which brand of douches they made but it still makes for a funny sentence. For as long as I can remember, they've been working on a bridge to bypass the town. As it stands currently, all traffic is routed through the downtown itself, making for lots of turns and chances to stop for a lolly gagging foot goer. At night however, there are no people on the streets. All the lights go your way, and upon exiting town, the bypass bridge is underlit by a large number of blue fluorescent blubs, making for a really neat effect. I suppose if you have this huge bridge running right along a scenic down town with lovely views, one may as well make it fun and enjoyable to look at, which it is.

      Sometime down the line I found me some coffee at a gas station that also sold truck diesel. Inside was a police officer just waiting for his shift to end, shooting the breeze with the dude at the counter. I got into a bit of a conversation with them, for I could tell that they were kinda lonely, being on a completely different clock than the rest of decent society. I'm pretty used to that, although I miss the idea of being someplace and feeling grounded time and again. Again I was off into the night.

      Sometime after Spokane and Ritzville, the sun started to rise. I was a bit astounded that I had already went some 300 miles before day break (i forget exactly how much but it was a lot) and that I had already come as far as I had. Driving in the dark will do that to you I suppose. One loses all bearings and sense of time when nothing really changes. The lines on the road all look the same after a while.

      My next stop saw me in Biggs Junction, Oregon. This is where US 95 and I-84 meet, in the eastern Columbia Gorge, which has not been deemed pretty enough to be included in the National Scenic area, but don't let that fool you. It is still quite grand. I took a free shower here and bought some uncensored internet, at which time I posted the preceding days' blogs and surfed around a while. For a few hours, I hemmed and hawed about moving on with the hours I had left. There were many arguments for each position and I was paralyzed by indecision. Sadly, this is a fairly common occurrence for me. I got an outside opinion (thanks Jen! <3 ) which actually helped me sort out the situation. In the end though, I felt that I would not be living up to who I wanted to be if I stayed there and tried to manipulate the circumstances. It is my intention to be excellent in all things that I do, but work comes the easiest for me. I just need to translate that into other areas of my life.

      So I find my way to the Clackamas terminal. I put my truck in for a warranty inspection, which they missed at my last service. I wait for it to go in at 1800. Played some banjo, surfed the limited internet (no blogs, videos, downloads or games, or social networking sites... found a work around for FB though) and ate some boxed Indian food for dinner. Hooray for microwaves! Seeing as I've been up since 0200 this morning, I went in to check on my truck. I was pretty tired by 2200, and the truck was still being worked on. So back inside I go. Laundry has been done, not much else to do and fingers are starting to hurt. 2300 rolls around. Another 15 minutes and they'll be done. I go back inside and proceed to nap on the floor of the exercise room. 0000 comes. I'm almost deliriously tired at this point when I learn that my truck will need to go into a Freightliner dealership to get the computer updated. They say another 15 minutes. Knowing better, I go back inside and half sleep on one of the two recliners in the lounge.

Finally! the truck is finished. I climb in, park in the lot, and I'm out in a matter of seconds.

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