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.

Human rights

Sunday, July, 22nd, 2012

 

     The soil here is dry and solid.  New grass struggles to grow in the arid heat, withering and scorching plants for miles.  Corn, tall as a man, stands idly by, watching, waiting for rain, leaves curled up to prevent further loss of moisture, the lower leaves long since turned brown and brittle.  The ditch-weed  is growing bright and green, seemingly impervious to nature's whim.  Around a pond, the cat-tails remain green, but there is an edge of brown creeping inward as the dessication of the landscape continues.  It's been hot for days.  Humid but no rain, and it shows.  Illinois is dry.

       Mississippi, however, is not.  The locals there assured me that it has been raining almost every day for months.  the ground is soggy and saturated, emerald lawns shine in contrast to the parched plain to the north.  It was in Mississippi that I had a singular awakening.

     I pulled into a Love's travel center.  Technically for fuel, but a bathroom break is always welcome.  I have a good time at the pump, chatting with another Swift driver who was next to me at the shipper.  Good guy from California.  I put exactly 80 gallons in, proud of the achievement (pumps register out 3 decimal places, so this is no easy feat) and head inside to relive my bladder and improve my blood sugar.  Directly outside the door to the fuel desk, there is a pair of ladies, a table and piles of stuff on said table.  Wearing their neon yellow shirts, the ladies are hard to miss.  Even more so, since they are actively greeting all who stroll into the store.  Well, one of them was doing the greeting, the other seemed to have a supervisory capacity, in that she was sitting down, silent and watching.  Not really pushing the goods.  

     So I walk up to them, the talky one in particular, and inquire as to their doings.  I am then informed that they are selling goods to raise money for their ministry.  Right on!  I love social groups that try to do good in the world.  Normally, I'm quite a sucker for charities, especially people trying to sell handmade lacquered wood clocks in 90 degree Mississippi heat, that is as humid as only Mississippi can be.  I was thinking of just handing them a fiver and walking inside.

      Then it dawned on me as to where I was.  For some reason, perhaps inspired by my recent thoughts, I asked what their stance was on homosexuality.  At first, she kind of looked at me, blank stare.  Her reply was "I'm a Christian."  Of course she was.  It was a Christian ministry.  My response was to simply raise an eyebrow, quizzically.  She went on to say that she believed in everything the Bible said, and took it literally.  Huh.  This is not the concept of Christian I had in my head.  For me, the concept of love everyone as yourself does not exclude any group, for any reason, race, creed or lifestyle.  I thought to myself, "so then you surely do not eat shellfish, since that is an abomination unto god's sight, as per Leviticus."  I did not press the point.  I instead asked if she had any gay friends.  She informed me she had recently moved to the area and was not going to go out and search for those kind of people now that she was part of this church.  Ah.  I understand.  It is a simple case of wanting to feel a sense of belonging to a group.  A feeling for a need of support, having the people you surround yourself with influence you.  I felt a deep compassion for her.  She went on to note that she did have a gay friend in Knoxville, whence she came, but she doesn't speak with him any more.  In fact, she now prays for him to change his mind.  While on the one hand I am outraged by this, on the other hand I am deeply compassionate for her.  I've been in a similar boat.  Not with this issue, but more along the lines of road rage.

     I've come to realize that the common denominator in all of the things we dislike is our own person.  What makes something wicked or blessed is our own point of view.  For her, she was taking on the issues of her church to belong to a group, something anyone who's ever been alone as much as I have can relate to (trucking).  Instead of trying to convert her, I simply smiled and walked into the truck stop.  You see, now that I realize that every single action we take becomes society, I'm shaping myself up.  I would give to anybody who asked for money, out of sheer kindness.  Not any more.  I will no longer support bigoted causes knowingly, and in cases I do not know, I will ask and test, and probe to find out where my energy is going to and what kind of society I am helping to create.  In my society, everyone has equal rights, or nobody has any rights.  It is my opinion that when you say it is alright to exclude any one group from having rights, dignity, or humanity that any other group may be next on that list.  To defend everyone's rights, we need to stand for the minorities.  It has been said that gay rights are human rights.  I certainly think so.

      After getting my sandwich and reliving myself, I walked back to my truck.  The very same lady asked me if I wanted to make a donation.  I was pretty sure that I didn't put on one of those Scooby Doo masks.  I politely told her that I had already spoken with her and I was away. 

    

Chicago Night

Tuesday, July, 17th, 2012

 

      Ah Chicagoland.  It is certainly much nicer at night.  The contrast of light and darkness makes for a splendid scene.  Driving right through town, one gets to see avenues doubly lit with street  lights, standing in regimented precise rows, like an honor guard of some sort.  The Sears Tower (I understand it has been renamed, but it will always be Sears to me) stands both bright and dark against the hazy orange backdrop of the city sky.  Speaking of sky, there is a road called the Skyway.  This is I-90 for the laymen.  It is, of course, a toll road, equipped with toll booths of the older variety.  No, they are not of the Phantom Toll Booth variety, but they are lit with classy neon signs.  No art deco sadly.  One thing that struck me as odd was the McDonald's right on the toll way, next to the booths.  I imagine that a Big Mac attack would have to be of dire proportions to merit building a fast food place right there.

      Before the sky way, there is s stretch where I-94 and  I-90 run the same route.  This road is called the "Kennedy (expressway)".  I imagine that they can tell an out of towner by whether or not they know the names of the expressways.  The Dan Ryan commences after I-94 splits off of I-90, and I have no idea who that is.  Probably an old Bears player or something.  Along the Kennedy, there is a long stretch that is posted at 45 mph.  I imagine this would be more relevant in the day time.  Personally, I was going 55.  I was by far the slowest vehicle on the road.  A couple guys blew past me as if I were standing still.  Blew my doors right off.

       I decided to drive straight through Indiana, and past Toledo, Ohio.  Looking down, it occurred to me that I had driven just over 300 miles without stopping.  Even better, I managed to get to Breezewood, which is certainly farther than I had anticipated.  By 50 miles.  I even had time left to spare.  For now, I'll stay here for the night, and the bulk of the day tomorrow.  My delivery is about 2 to 3 hours away, and I suppose I could get closer in the morning, but we'll see about that.  I'm not feeling the rush to get there honestly. 

Connections, Cheese and Socialism

Monday, July 16th, 2012

 

       In some ways, it seems a bit odd to be posting today's blog so early.  It is not even noon yet, but I've already worked my day.  Right now, I'm about 45 minutes outside of Chicago.  I plan on driving through after 10 p.m.  That's the only sensible option really.  

      Leaving at sundown, the world takes on a different feeling.  Before I left Fargo, however, I happened to be walking out of the Petro, and was walking out the door shortly behind a gentlemen presumably from the South.  I only presume that because he was wearing overalls and a faded red ball cap that read "Ole Miss" in dingy black letters.  He could have been from Boston for all I know, but we all come laden with presuppositions and judgements.  Seeing as there were two doors, I got the first one, and he got the second one.  He waited for me a bit, and I could see that he was a bit hesitant to get back out into the truck.  

      Seeing this, I told him that I was not in any rush either, saying that it was nice to be out of the truck.  He agreed heartily, as only a large framed, stocky guy can and we shared a chuckle.  Some small talk was exchanged and he then told me that he was getting ready to leave.  Another overnight run.  I told him that it was the same for me.  For a brief moment, there was a deep laugh, borne out from a deep sense of connection and empathy.  At least for me there was.  It was nice to know that there was somebody else in the same shoes as I was.  I'd been waiting for that all day without knowing it.

       A little while later, I was off and running, putting miles behind me.  At one point, I stopped in a Kwik Trip in Wisconsin, looking for some cheese curds.  Why else would you stop there?  Going inside, I found the curds in a one pound bag.  I thought about it for a while.  For $6, you too can have a pound of cheese chunks.  I was sorely tempted until I read the nutritional information.  A single package had 16 servings.  Seriously.  Calories per serving? 120.  That one pound of cheese could feed a person for an entire day.  Knowing that I'd want to eat something else, I instead opted for 2 cheese sticks (80 calories each).  I have now come to the conclusion that Wisconsinites like all dairy products (barring perhaps milk) amazingly salty.  Having eaten the cheese, happily I might add, I felt a strange need for lots of water.  

        I will say that the best part of driving through Wisconsin in the dark is that it is dark when you do that.  This is wonderful for me because I am unable to read all of the political signs in the dark.  Having just come off a recent recall election of nasty proportions and some serious ickiness, I was glad to miss all the signs.  I was, however, privy to one sign towards the beginning of the morning, after my 5 a.m. nap  It was simple and read "Socialism- spreading poverty equally."  This got a reaction out of me, and beggared the question of whether or not this guy actually knew what socialism is.  In the end, I decided that it was best left alone.  I'm not going to change his mind, and I needn't let him effect me.  A good lesson overall.

     

     

Really, Saint Louis?

Monday, March 19^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, March 7^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

View Larger Map

Pissing in the Wind

Tuesday, March 6^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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