Same road, new eyes

Sunday, February 12^th, 2012

      Like this weekend, my next move was predictable. An equipment move from Sparks to Salt Lake. (is “City” really necessary? It isn't like there's a “Salt Lake State” attached to it). The drive today certainly rang of Deja Vu in so many ways, yet it was completely distinct in others.

      Getting up to go to the bathroom proved to be an enlightening experience. For the first time in a few weeks, I actually looked at my truck. It was incredibly filthy from almost 5 weeks on the road, never mind how dirty it was when I got it. This had to be rectified. So I went into the terminal and inquired about the process of getting the company to pay for a truck wash. Apparently, we get one a month. Nice! A short while later, I come out of the nearby wash, all sparkly and clean, I hardly recognize the vehicle. Time to roll.

      For the longest while, it is the same scenery in the same format, little had changed so I kinda space out for a while, reflecting upon the life I've created for myself and considering what I would like to change it to in the future. This is one of the many fun parts of driving. I've stopped along the way already, grabbed some lunch so at this point, I'm content to space and drive for a while. Out of the blue, I hear this urgent beeping. I sit up, pay more attention, and it turns out to be one of my gauges. The fuel is alarmingly low. This made no sense to me, since I had enough fuel to get form Sparks to SLC, but hey, why take the chance. As fortune would have it, I am in Battle Mountain when this happens. Again. What are the odds? So I stop at the Flying J once more, and again, the clerks have no idea what kind of battle happened here. Back to the road!

      This is where things changed a bit. I was driving through the same landscape, but this time it was created in a different medium. There were still some dull greys in the sky, but mottled with blue. Sun beams poured between the clouds. Ahead in the distance, some of the clouds showed signs of rain. In the light, the wispy filaments trailed toward the cold, dry earth below. In more than a few instances, the wind sculpted the delicate rain strands into what looked like a double helix. Perhaps a trick of the sunbeams, or maybe it was just so. There was one patch of rain in particular that looked as if the Earth itself were on fire, emitting a rainy flame into the clouds above. The sun was too high in the sky for rainbows, but none were needed for this amazing scene.

       Some while later, I crossed into Utah (again). The same panoramic view appeared as I crossed into Wendover. Still breathtaking. This time, however, things would be a little different. I pulled over some nine miles down the road at a rest area. I got out and stretched, used the rest room and saw the sign “FOOT WASH” Apparently, this is a beach of some sort, at least when there's water in the basin I imagine. I strolled to the basin, spying some trace of water. Nothing to swim in this time of year to be sure, or even wade in, as may be supposed by the foot washing station.. I was surprised to find that the ground was a very solid white clay. The rest area and highway are laid upon cinders which totally stick to your boots after walking around in clay. There are also all sorts of salt deposits one the ground (go figure). Being of curious mind, I tasted them in the tradition of Marie Curie. Except I'm not going to die from tasting this stuff. The salt formed little slivers, like tiny ice crystals. As expected, they tasted salty. Just had to be sure.

      As before, my load is picking up west of SLC, so there really isn't much point in going to the terminal, aside from the fact that this is where I have been routed to. SO I drive past where I want to stop for the night and get close to the terminal. I hit my arrive at final macro somewhere outside the gate, and turn right around. Sweet. Nothing like not having to stop. And now I'm down for the night again, at the same truck stop as I was before. Lots of similarities, but just enough difference to be worthwhile.

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Shopping and gambling, Nevada's entertainment

Saturday, February 11^th, 2012

     Oh Sparks, you are becoming so predictable. Little to my surprise, I sat around all day today. This is not to say that I've done nothing, just nothing I'm getting paid for. In the end, I am taking a 34 hour reset, because I can. Even better, they are having me take an empty to Salt Lake (again) since there is all sorts of freight over there. In the industry, we call that overbooked (more loads than trucks). Yes, it has become predictable, which is good in a sense.

      Having figured that I would be down for the day, PTA of 0600 notwithstanding, I did some internet stuff in the morning, then decided to tour around the area for a bit. Honestly, there is not very much to see on this side of the highway. There is the Petro, which is where I do my web surfing, and a bunch of warehouses and heavy equipment retailers. Oh and an industrial tire dealership. All in all, not much to see. A scant mile away across the freeway, however is another story.

      I crossed the road (to get to the other side of course) with an interest in visiting an certain department store. I'm looking to buy a few supplies and such, socks and long underwear ion particular. Seeing as it is already February, the store is not carrying wool socks, nor long underwear. So I bought some soap since I used the rest in the shower this morning. Driving such a large vehicle makes days like this exceptional, in that you can actually get supplies. Sure, there are Walmarts around, but not all of them will let you park in their lots, and have anti-truck gates installed to keep big rigs out. That, and I find that I am usually working way too much to stop for a break, but that has changed for me now. I'm more into making my life a priority over the freight, while still doing the best job I can.

      Not too far from the Target, is an outlet mall. I enjoy visiting the “real” world of consumerism now and again. Some days I feel so out of touch with most of American society. Please note that I am not describing this as a misfortune. Indeed, it may be a blessing in many respects. Everyone looks less gritty, and more done up. In the world of trucking, people don;t shower every day, or put gobs of makeup on to look nice. Heck, just taking time to brush your hair is considered optional for some truckers. (Incidentally, this is why I prefer to keep my hair very short). People on the outside looks pretty, even the guys. What gives? Is there some contest I am missing? I'd just as soon not enter I imagine. Looks expensive and frivolous.

      I ended up coming away from the outlet mall with 2 pairs of nice wool socks for $20. SO that was cool. I spent most of my time wandering around Scheel's an outfitter's store, considering buying a pair of binoculars for whatever reason, mostly because it is sweet to have a pair. Looking at the Moon, the Pleiadies, that bird way over there, whatever. Perhaps some day. Waling out of the complex, a mixed group of younger adults walked past me, and one commented on my awesome mustache. For vanity reasons, I waxed it today and put it into a handlebar. It is so much fun to see how long it has gotten. I plan on having it photographed before I shave it off in annoyance. Yeah, the life of a trucker is simple, but we have little vanities we entitle ourselves to now and then.

      Aside from that, a wonderfully relaxing day with plenty of banjo playing, reading and otherwise helping people whenever I happen to be around. There is a certain satisfaction in helping someone at the right time.

      On the way to post this, I decided to gawk at the gambling downstairs in the casino. I watched people play  blackjack, craps, Texas Hold 'em and slots. The slots bore me to tears. So many hamsters pressing levers to feed their reward centers. Blackjack was fascinating. There is some kind of secret code to playing involving knocks, hand waves and little chips. Apparently you can buy insurance for some reason. I figure that you are gambling, what the hell does insurance have to do with it? That said, the lady dealing was amazing. Very fluid motion in all of her card actions. It was very zen to watch. What really knocked me out was this little button she pushed on a machine next to her. You press the green button and a deck of cards pops up through a trap door. I'm thinking that it is some kind of card shuffler, since she put the other deck in the waiting maw. Very cool.

      The craps table is a complete mystery to me. There are a bunch of squares representing odds and ranges and other stuff beyond my ken. It seems insurance is a popular theme in these games, since there was a stripe labeled as such. I am aware that you throw dice and the dude with the stick tells you what you've rolled, in case you can't count. He rakes the dice together and then does something with them, I got distracted by the lady that came by with a tray of hot dogs. Seriously. Eww. Gross. I'm certainly done with any kind of ground anything put into tubes of dubious edibility. I ate a bunch of hot dogs and brats when I first came back to trucking. At $2.22 for a pair, the price is hard to beat. Now they have become a symbol of all that is nasty about trucking Truly disgusting, and here they are giving them to people putting round trinkets on green cloth marked up with white stuff. Probably money involved somewhere.

      The Texas Hold-em table was a curiosity, since you see it on TV in poker tournaments. I stared for a while, but was told I had to go someplace else to watch. I was apparently standing in “the pit.” I take it this is some kind of forbidden zone in the center of the gaming tables. I do not understand why. Again, probably money involved. There wasn't really a pit. At least, I didn't notice a change of elevation. Perhaps it is subtle, or more of a metaphor for how all the gamers' money sinks into this central location never to be seen again.

      Given that this is a truck stop, I'm a bit surprised that there is not a brothel here. While it is something I would not participate in, I am curious as to how they work. Yes, I know that you pay money for sex. I get that. What I wonder is how they set people up with the prostitutes. What do the employees think of their work, and why do they get into the business? How do they feel after a day of work? Have they found Jesus? Well, I wouldn't ask that last one. Nevada is a strange place, but I will leave here with my brothel questions unanswered, happily so.

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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Perspective and interference

Saturday, January 21^st, 2012

      Today has been a good day. I didn't have to use my A-K, so I'm not wasting money on ammo. For the whole lot of nothing between Sparks and Salt Lake City, there was plenty to see, and a lot to be experienced. For a moment, I caught myself being bored, much to my dismay. More appropriately, due to lack of imagination and wonder. We are so full of both when we are young, and as we age it often becomes easy to lose that vital faculty. Just like any other muscle, it needs to be exercised, lest it atrophy, leading us to rely on external devices to tell us stories, like TV, the internet or radio.

      At one point this morning, just before I left, it started to snow. It was one of those wet heavy snows you get when the temperature is just above freezing, but not by that much. I got a bit discouraged for a moment, thinking that I could have left yesterday and beat the storm. Then reality struck. You don't ever beat storms, you just get ahead of them for a little while, then they sneak up on you when you are sleeping. So I felt better about starting the day, despite the weather. It cleared up quickly and became rather windy, but that passed as well. Enough of this weather business. I'm not a meteorologist. (I love lamp.)

      I've decided that when you live way out in the middle of nowhere, like northern Nevada, you have to make your own fun. Evidence of this has been presented to me on a few occasions today. For lunch break, I stopped at Battle Mountain. Not a big place, but it is “the base camp for Nevada's Outback,” so they'd have you think. The Flying J was small and a bit dumpy, but they had fuel and hot water, so who's to complain? I asked one of the clerks what Battle took place for the town to be named battle mountain. She looked at me a bit dumbstruck and admitted ignorance, which is all fine and good. Driving along, I noticed that they had put their town's initials on a hill in white rock, like so many other small town in the West with identity issues. “BM.” I giggled. Then I laughed some more when I realized where I was. I could say that I ate a big lunch at BM, NV. Maybe I should have had more fiber.

      Further down the road, there is a tunnel. For starters, that alone is cool. Tunnels always make the drive more fun. On the East side of the tunnel, a series of hoodoos and goblins decorated the north side of the road for a few miles. I spent probably more time than I should have looking at the wind carved caves high up in the rocks.

      Still further down the road, I got another laugh. Not that the ride is all laughs. Most of it was just enjoying the wide open beauty mixed with snow and wetness. Coupled with some speculation that when we stop using the roads (and salting them in winter) that roadsides are going to be nice little pockets of extra moisture for salt-hardy plants to develop and become a green strip along Nevada's shrub steppe. Then at exit 333 I saw the sign. “Deeth Starr Valley.” I turned off my targeting computer and just gave it a miss entirely. The next exit down? “Welcome Starr Valley.” So I suppose it is better to go east than west. Sounds like a trap going west.. welcome then deeth? no thanks.

      Cresting the hill just before the Utah border, one happens upon a picturesque scene. Large flats splay across your field of vision, flanked by rolling rocky hills. Since it has been raining, these flats are now graced by thin pools of shimmering water, which somehow shimmer in the overcast light. Heading into Utah proper, one sees more black volcanic stones arranged into shapes or words on the white mud/sand. As far as shaped go, there were plenty of hearts with initials, a few peace signs, a couple of Mercedes logos, some names, and not too surprisingly, a couple of penises (stylized of course). Aside from the rocks though, the real beauty was in the water. Most of it is brackish or even hyper-saline to be sure, but I did see some Canada geese swimming and feeding in a couple pools by the border.

      The land is flat for 40 miles. I find this awe-inspiring, driving on the bottom of a formerly massive lake, now shrunk to a pittance of its original size. Other people seem to take another view. It is a big fun toy. I'm guessing this because there are all sorts of tire tracks coming off the road and into the flats. Some are shallow impressions, made when the land was a lot drier. A few look like some people went in with mud tires and powered their way out. One was a massive rut, a few feet deep, in which the driver was very obviously towed out, and recently for there was fresh mud still on the road. I pray that the driver was just being dumb and did not fall asleep.

      In some spots, the land has been dredged to make short canals. I have no idea why, nor any real substantial guess. That said, the water inside is a very light and clear blue. The best analog I can think of is the color associated with the Bahamas. That light azure, clear blue. I understand that bodies of water that are clear have little nitrogen content. That got me wondering, if I went up to the shore and peed in it, would it get murky in some spots? Did I mention that the road doesn't bend or change elevation for 40 miles?

      After all this peace and tranquility, I get to the Salt Lake terminal. The place is packed. Everyone is staring at the 37” flatscreen TV or their laptops. I scurry across the room to scan my documents. Gunshots and screams on the TV. I go up to the window to see if I've been dispatched on my next load. I really need to leave this place. I shake my head and say, “violence,” to one of the drivers in line. She replies, “I love this movie, I am Legend.” Shooting and screaming, people dying (or something dying, I didn't care to look). It makes me sad to see what kind of culture I'm in sometimes, but also compassionate for these people, who have lost their sense of wonder at the world they experience everyday (or maybe they haven't, but they all seemed completely zombified by the movie). This is just more incentive to change my line of work.

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Resting in peace

Friday, January 20^th, 2012

      And on the eighth day, I rested. I looked at my hours and saw that they were good, but could be better. I looked upon my miles, and was satisfied. I went back over my typing since that was sub-par, but hey, I'm no god.

      Having ended the night so late yesterday, it felt really nice to sleep, to sleep well and long. I woke up sometime after 0800, which was nice , to a partly cloudy sky. What stunned me, however, was how familiar the yellow rolling hills of this part of the country were. It was like I'd been here all along at some point. It really makes no sense to me, but I was happy to see the hills.

      Somewhere south of here, those hills are on fire. So bad that they've closed down US 395 south of Reno. Not that this matters to me. I'm getting dead-headed east to Salt Lake City. Home to Mormons and punks I am told. I could have left Sparks today, but I felt that a rest was in order. So I took one. I played some banjo today, took a couple of naps, had my trailer inspected (it was 6 months over due) and ate some salad at the nearby truck stop. All in all a less than eventful day.

      Thank goodness. I feel that some days are meant to be spent relaxing, preferably with a cup of hot cocoa or some iced tea depending on the weather. Today was one of those days. I lounged in my sleeper, looking out of the windshield at the approaching weather. Yeah, I imagine I'll have some snow showers to contend with tomorrow, but it is a small price to pay to relax and heal a bit. In fact, perhaps the most exciting event of the day was playing banjo. It is nice to play as much as you want, with the sole limiting factor being how much your fingers hurt from wearing the picks. I call that a good day. Now, to read a bit and relax some more. Off in the morning!

Over the hills, but not too far away.

Thursday, January 19^th, 2012

      This post is dedicated to a guy named Rito. Rito was my room-mate for orientation here at Swift and a really good dude. He'll surface now and again on my Facebook feed. In one such instance, he posted a picture of Government pass, covered in snow. The caption read, “I'm about to make Government Pass my bitch.” For those who do not know Rito, he's a big guy, and like a lot of good dudes with huge frames, he is a bit quiet, so this quote, while not surprising made me laugh a good bit. In honor of you sir, I made Donner Pass my bitch tonight.

      Scanning in my paperwork in the drivers' lounge here in Sparks, three of us got to talking. Oddly enough, one of the guys didn't know about Donner Pass' claim to fame re:cannibalism. I was going to tell the story here, but that is what Wikipedia is for. Or Google. That said, Donner pass is now the home of interstate 80 between Reno and Sacramento for those who do not know. Again, one could look that up, but we are busy enough, amiright? On to the story.

      Having encountered less rush hour traffic than I anticipated in Sacramento, I was pretty jazzed to make some good time. There were some light showers in the city, and heading east up 80. Against all sanity, I was hoping that the pass itself would be merely wet instead of snowy. No such luck. Having driven some 4 hours already, I stop at a rest area to take a break. I've listened to the radio as advised by numerous flashing signs along the way. “Four wheel drive with snow tires required, chains otherwise.” So I'm still hoping to get by with my big honkin' tires. A few miles up the road from the rest area a long line of trucks is pulled over on the side of the road. It is time to chain up.

      When I first started, is was merely a light rain falling. As I got closer to complete with rigging up the chains and darkness settled (this was after the p.m. rush hour) the snow started to fly. I was at about 3000 feet. Uh-oh. Heading off with chains firmly affixed, I am glad to be going. Maybe I can make some good time. At this point, I have absolutely no sense of how long the pass is. Max speed is 30 mph. No problem. Well, I only feel safe at 25 or 20, with anything from one half to three inches of snow on the pavement. For most of the time I can hear my chains hitting the road, making a kind of zipper type noise with some extra clinking. Then there are times when all I hear is the clink of the free link against the wrapped chain, meaning that I'm driving solely on compacted snow, no surface contact. It took me an hour to put the chains on, but I am glad I did it. There is a feeling of bravery or heroism that comes with driving with chains on. Like you're so committed to getting through that nothing will stop you. All of this for a memory foam mattress destined for a K-Mart somewhere in the Reno area. Perspective can be a cruel mistress sometimes.

      The top of the pass sits at 7227 feet above sea level. It drops of sharply as you continue east, with some tricky curves. I slow to 15 mph. Of course there is somebody whizzing by to get some place, and that same car ended up spun out on the side of the road not 4 miles afterwards. No rush. I take my time getting down from the summit. Forty miles and two hours later, I am across Donner pass. Taking my chains off, I find that one of them has completely shredded and became lodged between my trailer tandems. I work to get it out, fingers burning with metallic cold. Yeah, they don't pay me enough to do this. At least I got to eat when I got to Sparks and a story to tell. You will not see a snow story about me going over the pass the other way, I promise, for my own sanity if nothing else.

     In the map below, the points between "B" and "C" represent the part of the journey spent driving in chains.

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A Hobbit's Holiday

Tuesday, January 17^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, January 16^th, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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