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!

Eastbound and Down

Thursday, July 12th, 2012

 

      Hooray!  I'm leaving the I-5 corridor for greener pastures!  I somehow managed to score and awesome load from just east of Seattle to just east of Harrisburg, PA.  Sure, I'm hauling a heavy load of fizzy sugar water, but why let morals get in the way of making a good buck?

     Another early day today, and an early departure tonight.  Seems a bit nicer to roll out at 11 pm instead of watching the sun set then watching it rise again.  It has certainly been a long day, much of it filled with anxiety about this long load.  At one point, I recall looking down to discover that it was only 10:00, and feeling surprised.  Between the anxiety and trying to observe my thoughts and emotions, time has simply slipped away today.

      During one particular moment, I happened to look out my window and at this massive granite escarpment, just before Snoqualmie Pass.  In that tiny glance, the detail was so pronounced that i could see the crags, each racing to carve deeper into the face of this monolithic beast.  Douglas Firs sprouted all along the gentle slopes of the mountain side, seemingly unaware or indifferent to their precarious perch.  

      There is quite a lot of beauty in the natural world, and I will certainly elaborate more when I have the liberty of free time.  For now, I'm on a fairly tight schedule with a 34 hour break coming up in Fargo, ND.  I guess it doesn't have to be Fargo per se, but that is the plan at the moment.  To the best of my knowledge the Petro there is close to shopping but not nature.  I could stay in Billings along the way, but I've got time to run still.  May as well use it until it becomes inconvenient to do so.

    That said, I've got to get up and working in 7 hours from now, and the night shift is a bit tricky on a lack of sleep. 

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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Really?

Tuesday, February 28^th, 2011

      It could have been a lot worse. It started with a simple question of precision then ballooned from there. Where am I supposed to go exactly? The directions weren't very clear. This is how slasher films start. You get lost and ask for directions somewhere then you're inside having a meal when some nutter jumps out and eviscerates you. While there were no knives involved in this particular incident, or any other lethal weapons for that matter, the day turned out to be a bit of a cluster f*ck anyway, but all is well that ends well.

      Having gotten a semblance of directions from the phone number given, I ambled off into the fog, figuring that I'd get there a bit early and get all set up, seeing as I've never delivered to a military base before. I found the gate on Rambo road (yeah, I giggled too) and proceeded to pull up to a fairly ordinary inspection building. They pull vehicles in and have the bomb sniffing dog give them a once over. That part went well enough. I just needed a pass to get in. Simple, right? Not really. I needed a sponsor to get past the gate. I have no idea how the military bureaucracy works, but I know that it works well.

      Meanwhile, there are a bunch of us hanging out in this little waiting room, maybe 7' by 7' with 2 drinking fountains on one wall, and a restroom door affixed to another. There are a few of us in there, maybe 4, and some have come and gone already. Tragically, it seems that someone blew up the bathroom either right as I got there (I have my suspicions tat these two southern truckers brought in a bad load with them... one of them anyway). No matter how many times the door into the inspection bays opened, the stench lingered tenaciously. I forgot about it after a while (acclimated more like it) then a Pepsi delivery guy came in and his eyes almost popped out of his head for the stench. By that time there were 8 of us in that tiny room, many of us waiting for a sponsor.

      It turns out that 6 of the guys in that room were waiting for the same guy I was. A moving crew. They had been here a bunch of times, and were to offload my trailer and put all the furniture in the dorms. They were a motley crew, of varying shapes and sizes but with similar dispositions. Two of them were already getting other jobs. Another two seemed doomed to a life of manual labor but had this intense interest in farming. The last pair seemed more into doing what they were doing, but as little as possible. Of the last pair, one gentleman was running around with his I-phone snapping pictures and taking video of some antics and “blackmail” opportunities. He would make a good photojournalist, I swear.

      So after a couple of hours, the truck is about ¼ of the way unloaded. Lots left to do. I rapidly conclude that my day is more or less shot, especially since I noticed that I had a nail sticking into one of my tires causing air to make an undesired egress. Then its lunch time. So I spend all sorts of time pulling the truck back and forth, moving from one set of stairs to another, then playing banjo in the meanwhile. I also spent some time hanging out with the crew much to my amusement.

      In the end, I made $90 for just sitting around playing banjo and having a laugh. I got my tire repaired and I am down for the night. I found an interesting coincidence in finding one guy so very interested in organic farming. I learned that I can be worth as much as I want to be (or believe that I am). I got to laugh and reel at some strange cover-up (all the furniture was made in Malaysia but was repackaged to say made in USA; per military contract all goods must be made in the USA.) All-in-all a fascinating day. One I do not wish to have happen again honestly, but fascinating to be sure.

New snow and Perspective

Monday, February 27^th, 2012

      Uncertainty breeds erratic behavior. I'm not entirely sure about that, but not knowing if I am going to work or not certainly screws with my routine. Obviously I did not post the last few days because I did not, in fact, work. Instead, I enjoyed a wonderful weekend with my sweetheart doing things unrelated to getting paid. What a relief!

      In our last episode, I was conscripted into the heavy haul fleet as part of a nefarious scheme to take over the world. I stated in very clear terms that I would have no part of this twisted plot to add that much more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere by pulling heavier loads up really big hills, reducing fuel efficiency to about 2 miles per gallon. I think the idea is to hold the nation's supply infrastructure hostage to the trucking industry and ransom it for $100 billion. Oh wait, I guess that's already the case, but without the ransom.

      Today I walk into the office, checking in on my DM. Hew was out Friday, with what doctors allege is a ruptured ear drum. In his good ear. I have no proof of this physically, but one ear certainly was stuffed with cotton. He takes one look at me and says something about getting right on it. I was open to exploring the possibility of staying a bit longer (weekends off are quite novel for me!) but before I could say a word (that he could hear anyway) he was off and running setting events into motion that I had demanded last week from my previously limited perspective. I had no idea how powerful my words could be, almost as if they create the very fabric of reality, and bend situations to whatever I will.

      The overnight load down to Roseburg was taken off of my to do list. Instead, I was given a load to Fairchild AFB just outside of Spokane. I swear this town is stalking me. I've spent so much time here the last few months I wonder if I should get an apartment here (for people who may take the seriously... that was a joke). The road from Sumner to The Petro is now quite familiar to me, and probably to everyone else out there by now, so I won't be posting a map. Seems a bit of a waste.

      That said, the trip was beautiful, particularly the journey through the Cascades. It had been snowing in the pass for the last few days. At one point over the weekend, Snoqualmie was closed to all traffic, as road crews were performing avalanche abatement (no kidding!). In Sumner, the sun burst forth this morning, bathing everything in radiant warmth. Tiny rivers sprang up as snow and frost melted away from trailers and tractors alike. The sky was that beautiful blue we remember from childhood, mottled by sparse fluffy white clouds, hanging limply in the air, their fury spent. From the junction of WA-18 and I-90, the is a magnificent view of some serious mountains. Erect and proud, the stony mass was bedecked with new fallen snow. Pines laden with the white stuff dotted the hillsides, adding a rougher texture to the whole scene, like so much lime stucco sprayed haphazardly. This kind of snow cover severed to emphasize the contrasts more than I would have imagined. Every dark line stood out in stark relief. The south side of the hills saw a bit more melting action as the sun permeated the dense white masses resting upon the tree boughs. Evergreens dropped huge dollops of snow as they warmed in the light. Further away, one could see the subtle gradient of temperature and insolation as altitude increased. There is something very special about the day after the storm.

      Now back to world domination. Time to ship whatever it is to the military wing of our country.

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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Killing the mind killer.

Thursday, February 23^rd, 2012

      Excellent. Everything is is working order finally, and I have gotten to enjoy a couple extra days off due to the minor snafu. So I suppose things will readjust once more, as my life returns to a near continuous state of fluidity. Being on the road forces one to roll with the punches, as it were, taking whatever comes with the best one can offer.

      Speaking of punches, I was informed sometime yesterday morning that I am now part of a “surge” of trucks hauling heavy reefer loads out of Sumner. No, this has nothing to do with winning hearts and minds of some darker skinned people. Nor does it have anything to do with killing people. Directly anyway. Furthermore, this also has no involvement of trafficking illicit smoking substances from a shady place outside of Seattle. I'd just as soon not be shot at or hijacked thank you very much.

      Essentially, I was press-ganged into a regional job driving frozen foods to regional area wholesale stores. Stuff that will kill anyone eventually, probably from cholesterol or overdosing on preservatives. I went inside to visit with my DM and protest this new turn of events. Driving up and down mountains at 42 tons is all well and good, but there's so much more to see. Brian, my DM, went to speak with the terminal manager, but no dice. Brian came back to his desk with a resigned look on his face saying, “he doesn't so much ask as tell.”

      The only natural rebuttal to this is a telling of my own. I informed them that I will help out for no more than a week or I walk. I certainly meant it at the time. Now, I wonder if it was so much hot air. In all truth, I could go back to work for Gordon again, or even another company. So here I am, not quite in a dilemma, but not quite where I want to be.

      Having been away from the wheel for almost an entire week totally plays havoc with everything. I almost forgot how to plan a trip, or to even plan it period. My thought was to pick up early and get moving. Simple, but I would have run out of time without a reset in between. Bad news. I almost drove the entire load with a set of tandems 1000 pounds overweight. Had I hit an open scale before then, there could have been a hefty fine. Good thing I'm so lucky! Then there is the fuel gauge.

      Normally, a half tank should get one about 500 or so miles. The distance from Sumner to Spokane is all of 290(ish) miles. Good to go. Someplace east of Ellensburg (read: good fuel stop) that damned buzzer goes off, indicating that something is wrong. The fuel level is dropping precipitously. I've had this happen twice before (at Battle Mountain of course!) but was able to get fuel then and there. Not so lucky this time. I called in for a new fuel route, and got one. I was to fill in Spokane at the Petro. *Face-plam* I chose to take the risk, since the gauge went back up to someplace around a ¼ tank.

      There are lots of ups and downs between Ryegrass summit and exit 272. The fuel level dropped to “E” on two separate occasions. It bounced back up both times. It got to the point where I was watching the mpg display and cheering whenever it hit 10. One calculation after the other.... I only need 6 gallons of fuel.... now 10... back to 5. In the end, I pulled into Petro, and added 176 gallons to my tank. I'm not sure how much fuel I can hold, but 200 is the most likely limit, which translates into 190 gallons of usable fuel. A bit too close for my taste. Kinda like having a ¼ gallon left in your car.

      After this experience, I came away with a valuable insight. The opposite of fear is not courage. You see, courage is dependent upon fear for it's very existence. You cannot be courageous or brave unless you are facing a fear, thus engendering the fear itself. The fear is made into an object to be overcome. The true opposite of fear is trust. A simple knowing that you will make it, or get to where you need to be, or to find what you want out of life. For me, this will be a concept for me to integrate over time. I've spent so long being brave (or foolhardy) and fear is so pervasive in our culture, promoted by the media, because sensation sells. I like the idea of trusting more. So much gentler, indeed it can be the only way forward.

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Keeping my word from the last post.

Tuesday, February 21^st, 2010

      Well, that time has come again. Once more I cast off the vestiges of a normal life and continue gallivanting across the country side as only a person without a permanent address can do. Well, not just any person without an address, but a truck driver specifically.

      Would that this notion were true. Today I woke up early to make effective use of the public transportation afforded by living in the Sea-Tac metro area. Things went rather well. I got to the terminal early enough, only to find that they did not repair the one specific defect on my truck that I asked to have repaired. On the upside, they should get the part tomorrow. The downside of this is that the part will; not show up until 1500. The upside to the downside is that I will get paid shop pay. So I suppose things work out in the end.

      In light of this minor miscommunication, I will not be telling a funny story about today. Maybe a short ironic one about how I moved all of my stuff back into the same truck I cleaned out the other day, but minor details. Realisticly, I am postponing this blog until Thursday, at which point I should be rolling again. Until then, best wishes to all!

Do you have to be homeless to enjoy life?

Wednesday, February 15^th, 2012

      I learned some things today. I suppose I do every day really, but today I discovered that if you are away form your truck for more than 2 days at a terminal that one is obliged to clean it out. While it is not the end of the world, it poses a bit of an inconvenience for people who live out of their trucks, like me. So I will take all of my stuff out on Friday, then hope to have a truck on Tuesday to get rolling again. Maybe next time, I will take my home time at a truck stop or something, in an effort to keep from switching trucks. That is, if my next truck is pretty sweet.

      I believe I will attempt to continue with yesterday's thought. Elaborating upon a single moment, perhaps finding the sublime therein.

      Today's moment was a bit longer than usual. Having the need to take care of small matters, I found myself in the town of Sumner. It really is a town, instead of a city. It has a cute downtown area, with a large industrial park on the north end, which is where the terminal resides. Along the walk into town, there is a bridge that crosses over a swift moving current. The water is a clean dark blue, mixed with some brown of local sediments. The deep banks are festooned with himalayan blackberries, and invasive species according to most. I see some serious bank stabilization and wildlife habitat instead, maybe even a potential food source come this summer. A tiny brown bird flits from stem to stem, tweeting in the most endearing manner. I make a feeble attempt to communicate with it, but who knows how close I come to mimicking the call. More to the point, how annoying would it be if someone just repeated what you said right back at you the whole time? I wonder if birds get frustrated in trying to communicate with humans. Has anybody even deciphered their complex language? Probably somebody out there. But not me. I silence myself, and find contentment in watching the water flow gently. The eddies and ripples form a kind of chaotic mosaic on the water's surface. Little bubbles from who knows where drift and spin lazily along the shoreline, picking up speed as they find their way into the main channel.

       I'm content to watch this all day, but duty calls. I'm at the post office, registering for a P.O. box. It is so much nicer having a mailbox close to the terminal. Happily, it is a quiet time of day, late morning, when all the “normal” people are at some kind of job or something. I hand the form to the clerk. He looks at me and asks, “So, are you just kind of 'living the life'?” I explain to him that I drive trucks for Swift, which is just down the road. He takes my 2 forms of I.D. and goes off to make copies. Upon his return, I ask him to give me an honest answer to my question. “Do I look like a homeless person?” He kind laughs and says, “yes, you look like a few of the homeless people that have come through here recently.” Not taking offense, I joke that the mustache is coming off after I get a picture of the waxed handlebars.

      Maybe it was the two knit hats on my head. Perhaps it was the scruff on the edges of my facial topiary. Perhaps it was the two layers of hoodies. Maybe I just kind of belong here. So in the meanwhile, I am calling some people to cancel the junk mail that is destined for my box, as the clerk recommended. While on the phone, I get smiles from local citizens, assuring me that while I may look homeless to some, I look friendly enough to be smiled at. That works for me.

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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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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Excellence is a habit.

Wednesday, February 8^th, 2012

      Do the right thing. Yes, I am aware that this is a movie title. No, I have not seen it. In spite of this, I know it to be one of the truths in life. In whatever you choose to do, choose excellence. Treat every task as if it were sacred and deserving of your full attention. Admittedly, this is easier to say than to practice, but excellence becomes a habit after a while, like anything else. That said, it will sometimes bite you in the ass if you have expectations of getting things done.

      To wit, I started my day early, to get the load to Usk. I figured that somebody would be ready to snatch it up in a heartbeat, so I moved as quick as I could, because I've been the guy waiting for someone else to show up. Happily that was not the case. Even better, I got to drive some roads I've not been on before. North of Spokane is a big plot of farmland, some of it for sale. Cool and all, but not what I am looking for in a location or climate. If I want snowy winters I'll just go back to Central New York honestly. Further afield, the land becomes more akin to Flagstaff's climate, dry-ish with fire loving pine trees. Well, maybe they don't LOVE fire, but it helps them reproduce, particularly Ponderosa pines.

      So I get to the mill, and drop my trailer, switching it out for a loaded one heading to Sacramento. In some ways, this is cool, because the load is routed along the East side of the Cascades instead of down I-5. Not entirely new, but anything south of Klamath Falls is new territory. US-97 goes from there to Weed, CA; this is a seldom traveled path. Hooking up to the trailer, I see the tandems are too far back for California. They have a bridge law stating that the center of the rear axle can be no further than 40' from the center of the kingpin (the bit that connects the two units). SO I go to slide the tandems, but it is one of those trailers. One that has been so well worn and used that the pins have smooshed the metal around the holes and they tend to stick. Out comes the hammer. Twenty minutes of wrestling and pounding iron later, I'm almost ready to go.

      Having gotten the load scaled, I see that the trailer door does not seal properly. I call it in, since a leaking trailer would be very expensive if say, a roll of newsprint were to get wet. So I phone it in (hehe) and i am told to go to the Petro in Spokane, because it looked to me like a trailer door seal was missing. Should be a quick fix.

      After an hour of pulling 45000 pounds up and down hills, through roundabouts four lane highways and all sorts of traffic lights, I get to the Petro. Pull up to the service bays, and check in. I get in line, and wait. Then I wait some more. Two hours have gone by, and I'm still waiting. After a bit more waiting, I get into one of the bays, only to find out that the trailer seals are fine. The header is bent. (a header is the bar that goes across the rear top part of the trailer) Looks lie someone backed into a light pole or something. There's even a hasty-looking repair in the center of the roof, right by the header, and it turns out that it leaks. So the people at Petro can't do anything about it.

      Like a fool in a hurry, I take off down the road. A few miles later, I get a message saying to take the trailer to a repair shop in town. Turning around, I arrive in town, and have the trailer shop guys look at it. (as an aside, Spokane is growing on me, I'm really enjoying all the people I meet here) One guy comes out, looks at it and starts swearing. Not in an angry way, more in a “how the heck did they not fix this right, and this is going to be long and expensive,” way. We go in and get another guy and they come out with the camera taking a couple pictures.

      The company gets called, and at first they are quick to respond. Sadly that did not remain the case, when I told them I was running out of time to drive somewhere safe. In the end, I still have the damaged trailer, with the leaky bit downhill, just in case. The doors still do not shut properly, and I have no idea what I am going to do with this load. I suppose I'll see in the morning. Had I not said anything, chances are that the load would have been just fine. I could be in Biggs, Oregon by now, hanging out in the Gorge, getting ready for the south bound leg tomorrow. I'm just trying to do my job, and part of that is keeping the fleet in good shape. I am starting to feel that not many people think that way, hence all these trailer issues I've been having lately. Ah well. Maybe next time I'll just deal and get paid instead.

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It's called micro-sleeping, and it happens

Tuesday, February 7^th, 2012

      Well, haven't had a day this long in a while. In some ways it is gratifying to work so hard. That said, I'm pooped.

      I started my day sometime around 0400, backing into the dock in Kennewick. I was a bit dismayed that they started 15 minutes late, but a circumstance beyond my control. Seriously. I could go and ask them to get to my trailer, but as a rule, this does not work. It would be like me coming into your office and telling you how to do your job. It fosters resentment and more importantly, delay.

      That 15 minutes set the day into a spin. Okay, to be fair the planner planned the stops at an average speed of 60 mph. Considering that the truck's top speed is 62, averaging 60 mph is more likely over long distances, instead of short 60 mile hops.

      The fog lasted for forty miles this morning. On the plus side, it broke for a few minutes, giving me time to watch the moon set beyond the distant hills. The Union Gap store was more or less timely, but apparently they need an auditor to count the diapers specifically. Really? Just the diapers? (that is what my truck was loaded with). And was she counting each package?

      The drive up to East Wenatchee is amazing! For some of it, you drive along the mighty Columbia, where the river has carved its way through layers of columnar basalt and undulating hills. By this time though, I was rather tired. I've not been sleeping too well of late, and it is starting to catch up to me. At one point, I lost consciousness for a brief moment, but the resulting adrenaline was more than sufficient to get me to my next stop. Seriously, I had no idea I was so tired. Perhaps this is me not having coffee this morning. I don't think I even risk that again, at least not until after I take a serious sleep.

      Arriving at the final stop half an hour late was actually pretty good considering the planning and delays at the previous stops. I pulled my truck in to the dock I was instructed to, had a quick bite, then went back in. I was also informed to relax, since it would be a while. I did so, and watched the hustle and bustle for a bit. For some reason, I decided to lay my head against the filing cabinet that was so conveniently next to the waiting chair. I was conscious to a point. I could hear the fork lifts motoring about. I could feel that my mouth was open and that i was drooling a bit. What I didn't know was how long they needed to finish unloading. I awoke abruptly to the guy at the desk saying, “Driver! You're good to go.” Scared the pants off me.

      Then I was racing back to Selah, a town just north of Union Gap and Yakima to pick up some juice. Knowing I would be late, I phoned in and was told to show up when I can. Instead of at noon, I show up at 1315, just like I predicted. I check-in, get my affairs in order, open the bay door, put the ramp down, sweep out my trailer... then wait. I sat for at least half an hour in the warehouse waiting for someone to load my truck. I'm actually one of the lucky ones. A regular was saying that some guys wait a lot longer than that for missing their appointments.

      I've learned a bunch today. First of all, always do the math on runs with multiple stops. Or on any runs really. I also learned how to fill an airbag today at the shipper's in Selah. That was pretty cool. Nice people there, a bit coarse for my taste, but nice enough. I'd print some of the things they said here, but I don't think it bears repeating. At least they seem happy.

      So now I'm in George, Washington. Seriously. Brilliant plan guys! Maybe I should check out the intestinal buffet. Oh. No buffet. There is, however, a killer taco truck. I knew I made the right choice to stop here when I saw the taco truck. Good times! It was either here or Moses Lake. I doubt Moses Lake has a taco truck at their truck stop. So now I'll sleep in George, then head to Usk in the morning. Where do people come up with this stuff? 

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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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