Houston Soaking, Oregon Burning

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Pilot Travel Center Interstate 84, exit 104, Biggs, Oregon – September 4, 2017

My “hot spot” fails to connect and I can’t read my email. I’ve been in the truck too long, so I meander in looking for that standard driver’s lounge with twelve big easy chairs and tables with barstools near a set of wall plugs in a large, quiet private room.  I am seated in the combination storeroom, phone booth, shower waiting room, hallway to the showers.  There are four “upright” chairs(no tables) across from a wall-mounted television stuck on lame sports commentary, overridden on occasion with announcements like “Shower guest number 41, your shower is now ready.  Please proceed to shower 3.”

.  A “Team Member” set up that card table and made some posters while shower guests, vendors (many of them  pushing those plastic wheeled carts that make such a Hellish racket on the tile and mortar floor) and the guy with the floor broom marched in and out. After the third time that I had to pull my knees out of the way, I thought maybe McDonalds would have a better place to hang around in the range of the free indoor wifi.  I was wrong.  While there was a booth near a wall plug, the flies formed a defensive barrier that effectively prevented occupation. 

The “New Reality” of the Drivers’ Lounge

My appeal for photos of the “Harvey Effect” has had limited response so far.  The First Mate has a few worthy images:

Harvey_BigHouseDownstream from the “Controlled Release” Includes Some High-end Housing.

Harvey_Garage (2).jpgThe Garage Area

The SUV has its head above water, but the sedan with the sunroof is down hard.

 MarielenasHouse (2)

  The former resident of this house was the First Mate’s guest for a few days.

My Cousin sent a photo by her friend, from the recent Solar Eclipse.  It is a little-known fact that the multitude of small gaps in a tree’s shadow act like pinhole cameras and cast images of the partial eclipse.  This is abundantly clear in the image below.

EclipseTree

Eclipse Images Cast by the Small Gaps in a Tree’s Shadow

20170821_113941 

Dwyer Base (the Rest Area), Interstate 25 exit 92, Wyoming and Distant Trees

I was surprised to find photo evidence some trees around the spot where we saw the eclipse. These were imports – that part of Wyoming is near-treeless. No one thought to go look at their shadows, however.

The landscape gets interesting around the Western end of Wyoming, as seen below:

UT_GeologyWyoming Border with Utah

OR_GeologyGeology in Abundant Evidence at Interstate 84, Oregon

OR_Irrigation.jpg

 

Irrigation Turns this Arid Part of Oregon Green

 OR_Orchards

Orchards Stand out in What is Otherwise Ranchland and Irrigated Crops.

They look like birch trees, but I ain’t no expert.

I’ll look up what sort of trees are worth the effort in irrigation and patience to grow, here.  I have lost the internet again as I move to the relative luxury of the truck cab again.  Sitting here on the bunk and writing has the effect of putting the following thought in my mind:

“I could use a nap just now”.

I like to watch Netflix until I fall asleep.  With that not possible, I fall back on a few DVDs I have brought along for that very purpose.  Ice Station Zebra ought to do it.  This Nuclear Submarine Drama of the late sixties is one of the last “Old School” epic pictures.  It has a complete inventory of orchestral music, in classical Overture, Intermission and Epilog segments as well as deep moody themes in all the scenes.  Ernest Borgnine put in one of his best performances (in my humble opinion) as a Russian counterspy.   Patrick McGoohan was hopelessly typecast in those days as a Secret Agent (see the TV series “Secret Agent” and “the Prisoner”), but does a superb job as “Jones” nonetheless.  Rock Hudson does not disappoint as the Captain. Scenes of the sub and arctic ice are overwhelmingly realistic.

So, lie back in the sleeper  berth and enjoy, Ice Station Zebra…if only for a few, drowsy minutes before slumber.

 

UT_MUDFLAPWhat Happens When You Back a Trailer Up Over a Curb

The mud flap is low enough to be caught by the tire, if the curb is high enough.  This one was.   From then it is just a matter of inches until the weighty trailer yanks off a half-inch thick rubber mat with eight or ten big bolts holding it on.

 

 

 

Climb Mount Hood!

Sitting in a Door at the receiver in Clackamas, Oregon September 5, 2017

The day began routinely enough as I visited the Truck Stop facilities before starting the pre-trip inspection.  I noticed on the way back that the moon was red and took a photo.

OregonRedMoon.jpgThe Red Moon – the camera fails as a witness.

I should have remembered the last time I have seen a red moon.  Once, when Number One Son was still less than five feet tall, I saw such a moon when crop burn-off in Mexico had sent Houston a direct stream of smoke.  That time, even the Sun was reddened in the middle of the day.  It means that there is a big fire somewhere and it turned out to be a fire where I was supposed to be going.  A major wildfire in the Oregon Gorge – which includes the Columbia river and Interstate 84.  Just a score of miles passed before there was a big LED sign flashing letters that spell – alternately – the words “All Trucks”  and “EXIT”.

Once again, the photo does not do justice to the actual view.  It was, to the eye, much closer to the red of that trailer in the foreground.  The point remains that I should have known that there was a fire in the area.  Not that it would have changed anything.  I still had to get there.

The detour signs directed all of us across the river to Washington and a pitiful little highway with one lane each way and no shoulders.  Winding up and down the hills and passing through small towns were eating up my two-hour cushion of time, but I might still make it on time.

Detours are notoriously hazardous.  All it takes is one mistake to set me up for a colossal faux pas. A yellow diamond shaped sign tells me the clearance of bridges and tunnels and here’s one that says 12’ 6”.  That will not do.  Decelerating madly, I spot another sign, this time on the other side of the road that says 13’ 3”.  While that is indeed better, just better does not suffice.  I need 13’ 6” or forget it.  We are relieved to find these are two sides of an arched tunnel.  Emergency flashers on and we take our half from the middle.  By “we” I refer to myself and the truck.  Alas, our fates are indeed linked.

Later comes a fork in the road and a decision to be made:  A 12’ 10” bridge or a 9’ lane width drawbridge.  No contest!  The truck is a bit more than 8 feet wide.  Nearly six inches of clearance on both sides!  Looxury!  Looxury!

It turns out to be a toll bridge.  There is a pre-pass lane but it quaintly refuses to recognize my pre-pass that is valid (quite literally) everywhere else in the Continental United States and walk over to the cash-only lane.  There, I make it a point to show a couple of credit cards and the one dollar in cash in my wallet that is insufficient by the sum of $4.  I offer to look through my laundry change to see if I can come up with it.  By this time they are anxiously eyeing the gathering traffic and the Spirit  of Christmas overcomes them.  My dollar and I are excused.

The toll bridge leads back to Interstate 84.  The joyous reunion is short-lived as both West-bound lanes are barricaded at the very next exit which leads to a roadway that deceptively resembles an access road.  Indeed, the masquerade is shattered only by the sign reading “Dead End”.  The part they forgot to add to the text is “…Now That It Is Too Damned Late”! There is no option left but to continue and look for a parking lot with sufficient space to turn around.  The lone candidate is a motel where only by backing in off the road will it be possible to turn around…but unfortunately illegal and dangerous.

Your Captain knows that his fate is sealed now.  And, indeed we find the End of the Road with a parking area that is 12 feet (paced off on foot) too narrow to turn the Beached Whale around.  There is a Ford Explorer there just to add insult to injury.  The sign on the nicely appointed building reads “Intertribal Commission for Wildlife Management”.  Did I mention the Yakama Indian Reservation?

A very patient Gentleman (we will call him the Game Warden) a bit older than Your Humble Narrator shows up for work a bit early.  He is nonplussed to find the Beached Whale and myself.

“Happens all the Time.”, says he.

You see the Irony, don’t you?  It happens all the time but nobody ever does anything about it like put a sign back BEFORE the Too Late Point.  And now that all traffic is diverted off the Interstate, nobody managed to put a “Detour” sign there, either.  A great deal of concern has been misspent, not only here but across this Great Land with telling trucker that their fate is sealed.  And so little trouble is spent avoiding same.

Don’t tell us we are in the WRONG place and trapped!

Tell us the RIGHT place to go!

Don’t tell us where NOT to park!

Tell us WHERE to Park!

 

The Game Warden calls the Sherriff.  He has the number on speed dial.  Deputy shows up to find an Apologetic and Humbled Captain.  As he is telling me that the turn-around is right back there at Illegal Dangerous Turnaround Motel, the clearance lights of another semi show in the distance.  Captain Walkabout is now relieved to have company in his misery.  And, he reminds the Deputy that when you open a door and a dog runs out, the first thing on your mind should be not to get the dog back – but to close that accursed door!  He did depart at that moment to go and close the road.

When finally the turnaround is accomplished (it is not illegal as long as the Deputy is present), I ask specifically how to get to Portland.  You see, no one has told me this yet!  They only told me where NOT to go.  Actually, in this last case, they told me where I SHOULD NOT have GONE. 😉

“Go over the Mountain on Highway 35 to 26.”

The route is Highway 35 to Highway 26 – through the Mt Hood Scenic Byway.  I have a few pictures.  As usual, the best views were where one dare not take photos – the better to maintain the death grip on the steering wheel.

OregonMtHoodRoadRiverIn Mount Hood National Forrest

All was well until a look in the rear-view revealed smoking brakes.  There are tur-outs on downhill grades for just such emergencies and we found one.  After setting up reflectors behind the truck and watchfully waiting – fire extinguisher in hand – until the smoke cleared,  I still smelled smoke.  I take pride in the short period that puzzlement ensued before I remembered that I was in this predicament because of a Forest Fire.

Having arrived at the end of my directions, I had only to find a way behind a locomotive and a high chain link fence to arrive at the true destination.  I ask at the Wrong Place how to get there and a Comedian tells me “You Can’t Get There From Here!”.

He don’t know who he’s dealing with!  (You see, “It Happens All The Time” here, as well.)

“I know!”, says an enthusiastic Captain Walkabout (that’s me), “I just PROVED it!”.

The comedian is amused and shows me on a map the Truck Rodeo Stunts that I must accomplish to enter his yard , snake around all the obstacles and leave again.

So, I drive around the wrong way, on the wrong street to the wrong address to find the true destination.  They have re-scheduled me to “three hours from now”.  Fine by me, but I’m going to miss the appointment for their sister installation in Seattle – I inform.  They reschedule me to avoid that and unload their portion of the cargo in time to get to Washington before my 14 hours are up.  After all the long ordeal and a great deal of effort, we will accomplish the deliveries on the appointed day!

As I’m leaving, the Company calls to tell me that they have rescheduled the Seattle appointment for tomorrow.  So much for “a great deal of effort”.

 

Receiver’s Yard, Kent, Washington September 6, 2017

The warehouseman is trying desperately to have someone make a decision on what to do about an extra pallet of stuff.  While it might not sound like much, a half a ton of meat is worth thousands of dollars and is not something you toss off. I have been trapped like a fly  in amber here for three hours after the trailer has emptied.  They have even let me leave the door and park over in the corner.  I have another appointment tomorrow in the morning and Wallula WA remains 243 miles away as my drive clock ism at 6 hours 51 minutes and counting down.  If I can get there tonight, I can look forward to at least 2000 miles.  Not if I have to sit here much longer.

Rest Area Interstate 15 exit 369, Ogden, Utah September 8, 2017

The  delivery was finally accomplished and I arrived at the new shipper just in time to take a ten hour break before starting the journey from Washington to Tennessee.  They had warned that the load was forward-heavy and might be illegal.  I adjusted the trailer wheels to their forward limit and , when scaled, the drive axles passed muster with a few hundred pounds to spare. (33350 vs 34000 limit).  I took up most of those with fuel and when weighed later in Idaho, the scale had me a 33700 on the drives.  Still legal, if only just.  A fat co-driver would have put me over.

The drive out of Washington found the sky still clouded with smoke and the sun reddened noticeably in the middle of the day.

Over

OregonRRedSunEnhanced.jpgSmoky Skies and Red Sun While Departing Washington

I have shamelessly “enhanced” this photo to resemble more my actual impression at the time.  The “real” picture simply did not convey the feeling.

Now it is late and I must sleep for I will be 600 miles East before tomorrow is done.

Over The Road,

Steve

 

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