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In the 16 months I spent “Over the Road” there were more than a few trucks that left that road to be seen along the way.  I managed to photograph only a few.  A few readers have asked how  I got these photos while driving.  Most of them were taken while sitting still in the resulting traffic jam.  A few were taken out the window with eyes on the road.  I’d click off a dozen or so blind shots and pick the good one later.  As you will see, sometimes there was not a “good one”.

(Please note that these photos were safely taken while stopped dead in the resulting traffic jams!)

Wisconsin

This victim had to be in Wisconsin.  I say that because of the red barn.  

You see that the axles are separated singles, not tandems.  That is generally to meet bridge weight limits on secondary roads.

The Crimson Cowsheds are so common in Wisconsin that I made a montage of same.  You will note the renegade blue barn at lower right.

Wyoming

This one was on I-80, east of Cheyenne.  It was probably not a blow over – unless perhaps from the  afternoon before.  The weather was calm when I passed – as it tends to be in the morning. 

On a later trip through Wyoming, I was called from Cheyenne to swap out with another driver at Rowling.  The trip started badly with the trailer being blown around with ever-increasing intensity. The wind was picking up quickly and the weather radio was talking about 45 mph gusts at Rowling.  I noticed all the windmills were locked down, motionless and the programable warning signs had the message “Extreme Blow Over Risk”.  I finally had to put myself and my empty trailer on weather standby when I could not maintain my lane. There was plenty of company at the parking pull-out that exists for just such occasions.  It was there that I noticed that my passenger-side neighbor had a cat in his cab.

Many drivers have their “mascots” but 99% are dogs.  Over-the-Road life gets surreally solitary.  I could put up with it because I am a loner by nature and writing kept me sane – well…almost.

.My wife offered me the “middle cat”, Pepper, who likes to get in the car.  But, I could not imagine walking a cat around a truck stop on a leash for “ablutions” – especially this particular cat.

    I had the distinct feeling that this swap was with another sane driver who pulled off in Rowling with a full trailer to avoid the same windstorm.  While I waited for dusk and the calm that usually comes then, the gusts increased to 65 mph.  When finally I could roll – without rolling over – the swap had been cancelled.  I was sent instead to Nebraska for a load that I would pull right back across Wyoming the next day.

    That day the warnings were less extreme (just “Blow Over Risk” – no extremities).  My full load kept me grounded, but even so, there were two rigs on their sides by the road.  Neither had seals or locks on their back doors – a sure sign they were both empty. 

This is the second one over by the Utah border.  It had been put back on to its wheels (although still listing precipitously to the right) by a heavy duty wrecker that was just hooking up to tow it away. 

Tennessee

 Blow Over is not the only risk.  In crossing Tennessee (the short way), this scene appeared 

The trucks in the foreground had no doubt stopped to help.  Every rig has at least one fire extinguisher.  It looks like a Schneider (orange) box van on fire. 

As I passed, the rise in the median intervened and little but smoke and flames were visible.

Oklahoma

This Volvo with its flatbed was the worst accident I managed to photograph.  It had apparently crossed opposing traffic and rolled completely over on its cargo.  The cab was crushed and I could not see how a driver might have survived this. 

Dallas

This was all that was left of one of those Black Company tractors.  I am not ever sure of the make.  They brought it back to Purgatory to use as a visual aid in Safety Class.  All the students were marched out past this and lectured by an instructor as a part of a cautionary tale.

The driver had been “facetiming” with his girlfriend when he blundered into a family in a rented motor home.  Ironically, they had been taking it easy in the slow lane for safety.  Both the tractor and the motor home burned to the ground.  Incredibly, no one was killed or injured.

About the time of the 35^th anniversary of said Company, there was a commemorative trailer painted with celebratory murals brought around to this “gathering point” (there are food trucks behind the photographer) and the poor burnt-to-a-crisp tractor was relegated to a back lot where it would not dampen the spirit.

Hasta Luego,

Steve

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The St Louis Arch is a reminder that the Peace of the Open Road will come to an end in Memphis tomorrow afternoon and the next day that “grim obligation” returns.

 Walkabout convention:  When you see text like this in italics it means that I am speaking in the moment of the date and place of the subtitle.  When the text is like this I am speaking of another time or place or both.

Loves Truck Stop, Interstate 29, exit 44  St. Joseph, Missouri – September 9, 2017

Tomorrow will be the fourth day of driving from Wallula, Washington to Memphis, Tennessee.  These are the most pleasant of times, when the toil of obtaining or liberating a cargo is absent from the list of exasperating tasks that must be fulfilled in a day’s work.  There is only the highway and most of it is in the most agreeable form – the open road. 

The Pacific Northwest is blessed with long stretches of highway that seem to go on eternally and present the observer with vast tableaus of intricate, awe-inspiring landscape.  To amble through this wonderland for days – without the grim obligation of mucking about in yards, wrangling trailers and dealing with guards and clerks – is a pleasure that transcends the mundane toil of what is a demanding and unrewarding occupation.

 To amble through this wonderland…

Pilot Truck Stop, Interstate 20, exit 26  Atlanta, Georgia – September 12,  2017

Tropical Storm Irma has become a blob of rain and wind and I am somewhere near its center. There is only a constant drizzle this morning that replaces the steady downpour in which I found Atlanta. 

The truck stop was level one full when I arrived – meaning that all the “designated” parking was taken and not likely to change.  Level two was just beginning, which means that the “outliers” were finding the unofficial spaces where they won’t be in the way of commerce, i.e., not blocking the entrance, exit, fuel islands.  Your Humble Narrator found a really good spot over near – but separated from –  the automobile gas pumps.  I was worried that I would be asked to move, but that was purely paranoia of a person that does not often break rules.  Now that I awake, there are trucks parked beside me that begin to encroach upon the entrance.  No one is blocked, you understand, but every truck now entering is inconvenienced and has to carefully avoid my late-arriving neighbors.  After this “late stage two” comes stage three where emergency measures are in effect and trucks impede traffic, ignore no parking signs and pavement markings and occupy public street-sides to the point of impeding traffic.  I have only seen that once, in Ontario, Oregon where I was “snowed in” for about 30 hours.  You won’t hear about these parking “levels” anywhere else, because I just made up the system.  I think three levels are about appropriate, with the third being open-ended to include complete paralysis of traffic (a la Ontario) at its most extreme.

The delivery in Memphis went particularly well.  The staff at the receiver was polite, efficient and helpful.  The road to Atlanta was mostly unobstructed, but the rain began at Birmingham, Alabama and intensified steadily until it was the aforementioned “steady downpour” at Atlanta with wind gusts of an estimated 30 miles per hour.

The time has come to prepare for departure.  I deliver a second installment here in Atlanta and then on to Fort Mills, South Carolina and the Final.

Receivers Staging Lot, Atlanta, Georgia – September 12,  2017 – 9:22 AM

After five days of enjoyable driving, it is time to pay the piper with some uncompensated misery.  Arriving at 4:30 AM for a 6:00 AM appointment, we find a queue of trucks at the entrance.  I fall in line behind the last of them and wait.  I call the contact number and get voice mail where I leave my name, company, load number and phone.  Eventually, patience runs out and I walk to the gate, only to find another driver who also walked in.  No trace of any gate guards or receiving clerks.  Eventually, one of many autos entering stops to talk to the groups of drivers now numbering four.  Word is: after Six, if nobody shows up, enter the yard and pull up to the next gate. 

So, then we are lined up outside the next gate and I wander around looking for someone in authority, then give up and go back to the truck.  I call the contact number and leave another voice mail.  Finally the line starts to move and when we arrive at the front, I get out – bills in hand, safety vest on and they tell me to wait in the truck.  Ten minutes later the same guy tells me to go park down there and wait in the truck.  An hour later, I call  the contact number and leave another voice mail – and an hour after that, I opt for the operator, who passes my call to Tweedledee, who passes my call to Tweedledum who passes my call to voicemail. A call to the Company is next, just so they can share the pain. Grim thoughts and depression begin to consume the day.

Finally, I decide it’s time to do some writing – another uncompensated activity but far more satisfying – and a lumper shows up at the door to tell me to back into door 345.  Odd how that works.

Backing into doors has become less traumatic and this one – despite being a tight fit between a trailer and a full semi – is done with a minimum of trouble.  A message to the Company for the authorization of a lumper fee is completed and a check written.  The trailer is already gyrating with unloading activity.

You see how the mood has shifted from the open road to grubbing around in a Receiver’s yard!

Pilot Truck Stop, Interstate 70 exit 188 Warrenton, Missouri – September 14, 2017

I passed road cuts in both North Carolina and Tennessee that looked like Black Marine Shale, or something similar.   My presentation “Energy, Oil, Gas and Shale” includes a list of shale plays in the US that lists the Chatanooga Shale in Tennessee and the Cumnock Shale in North Carolina.  Whether these were the formations I glimpsed is unknown, but possible.  After all, I re-discovered the Utica Shale while passing through Midstate New York.

I will look these up when I have a good internet connection.

A preliminary search reveals that both the Chatanooga and  Cumnock formations have been drilled and assessed to be productive sources of Natural Gas.  My impression is that the economics of both are as yet marginal – depending as they do on the price of Natural Gas.  Comments that a rise in the price of Natural Gas would stimulate activity and prosperity were common to the articles I read.  It occurs to me that both these and many others such plays should soon profit from the advancing technological advances in efficiency of NG production.  That would transcend the question of rising prices.

Houston Base (the kitchen table) – October 5, 2017

Once again, I am “at liberty”.  That’s a thirties era expression for unemployed.  Let’s call this a Leave of Absence.

I am, however, reunited with my long-suffering family. My health is recovering from the constant stress of non-stop driving and I get to go swimming every day again.

The job market seems to have improved.  I say “seems” because I am applying to jobs that match my experience very well.  None of them yet have even called me back for an interview and, as usual there is no address for a follow-up.  I’ll try to track down some humans to speak to at these places, but they prefer to hide behind job web sites.  At least one job disappeared and then re-appeared, so I applied to it again.  I had expected to get a message to the effect that I had applied already, but it went straight through to “submitted”.  Perhaps this is their strategy to weed out the less desperate.

One application came with a word problem math test.  They trick the questions up.  For example, with changes in units like days, hours, weeks and “two-week periods” all in the same problem.  And one question about income from customers said “they get 7 customers every month, starting with 10 in the first month.”  This is a set-up to assume that they mean seven MORE customers every month.  But that is not what that sentence says.  So, I suspect that the total number of customers in a year is 87, not the 495 that accumulation would suggest.  The question is ambiguous and requires an assumption.  Bastards. Software managers – but I repeat myself.

 It was a timed test as well, not allowing for the contemplation that revealed the deception.  I expect I did better than most would, but it has been years…alright decades…since I have dealt with such “trip-you-up” exam vultures as these.  If they do offer me a job, I will double my very meager and desperate salary request, just to compensate me for having to work with such Smart-Asses.   

Back to the Walkabout now

There were some dastardly receiving yards in the last weeks that tried my nerves.  One, in particular assigned me a parking spot (number 253) where I was bound to insert my empty trailer before I could hook the loaded one to actually go out and earn money.  The montage below shows the passenger side (L) and drivers side (R) when finally I managed to make the empty fit into the space – well over one hour later.

Montage of Empty Slot Number 253

I was fortunate to capture a yard worker on the passenger side for to give some idea at the scale.  You will notice that the man’s head would not fit between the trailers.  Yes, I left more space on the driver’s side and drivers will know why.  I have to squeeze my XL body into that gap to crank down the landing gear and pull the fifth-wheel latch to disconnect the trailer.  My head HAS to fit between those two trailers.  It was – just barely – possible.  The Yard tractor has a hydraulic lift that can do without these activities.  And before I get through complaining – there were trailers across the way that made a “straight-line backup” impossible.  I TURNED the trailer into this space – backward while looking in a mirror, people!  I will remind you of what I have said many times.  This activity I do FOR FREE, just so I can get back on the road and actually earn money!  I won’t tell you who this yard owner is because they might sue me for revealing how they abuse the people who carry their stuff.

P.S.  Don’t worry TVS – I’ll keep it “civil” for your article.  🙂

Over-the-Road,

Steve

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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:

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

The Garage Area

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

  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.

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

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:

Wyoming Border with Utah

Geology in Abundant Evidence at Interstate 84, Oregon

Irrigation Turns this Arid Part of Oregon Green

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.

What 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.

The 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.

In 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

Smoky 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