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Marooned in a Freight Yard in Chicago August 10, 2017

I have been away from the keyboard for a while. I am currently awaiting a load and have been for nine hours now.   

Yesterday I was deep in the Chicago Permanent Traffic Jam delivering to a warehouse when the call came to clear out to a “safe haven”.  The warehouse yard disallows parking and my 14 hour clock had run out waiting for their “Logistic Service” to unload my  trailer.   So, now I am cast out to seek refuge in a tollway  “Oassis” which is the nearest “safe haven”.  I can run for fifty minutes of “Off Duty Driving” to get there.  It is only ten and a fraction miles from the warehouse – so no sweat, right?  I mean, after all I only have to average a bit more than ten miles per hour to make it in time, right?

Did I mention the Permanent Chicago Traffic Jam?  Yes, I have “Violated hours of service” yet again at the specific direction of my employer.  I don’t know what to think of my Federal driving log record.  I don’t want to point fingers at the employer advice like “…some drivers would violate hour to make the load on time”.  So, I won’t – not now, at least.

No wonder why all the companies are looking for drivers.  The drivers seem to get “used up” and – I expect – “thrown away” at some point.  Again, I won’t go into that now.  Buy the book.

Real Life Interrupts…my load is ready 2 hours early.

Backed In at a Receiver in Rock Rapids, Iowa

The voyage to this place was exceptionally pleasant, after Chicago, of course.  The roads were mostly in good repair and sparsely-traveled.  The weather was fine with occasional light rain.  I enjoyed some crop duster aerobatics and a beautiful sunset.  Upon arrival, I passed the place since it was not where they said it would be and labeled with the wrong name.  Since there was only wilderness beyond, I circled around through town again and pulled into the “wrong” place anyway.  A phone call to Dispatch confirmed that the wrong place was the place to be.

 

The majesty of the that particular Sunset was lost to photography.  This is a bite out of a horizon-to-horizon spectacle.  It fails dismally to convey the beauty eye-witnessed.

Alas, none of the crop-duster’s performance was captured.  The camera on my phone is all but unusable and I am lucky to get what you see.  At one point he flew across the highway no more than 200 feet in front of the truck, at an altitude less than 100 feet.

“Sliding the Tandems”

I have mentioned before that the load on a big combination vehicle is legally required to certain maximum loading on each axle or pair of axles.  Consider that a fifty-three foot trailer is about the size of a studio apartment and can be loaded in all sorts of odd ways.  That can leave the majority of weight on one of the two clusters of 8 wheels called “tandems”.  Technically, they are dual axle tandems.  To review: The term “dual” means that the wheels come in side-by-side pairs.  The “tandem” part is the front-to-back pairing of dual wheeled axles.  So, if you  are keeping track, a “dual axle tandem” amounts to eight wheels.

The limits for each dual tandem set of axles are as follows:

12000 pounds for the steering axle – those two single wheels in the front of the tractor

34000 pounds for the drive tandem – the other eight wheels on the tractor.

34000 pounds for the trailer tandem – the eight wheels on the trailer.

That last tandem is the one that moves to allow balancing of the load.  After all the references to this in past posts, I thought it would be appropriate to present the idea graphically:

Above: This is how  the shippers and receivers want the trailer configured for loading and unloading.  Why? Because heavy forklifts go in and out and need the support of the wheels at the door.

Below:  This would be the configuration for a load that is heavily biased toward the front.  Sliding the trailer tandem forward takes weight off the drive axles.

The transition is accomplished by releasing the tandems (via an air-switch mounted between or in front of the driver’s of the trailer axles) and pushing the trailer back over the sliding attachment.  The driver makes a guess at where exactly the axles should be based on nothing much more than a weight on the paperwork and maybe a glimpse at the cargo before the doors are closed.  After loading, the next destination is always a Certified Scale where the axle weights are determined and adjustments are made before proceeding through the multitude of State Department of Transportation “gotcha” scales that you guys ignore, but to which we drivers pay close attention.  When open, those scales demand Compliance (exactly as demanding and unforgiving as it sounds) from all passing trucks.

 Hiding the “Beached Whale” on a Dead End Street in North Texas – August 14, 2017

After fueling and scaling this new load  (bound for Illinois) there was little drive time and little or nothing in the way of rest areas or truck stops in reach.  The Pilot where I fueled was overflowing, as was the Loves across the highway.  There was a Walmart, but the lack of trucks in their parking lot was a giveaway that they don’t welcome the very drivers that bring them all the stuff they sell. 

The new road behind the store makes a dead end where they hope to finish it someday.  Parking the “Beached Whale” there inconveniences no one and I hope to get away with it for ten hours.  The wake-up alarm tells me that nine and a half hours have now passed.  So, no expulsion from refuge, but it is time to wrap up this segment of the saga

 I really seem to have little time for writing.  I hope this is a temporary adjustment to the new phase of Walkabout and that I will be able to continue the Blog.  This outlet is vital to my sanity.  I have stories that illustrate that statement wherein sanity is lost – or at least not visible on the surface.  I am not proud of those and you will have to buy the book to read that narrative. 😉

 Pilot Interstate 44 exit 72, Springfield Missouri August 15, 2017

Further along on the trip that leads me away from the Eclipse Expedition.  Dispatch has promised to get me to the Dallas rendezvous on time, though.  This should start with a relay tomorrow that exchanges my Illinois-bound load for one that will wind up in Kansas.

It turned out that there were “no truck parking” signs on that dead-end road in north Texas.  They were over 500 yards from where I parked (May it please the court!) and completely unjustified, given the remote emptiness of the location.  Again, I was inconveniencing no one.  But I remember a car that crept by in the Walmart lot and stopped near my location.  I suspect it was some busybody collecting my DOT number to make a complaint.

As we have discussed before, there is a parking problem in the Trucking Industry that is spreading from the East Coast and getting worse.  The volume of freight in the US has increased with the trend away from “brick and mortar” shopping and toward internet shopping.  All that stuff y’all are ordering online has to be delivered, you know – and that means more trucks on the road.  Yes, truck stops provide parking, but that is overwhelmed at busy hours and spills out onto the streets.  Many communities have taken offence and are antagonistic to the gentle giants that bring all the “stuff”.  A few have been welcoming.

Bold Prediction from Captain Walkabout

We just skirted this subject, so I will walk back and “dive in the lake” – so to speak.

The economy is beginning to expand with what will be a Renaissance of Prosperity in the next ten years.  You may wonder what I am talking about and I will write more about it soon.  Suffice it to say that the new abundance of petroleum production in the United States (the one that that made my career in Seismic Exploration obsolete) will soon – and quietly – make us the new “Power That Be” in the Energy Sector.

I can’t be the only one who sees this coming, but I don’t see anyone else writing much about it.

Over The Road,

Steve

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Flying J Truck Stop Interstate 435 and Front Street, Kansas City, Missouri July 11, 2017

This particular load had two stops, the first near Kansas City and the next in Oklahoma.

Routine stuff. It starts with one of those Meat Load Vigils where the driver drops an empty trailer and goes to hide in a truck stop until the meat is “produced” and loaded on trailer.  Only occasionally does it turn out to be the same trailer. The plant is in Emporia Kansas and the trucks stop was a Flying J just a few miles away. Those drivers who arrive “bobtail” (tractor only) are expected to yield the big truck spaces to complete tractor/trailer rigs and unless there is a designated “bobtail area” – they hide in the corners where a big rig can’t park.  This place had all the corners taken but I saw some other bobtails in the restaurant parking, so I joined them.  This was early in the morning – about 3 AM (0300).  This required exiting to the highway, briefly to get to the separated parking lot.

The first order of business is to get some sleep and I awoke to find truck the only one in the lot now full of breakfast goers in conventional automobiles (four-wheelers).  I felt a bit out-of-place.  When walking back and forth from the “J” I had the distinct feeling that the breakfast-bound  parents were pointing me out to their children and whispering, “That’s what will happen to you if you don’t do well in college”.  Rejoining the regular parking would have required a short road trip back to the truck entrance and I did not yet have drive time

Considerable preparation goes into these journeys but a swap message comes in and all the best laid plans are discarded.  Around midnight I pull into a truck stop and find my counterpart.  We exchange paperwork and drop trailers.  Each takes the other load and departs or stays for a break.

My new assignment takes me to a Fed Ex yard.  You may have seen that Fed Ex trucks tow two shorter trailers.  That is reflected in their yard where all the spaces are too short for my ‘53 footer.’  Once I leave them my trailer, the task is to go find a Blue Company empty.  It is a really big yard and there was one (1) appropriate unit.

From there I drop the empty – again in the wee hours of the morning – in a dark empty lot.  My next load is one of the four trailers in the same yard.  None of their paperwork matches my assigned destination so I call in to straighten it out.  They pass on a trailer number that has papers for Sam’s Club.  I am to take it to a large freight company yard.

Arriving at the Freight Yard gives me a twilight-zone feeling.  Out of place. The staff has no idea why I am here and the papers don’t give a clue.  They send me to receiving and those guys are equally mystified.  I return to my truck to call in (late on a Sunday night).  Dispatch tells me it will have to wait until Customer Service reps show up for work at 0800.  The Freight Company has already told me I can’t park here.

In one of those unbelievable coincidences, the truck refuses to start.  This has been a problem before, but repeated attempts finally resulted in success.  Not this time.  After about 50 tries, I realize that if the truck starts, I am out on the street without drive time.  Time to stop trying, is it not?

The “Visit” comes around 0800.  A very polite fellow named Greg tells me that I cannot stay.  I show him the now-determined-as-worthless paperwork to no avail.  And then my Trump Card – the truck won’t start and I have called for road service.  I reckon a mechanic will be here in two hours.  Greg is resigned to the logic of the situation.  I got the impression he was happy to have a reason not to evict the poor old man who has lost his way. 😉

To conclude this saga:  The Company sent the valid paperwork, the Freight Yard people suddenly wanted my cargo and the mechanic showed up to fix the truck.  All’s well that ends well.

 

Pilot Travel Center #29, Interstate 69, exit 357, Fremont, Indiana July 16, 2017

I have just finished the first two legs of a three-day episode involving deliveries to Pennsylvania and Maryland.  I find that I have accumulated ten and one-half shower credits.  I am saving up for the Solar Eclipse trip.  At that time, my “Co-driver” and I will be staying in campgrounds and rest areas because all the hotels in the Eclipse Zone have been booked for months. Shower credits will be most welcome.

There is a place called Uranus in Missouri.  There is a fudge factory there.  Yes, really.  They make a lot of jokes about the name of the Seventh Planet.

Late at night, exhausted and in desperate need of sleep.  My route is state highways with no rest areas and no truck stops.  Fortunately, it is Three AM on a Saturday morning and Running Fox elementary School is closed.   They have a very nice looping driveway that allows the whole beached whale to enter and leave without any tedious reversing.  The night before, I found a Kohl’s parking lot in similar condition.  I get extremely fatigued in the hours before dawn.  A nap of thirty minutes is the solution.  Many times, only a safe parking place stands between me and Blessed Sleep, but innovation frequently saves the night.

To Saint Louis for beer!  43, 854 pounds of twelve-packs stacked high on pallets and kegs behind that.  This ain’t beef.  I don’t get the damaged boxes for BBQ or to give to the Salvation Army.

Water, water, everywhere, but nary a drop to drink!  😉

The beer was delivered to Mason City, Iowa.

I am growing back the “Van Dyke” That is a style of beard – no reference to the multitalented Dick Van Dyke, nor to manly Lesbians or diagonal wire cutters.  Please see picture below:

Regenerated Facial Hair

 

Exxon Station across from Receiver, Robesonia, Pennsylvania July 17, 2017

 

One of the pleasant surprises of the new reality of this second phase of Walkabout has been “Line 5” of the driver’s logs.  Until now, there were four lines:  1.Off-Duty, 2.Sleeper Bunk, 3.Driving and 4.On-Duty-Not-Driving.  One can only legitimately drive under line three.  One can move the truck slowly and by short distances (i.e., “creep”) under lines 1 and 4.  Of course, driving while in Sleeper Bunk should be impossible -right?  

The result was to trap drivers in shippers’ and receivers’ properties as their Duty Clock expired.  They might still have many hours of drive time, but because the clock is now past 14 hours from the first On Duty/Drive time entry of the day, the drivers are not street legal.

Along comes line 5 (“Off Duty Driving”), which means I have no drive or duty time, but I can drive to a truck stop, if my trailer is empty and I can make it in 50 minutes.  This relieves a Great Federal Regulation Pain, liberates shippers and receivers of a burdensome inventory of idle trucks and is a most welcome innovation.

But, the “olly-olly oxen free*” Line Five Get out of Jail Free Card does not allow me to travel to a truck stop except when empty.  Today I have a second cargo remaining in the trailer that I will deliver at 3 AM tomorrow in Maryland.  The truck stop must remain a distant dream.  I could only creep across the street to this refuge and take one of the last two parking spots.

* https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-origin-of-the-phrase-olly-olly-oxen-free

 

To get to Pennsylvania involved a 570 tightly-scheduled trip from Fremont, Illinois.  The Navigation computer I have tentatively named “Zelda” after Zelda Gilroy, the Wannabe girlfriend of Dobie Gillis.   If you don’t know who I am talking about, don’t worry, I’ll educate you.

Zelda Gilroy relentlessly pursued Dobie Gillis in The Many loves of Dobie Gillis, a 1950’s/60’s situation comedy on black and white TV.  She was portrayed by the clever and energetic comedienne Sheila James Kuehl.  While Dobie mooned over the prom queens and attempted to ignore her, Zelda was around every corner and relentlessly dedicated to making Dobie a better man and her own.

Moody teenager Dobie Gillis was played by Duane Hickman.  His best friend was a beatnik named Maynard G. Krebs played by Bob Denver (later to portray Gilligan, of Island fame).

Zelda

Zelda had a “power” over Dobie.  When she made the crinkly-nose expression (depicted above), Dobie reflexively responded with the same and exclaimed “Zelda!” in protest.  There were appropriate sound effects.  She is looking up because Sheila stood only four-foot-ten and looked up to everyone else in the cast.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0473861/

My computerized Zelda steadfastly refused to consider the Ohio turnpike and wanted me to travel on State highways, that pass through small towns where speed limits drop as low as 20 miles per hour.  I tried to convince her that this would have me late to the show and might pull me up short, if I could not get there in 11 hours.

Clearly, someone has told Zelda that toll roads are bad.  Try as I might I could not click her icons to convince her otherwise.  So, the first half of the trip was spent ignoring Zelda’s insistence to leave the Turnpike at every last exit until the road turned to plain-old non-toll Interstate 80, where I then paid attention to Zelda’s advice.

The trip was uneventful and mostly pleasant (despite Zelda’s harangue) until near the end.  Then ten hours of constant driving had promoted Exhaustion to the Commanding Officer.

First was a construction zone where the signs said – in no uncertain terms:

“Trucks over 21,000 lbs gross vehicle weight STOP ahead!”

My vehicle currently weighed 74,560 pounds, so  I pulled in behind the long queue of stopped vehicles and waited while calling Dispatch for advice.  The only recourse was for me to call 511 (local traffic info).  Him (i.e., “Dispatch”) calling would be useless since he would get advice about Iowa and Nebraska.  The “zelda” at 511 had no notices of trucks falling through bridges, despite the fact that a few rigs had passed the queue of trucks.  Some of those might have been empty.  But even empty these rigs weigh over 30,000 pounds.

Finally I creep around the waiting trucks to the front of the queue, expecting horns and CB curses – neither of which happened.  The CB had been eerily quiet because (it turns out) all the rigs in the queue were not waiting – they were parked.  A sign at the front tells me to use a lower gear for the downhill side of the route in front.  The speed limit signs were 20 mph – a throwback to the days before engine brakes when every truck had to creep down hills or set their brakes on fire and plunge down to a fiery death.  These were roundly ignored and ridiculed by all concerned.

Right at the final approach, was a 15 mile stretch of winding, hilly, two-lane, shoulder-less road through upper-class rural bedroom communities with narrow bridges, abrupt 90 degree turns and a tailgater – detectable only by the headlight “aura” chasing the trailer.   Just the thing for a third-stage fatigued 62-year-old man to deal with.

The stretch of narrow, winding, shoulder-less road.  This straightaway was the only part where photography would not be dangerous.

But, I got there, on time and intact.  I delivered the partial load and crept across to get here.  All with the goal to tell thee!

Maryland Welcome Center, I95 exit 37 – July 18, 2017

The second leg of the East Coast trip is now complete.  There are no Pilot or Flying J truck stops where I have shower credits so, I have chosen a rest area where at least there is a bit of greenery in which to stroll about,   That in not unimportant because from where I sit typing, I can reach the refrigerator for food and water or fall backward into the bunk and sleep.  There is no reason to leave the comfort of the office – except for…you know.  I could easily become Nero- Wolf-like without somewhere to go.

Nero Wolfe was a fictional detective who never left his house and relied upon “legman” Archie to do the “outside” thing.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nero_Wolfe

 

Rest areas have the added advantage of water fountains where I can fill my canteens (AKA, empty V8 bottles).  Back in the days of Purgatory (previous employer) I calculated that, given the price of bottled water and the time to fill the bottles, this activity saved me more per hour than I earned driving.  Truck stops – and some California rest areas) do not have water fountains because they sell bottled water.

Pilot, Interstate 71 exit 204, Akron, Ohio July 19, 2017

The Ship is now “staged” for a pickup near Akron today and delivery to Illinois – just South of Chicago.  Noon had been the appointment, but now it is delayed until 1700.  I have had a good rest and will launch at 15:30 to fuel and get the 25 miles to the shipper.  From there it is a straight six-hour drive.

That is why I have some time to wrap up, edit and illustrate this post – which I will do with no further discussion.

Over The Road,

Steve

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Flying J Truck Stop I35 exit 127, Emporia, KS July 9, 2017

 The trips are shorter now and I have to look hard for the thought-provoking aspects.  I would rather make journeys of three or four days, but now I am lucky to get two days from a load.  It does pay much better, however. Some sacrifices have to be made for financial concerns.  Life does that to you.

That is not to say that that this new stage of Walkabout does not have interesting aspects.  A recent destination was Quincy, Illinois where Geology and Mining give rise to industrial real estate opportunities.  Quincy is home to a calcium carbonate operation that has already created 600 acres of naturally climate controlled area and is busy making more:

“Huber each year mines about 600,000 tons of calcium carbonate, which is a filler used in floor tile, drywall compound, paint, plastic and other products. This creates about eight acres of new underground caverns a year.”

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1993-12-27/business/9312270041_1_huber-mining-storage

Beneath Quincy, Illinois

At first glance, this is just another truck in another loading dock.  Those lights above are not on an awning, however. Let me walk over to the truck and look back this way.

A view of the local surroundings.

 Those great pillars are to keep the cavity from collapsing and allow mining to continue.  The side-effect is all this empty space that stays at temperatures of 48 to 60 degrees F (9-16C).  This is optimal for cold storage facilities and the construction amounts to a bit more mining with attention to detail. The climate above in Quincy may range from 0 to 95 F (-18 to 35C) during the year.

I did not get a glance at the offices, but had to remain “outside” by my truck while unloading took place.  Another photo on the way out gives an idea of the extent of this facility.  I have included an eighteen-wheeler for scale.  Fortunately, they are all not rare around the place.  The inset at lower right shows what they do to keep us from wandering around lost in the less traveled parts of the mine.  The blocks are, of course, more calcium carbonate “ore” stacked in an “airbrick” pattern.  Construction  Architecture in this venue must be a lot of fun, since you can pretty much carve out custom rooms and make up your own parts.

The exit view.  The driver’s side elliptical mirror intrudes in the photo.  You might as well get used to that. 😉

Like most everything, there is a Youtube video of this.  Unless I am mistaken, the destination of this trucker was the same as mine*.  At least, that truck pulling out near the end was labeled with my customers name.

https://youtu.be/V31JgHWviAs

*No lame pun intended

________________________

Near Amarillo, Texas along Interstate 40 there is a stretch of prairie-turned-farmland that has few natural distinguishing features.  There are some man-made sights that stand out, however.  One has been discussed already in  Route 66 and the Cadillac Ranch

Left:  The closest photo was inconveniently near another object of visual interest, so I resorted to the tricks of lazy newsmen – I looked up a file photo – Right.

Photo Credit: http://weirdus.com/states/texas/roadside_oddities/britten_leaning_water_tower/index.php

It is called “The Leaning Tower of  Groom Texas” and it has attracted attention for many decades.  Stories about why the tower is leaning range from shoddy construction to a passing tornado to an earthquake.

The true cause is a bit of genius marketing by Ralph Britten.  He bought the tower (for a scrap price) and moved it here.  The ten degree tilt is intentional.  It looks like more, does it not?  There are no guy wires, the structure is balanced (they say) on the two buried legs and the other two are actually off the ground.    I would be willing to bet a small amount that there is a third leg hidden in that white “downpipe”, or that the pipe itself is load-bearing.  But I have not found any documentation to that effect. The only date I have found for Britten’s assembly of the structure is “somewhere around 1980”.

And why would Ralph want a tilted tower?  Because the breathless motorists who pulled off of Interstate 40 to see this pending disaster found themselves in the parking lot of Britten’s Truck Stop and Restaurant. It inspired a lot of Citizens Band Radio traffic among truckers as well.  This was quite successful as a marketing tool for about five years or so and survived the fire that destroyed the Truck Stop.

There are some who wryly observe that it’s a shame there was no water in the tower to fight the fire.  In fact, the tower’s tank has just the right amount of water to put the center of gravity directly over the two (or possibly three) grounded legs.  So, any use of the water for firefighting might have endangered the tower.

The tower now stands alone in an empty field, but still attracts attention to this day.

http://www.atlasobscura.com/places/the-leaning-tower-of-groom-texas

Waiting for a door in Olathe, Kansas receiver’s parking July 10, 2017 0500

I am here hours early and fortunately allowed to park and wait.  Another trucker who arrived at about 0200 was not so lucky as parking permission starts at 0400. He was cast out on the street until he returned near 0500.  No two receivers have  the same policies about such things and procedures vary and change without notice.  Putting up signs to explain things is rare and the few that exist are sometimes vague, misleading or obsolete.  So, my current strategy is to pull in to the guard shack and await instructions.  The worst they can do is make me turn around and leave.  I can do that.  If they wanted something else, they would put up a sign – now, wouldn’t they? 😉

There is yet another Amarillo-area Public Art Project that echoes the Cadillac Ranch.  It is composed of five Volkswagen “beetles”  and, just like it’s older sibling to the East, the units are heavily “tagged” with graffiti (“graffiti” is the plural of “graffito”, by the way).  I caught a glimpse of this from I-40 (exit 86, as it turns out) about 14 months ago,  back in my training days, but I have yet to see it again despite many passes on I-40.  I was a passenger at the time (that is to say, the Instructor was at the wheel) so I had plenty of idle attention to turn to roadside wonders, back then This also seems to be on an abandoned property, so approach it at your own risk.

Photo Credit:  http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/6767

Over The Road,

Steve

 

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Flying J #672  – Interstate 49 exit 167    Peculiar, Missouri June 30, 2017, 0230

I was just “checking the tires” and I noticed a few drops of rain.  I am hoping that a good soaking would come from the ominous flashing in the Northern sky, since the ship has accumulated some road dust.  So far, the rain has picked up a bit, but the deluge is not yet arrived.  A log entry is nevertheless appropriate, even if just to address it with the place name of “Peculiar” where “The ‘odds’ are with you”.

From the town’s website:

“A community that is peculiar in name only. A name which has overshadowed our rich history. Yet, this peculiar name has somehow set apart persons associated with it, creating a chemistry, within them, which makes them very important to each other. July 29, 1868, Robert Cass County surveyor, surveyed the town of Peculiar into lots, blocks and streets. This certified plat was filed as ‘The Town Of Peculiar’. Early settlers came to western Missouri by riverboat, rail and overland. Many were migrating for the second and third time from communities in Illinois, Iowa, Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania. The ‘Town Of Peculiar’ also received families from Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee.”

http://cityofpeculiar.org/pView.aspx?id=6746&catid=587

 

There is a peculiar thing about this name which is reflected in the dual aspects of the word itself.  You see, “peculiar” is its own antonym in that it means both “strange or odd” as well as something like “typical of” or “belonging to”.   Perhaps “unique” would be the most appropriate synonym.

pe·cu·liar

[pəˈkyo͞olyər]

 

ADJECTIVE

1. strange or odd; unusual:

“his accent was a peculiar mixture of Cockney and Irish”

synonyms: strange · unusual · odd · funny · curious · bizarre · weird · queer ·

[more]

2. belonging exclusively to:

“the air hung with an antiseptic aroma peculiar to hospitals”

synonyms: characteristic of · typical of · representative of · indicative of ·

[more]

NOUN

1. a parish or church exempt from the jurisdiction of the diocese in which it lies, through being subject to the jurisdiction of the monarch or an archbishop.

 

http://www.bing.com/search?q=peculiar+definition&qs=AS&pq=peculiar+defi&sc=8-13&cvid=F45F8E619795404F93F3C73AEB1FB544&FORM=QBLH&sp=1

 

I looked up the National Radar image for the area and added a little black cross at a position approximating Peculiar.  It appears that, no matter which way the weather moves, more rain is in the near future.

 

National Weather Service Radar – Springfield, Missouri.  The “+” marks Peculiar.

 

It is also “peculiar” to think that I did all this research and composition at Three AM, from the sleeper cab of  a truck parked on the outskirts of a small town in Missouri.   My more “mature” readers will join me in the awe of modern technology.  Any young ones will ask themselves, “What’s the old man mumbling about now?”  😉

In a few hours I will fuel the truck and start off for nearby Kansas to pick up a load bound for Texas.  The rain is starting in earnest now and should provide a sleep-inducing background for a brief sleep.

 Pilot #498US 69 and Redbud Lane, Atoka, Oklahoma June 30, 2017

   I  was just here, a few days ago.  The road has brought me back where I sought only fuel, but found a prime parking spot –  with a quarter-mile of run-out in front of it – at ten o’clock at night in a truck stop across the highway from a Walmart.  Such a bounty is not lightly passed by and I did not.  A target of opportunity, it had been.

It was that day that I had encountered another bleak and ominous tableau what grim fate lies in wait for careless driver.

So severe is the damage that I cannot confidently recognize even the make of the vehicle.  It may be a Volvo.  More to the point – I don’t see how the driver might have survived.

 

That particular stretch of highway is relatively benign.  But, where I wandered (literally – I took a few wrong turns) today was more typical of Oklahoma highways.   To provide an example:

A turn was indicated by the as-yet nameless Navigation personality – from a narrow section of US highway to a narrower section of state road. A shear drop into a ditch loomed in my rearview, those 70 feet away.  My approach had to be one where I  crossed into the opposing lane completely – even taking up that lack-of-a-shoulder, as well  This is accomplished by making as much of that theoretical turn as possible and stopping just short of crushing the two cars waiting at the stop sign.  The hope is that they will look around, assess the situation and decide to turn right in front of me as I sit waiting.  Furthermore, we rely on the drivers of the vehicles behind those to have the common sense to yield their half of the road until the Beached Whale passes through he ill-advised turn like the proverbial camel through the eye of the needle.  It did work, but it could easily have turned very ugly.  I have decided never to leave the scant comfort of a US  highway again – in Oklahoma

The state highways are ill-repaired, shoulder-less meandering, narrow deathtraps.  The US highways (which you might think would be better, given federal funding) are not universally shoulder-less or meandering, but are still generally ill-repaired.

I don’t mean to say that Oklahoma has an excess of bad roads, you understand…

Well…Yes, I do mean to say that.  Exactly that, in fact.

Thus far, the Blue Company’s promise of abundant mileage (2500 guaranteed  minimum per seven-day week)  has proven to be non-fiction.  A quick check of miles per day shows these results:  493, 468, 666, 218, 360, 439.  Six days’ total is 2644.  Even the Orange Company had only vague promises of 2200-2800 miles per week.  If all goes well tomorrow, I will exceed the maximum of  that range.

The days of poverty at “The Company” are hopefully well behind me.  I harbor no ill-will for the Purgatory-based Black Truck outfit.  They trained me and have met their promises, generally speaking.  They did not however, promise much.

The photo below is from my previous visit here.  Chance put an Orange Company truck next to my Sioux City Blue.

That which was set out to be accomplished (right) meets the way reality shaped itself despite the “best laid plans” (left).

 Pilot Truck Stop, Interstate 40  exit 75, Amarillo, Texas July 3, 2017

I have a collection of ancient devices called Compact Discs for the majority of my “eclectic” assembly of music. The device that maintains what little music I have stored as digital files is attached to the truck’s radio with a USB cable.  Those selections are still set to play in alphabetical order and the first in line when the truck starts in the morning is “All Systems Go” from the Soundtrack of the movie Apollo 13.  It is a stirring orchestral piece by the late composer James Horner, whose work you know from a dozen movie scores.  To mention a few…Titanic, The Wrath of Khan, A Beautiful Mind.

I have not altered the sequence of the music list, since it is appropriately inspirational for the beginning of a journey – including as it does a movement that accompanies the scene of the launching of the great Saturn V rocket.   As if the launching of a lunar rocket was not sufficiently impressive, Apollo XIII’s start includes the failure of one of the five engines that propelled the second stage (the “Glitch”)  If you listen to the score you can hear the movements pertaining to the launch, the Glitch and the sudden weightlessness when the rockets shut down – all without any reference to the movie. The redundant design of the system allowed the other engines to make up the difference in velocity and saved the mission – at least until its later problems.

However, the true and dramatic lesson of an Apollo launch is to be found in the launch of Apollo Twelve.  That launch took place in a thunderstorm and the huge trail of rocket exhaust (as it turns out) created a perfect channel for a lightning bolt that struck the vehicle.  I remember an interview in which the late Commander Charles “Pete” Conrad described the situation something like this:

“There I was in a Billion-Dollar*-Going-to-the-Moon Rocket with the “Abort Handle” in my hand when lightning struck the vehicle and the power went out.”

The “abort handle” was the switch that would ignite a set of solid rockets that would yank the command module (with the three astronauts) away from the potential bomb that the Saturn V could turn into and then it would drop on parachutes into the Atlantic Ocean from whence it would hopefully be recovered.

 Anyway, when I think of Conrad’s predicament (and HUGE responsibility) in those moments…all of my own problems shrink to insignificance by comparison.

http://www.armaghplanet.com/blog/apollo-12-1969s-other-moon-landing.html

*A Billion Dollars was a lot of money back in 1969

Parked roadside near a shipper with twenty tons of sour cream – Garland Texas July 5, 2017

There is a book about Pete Conrad called “Rocket Man”.  I need to find that in my stocking around the end of December.  Pete was known for his shear determination and innovative ambition for spaceflight.  For him to stand out in that respect when compared to other Astronauts was great praise, indeed.

He advocated for his final Gemini mission to be turned into a trans-lunar flight that would have been sent looping around the moon. That could easily have been done with the booster rendezvous vehicles called Agena rockets that were in use at the time.  As it was, Gemini XII set the altitude record in Space until Apollo VIII – the first Lunar experience of Jim Lovell, who would later command Apollo XIII.

Over the Road,

Steve

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Days Inn, North Sioux City, South Dakota  June 23, 2017

This new phase of the Walkabout is as yet unnamed and undefined.

Your Captain has turned off the “No Thinking” sign and we will be traveling at an altitude of up to 8000 feet at a speed of 65 miles per hour.  What lies ahead is unknown.  Welcome aboard.

Today find us in North Sioux City, South Dakota.  If that sounds familiar you are thinking of Sioux City Iowa, which is only a few miles away.  Not far from there is South  Sioux City, Nebraska, where the new ship awaits.

The second day of orientation and training is about to start.  Despite my earlier expectations, the new truck is blue and will be hauling refrigerated trailers, much as before.  Less than two weeks ago, my family came to Purgatory (not the ski resort) as I evacuated from the Kenworth – not 12946, but her erstwhile twin sister ship 13048.

While I have much to criticize about “The Company”  (the ones with the black trucks), They did train me to drive these behemoths.  I can’t find much fault with that accomplishment and I truly did find the experience rewarding and challenging.  But more mundane considerations dictate that I need to move on to something more profitable.

Not to be too blunt about it, but, “Man does not live by adventure alone”.  The prospects for earning sufficient living at The Company depends upon accepting a partnership arrangement where I would assume a large portion of the Risk.  They insisted that this was a reasonable path to “success”.  I remain unconvinced. And, so I bid adieu to Purgatory.

It was my intention to take up with “bulk operations” (tankers) carrying hazardous material.  The trucks are orange.  This was not actually a preferred change, but promised to be at least more rewarding financially.  It did not work out and I’ll be still driving refrigerated goods around.  But now it’s in blue trucks and it pays better – almost as much as I could expect from “Bulk”.

The Orange Operation requires me to lose some facial hair.  There is emergency equipment that needs a good seal on the face to exclude poisonous gas.  The style of beard I keep is called a “Van Dyke”.   For a while, I was reluctant to use this term, which has certain connotations.  Upon reflection, however, I realized that the latter term refers to a manly individual who appreciates women.  So…no complaints.

In any case, while the moustache could remain, the chin hair was doomed.  I was hoping for a “Clark Gable” look or possibly a “David Niven-ish” one   The actual result was much more “Joseph Stalinesque”.

Clark, David, Joseph and Your Humble Narrator

I had been convinced by the First Mate to trim my face like this before and the result was two traumatized offspring who wondered who I was and what I had done with their somewhat better-looking father.  When I saw a picture of myself in that condition, I had immediately grown it back then,  This latest facial hair amputation had the advantage of being done on the face of a person who had lost nearly  a quarter of his body mass.

However, the same individual had also accumulated another decade of age.  The results were still not an improvement and now that the Orange Operation is not an option, I hasten to grow back the previous situation.  That effort is inhibited by the unfortunate fact that my beard is mostly gray in that region of face.  Just now I look like it has been snowing on my chin.  A rather dirty snow, at that. There are also what look like gaps in the upper part of “Stalin’s Broom”  which are actually creeping grey hair.  I will persist nonetheless and an equalizing “trim” is not far away..

Pilot, I-64 exit 108, Nashville, Tennessee  June 26, 2017

I am writing because I cannot sleep.  The fact that it is 4 in the afternoon and warm in the bunk (despite what I thought was a  functioning APU) has lots to do with thae.  Night driving will be a bit more frequent now, but I have hope that I will adapt.     Some views of the Missouri River were quite inspiring this morning.  No photos available.

 The first load was delivered on time and the drive was actually rather pleasant.  There was an extensive detour in St. Louis that had me on surface streets in the area around the stadium. The :turnaround” is impressive, as I had a new load scheduled before the first was dropped.  I hope to establish a reputation for being the guy who will take most any assignment – a situation I find challenging.  Some of my fellow “orienteers” were reluctant to take loads to some parts of the country.  While I find some places annoying, they are a great source of writing material.  Most likely because of the incredible situations that seem to crop up so often.

The “Blue Company” has some areas where they have no freight.  California, Arizona, Nevada, New York and New England for examples.  However, one of our speakers mentioned the idea of a bonus for New York City. They may be looking at prospects there.  He came closer to reasonable than the fellows at Purgatory, at least.  NYC requires some additional rewards, to say the least.

I am working on new ideas for photographs that might be impressive – more on that later.

Rest Area – Interstate 70, Mile Marker 195, Missouri  

The start of the trip was not promising.  A lot has changed.  The truck is a Freightliner, not a Kenworth.  Note below the sporty chrome mirrors and smooth blue color.

The New Truck

The New Truck has well over a half million miles and is the oldest I have driven.  But it seems to be in better shape than either of the Kenworths or the Peterbilt from last year.  The clutch and the shifting are both as smooth as silk.  Visibility is great and it is shorter, handles better and is more maneuverable in yards.

The trailer is different, in several troublesome ways. Procedures and expectation are not as before.

Details

1. The Freightliner (80594)  is a 10 speed manual, the Kenworth was an 8 speed.  My shifting pattern, ingrained by 100,600 miles of habit makes me miss sixth gear.  Skipping a gear is possible when you intend it.  It is a sudden, jarring event when you don’t mean it.
2. The Freightliner at random moments, refuses to start. It did this at the shipper’s gate.  Fortunately, the next truck in line was also a Sioux City Blue and the driver gave me some pointers and a warning – the starter is about to go out.
3. The trailer landing gear (the legs that hold up the front when the tractor is gone) cranks down the same way, but it has two “speeds” one moves the gear about two inches for every 20 revolutions of the handle and the other moves it about a foot for same. My previous experience said pull for high.  I thought at first there was no high gear and I cranked about two hundred revs to lower the gear.  You have to push for high, as it turns out.
4. The trailer lock is a goofy looking knot of metal. I didn’t get it on right and it fell off.  I’ll be purchasing a replacement.  This might happen a lot because they said they will pay me back.
5. Paperwork, pre-packaged messages (Macros), the navigation software, the Satellite communicator is now a complicated cell phone connection.
6. I was sent to a supplier. The first gate was for cattle.  The second was a different company.  While I was waiting for the second (it’s for a different company) a Yard tractor showed up and sent me up the road to a third gate.  Gate guard 3 sent me back to 2 with instructions to turn left before the intercom.
7. The valve to slide the tandems and balance the load operated backwards and I spent a half hour getting that straight.

It was a nice drive and I had the intention to drive through St. Louis, but traffic began to gather at 400.  I almost gave up at a nice truck stop thinking this was rush hour building,  but decided to press on when I realized it was Sunday.  Traffic again.  Guacamole, this is Sunday afternoon when everybody comes home from the weekend in the country.  I stopped in a Rest Area which turned out to have the narrowest parking I’ve yet seen.

Time to hit the sack and get up at 0200 to drive the deserted streets.

Texas Welcome Center, Interstate 30, exit 223, Texarkana, Texas, June 27, 2017

Somewhere in the Sleeper Berth yesterday I caught a cold.  The parking here is the most akward I have seen, with forward and rear parallel spaces where there should be diagonals.  I picked an old bus to park behind because I figured they would be leaving soon.  Then a flatbed showed up when its neighbor left and parked next to it..  Now they are working on the vehicles they carry and I haven’t been able to figure out what their goal is.  By the way, there were at least six dogs in that bus.  Five were short-haired Labrador-looking, but white in color.  The Sixth was a Husky.

The Bus and the Flatbed.

.  I may wind up backing out of this space tonight at 1900, on my way to the delivery.

Update – the bus moved and I am first in line.  I will put my cold to bed now.

Over The Road,

Steve

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Flying J Truck Stop, I-30, exit 7, Texarkana Arkansas  June 10, 2017

From nearby the previous delivery in Carlisle, I dropped my empty and pick up a trailer headed for Atlanta.  I was ahead of the load by almost a full day and a call came through to swap with a driver headed home.  He took my load to deliver less than 20 miles away and I drove his load another 400 miles to Kentucky.  Just across the Tennessee/Kentucky boarder I got a call from Road Rescue that informed me of a “bad tire” on that trailer.  If you are wondering how Dallas knows about my tires while I am in Kentucky, well I join you in that confusion.

They know about my tire (as it turns out) because they earlier authorized its replacement – with a larger tire, oops.  Sure enough, it is plain as day – once it is pointed out.  Tires of different sidewall heights cannot roll together in a tandem – at least not for long.   A tire shop nearby will fix it in the morning and I included a Walmart visit in the bargain.

About twenty-two years ago, I wrote a piece called “How I Stopped Smoking…”. and I promised to post that for a chain smoker at the tire shop in Franklin, Kentucky.  If you, too are a chain smoker,  it is called “How I Stopped Smoking…and Other Improbable Tales” and you should see it in “Recent Posts”.

When I first started this Walkabout, it was because I had lost my job as an Exploration Geophysicist.  I was looking for oil with seismic methods.  Seismic had been required to find the natural traps where oil and gas seeped out of impermeable shale into sandstone or limestone reservoirs around natural fractures at faults and flexures.  Sandstone is permeable.  That is, it allows oil and gas to flow to the well.  Shale does not.  Hydraulic fracturing of shale has now made all that seismic exploration unnecessary and my Profession has withered to a ghost of its former prominence.

I survived three lay-offs and was caught in the forth.  My particular field was deep-water marine seismic and it was among the hardest hit when oil prices declined.  I looked for work in other parts of the Industry, but they all have very specific competence requirements that are out of my realm of experience.  A younger man might convince the employers that he was clever enough to learn on the job.  But I am sixty-two years old and they don’t believe that I can adapt.  Or, maybe they think I will demand too much money or I will retire too soon.  In any case, they can ignore their requirements for the young guy and hold to them in my case.  That way, they need not reveal that my “column of years” is the true reason. And of course, they dare not do that.

Trucking was not the only job I was offered.  But it was the only one that offered sufficient dignity and challenge. Early on, to explain my decision, I quoted the story about the Prisoner, the King and the Horse.  It goes like this:

A group of prisoners are due to be executed, but one enterprising individual among them tells the King that he can teach the Monarch’s horse to sing hymns.  The King is intrigued by this offer -enough to give the prisoner a year to accomplish this miracle, with clemency as a reward or swift execution for failure.  The other prisoners ridicule him for singing to the horse and he says:

“I have a year.  A lot can happen in a year.  I could die.  The King could die.  The horse could die.  And maybe, just maybe, the horse will learn to sing.”

I have been away from home  – on average – about six weeks out of every seven. The year has found me in forty-four the forty-eight contiguous states and Ontario in Canada. Driving for ten hours a day for weeks at a time.  “Marooned” in remote farmland or big cities. From sea level to 8000 foot mountain passes.  Through 110° deserts of Arizona or snow-bound in the Oregon midwinter at 10 below.  Struggling to maneuver the behemoth vehicle into claustrophobic nooks in a yard – backwards and looking in a mirror or awe-struck at the beauty and peace of the open road.  Driving the long straight Interstate or a frozen, narrow dirt road (after missing a turn) or picking my way with a huge behemoth vehicle through small town streets.  Alongside in a well-appointed, idyllic roadside park or stacked like firewood with 250 other rigs in a massively over-crowded truck stop or hiding the “beached whale” in a long-abandoned parking lot.

And I love it. God help me, I do love it so!

It has truly been an Adventure.  Imagine if I had taken the big Box Hardware slave-wage temporary job!  I would have had a year of low-paid soul-killing misery.  This way, I am still low-paid, but with a challenging new existence, a satisfied soul and a peaceful feeling of a year well-spent.  Yes, it has been difficult – almost overwhelming at times. Yes, I have missed my wife and children severely.  But, I can give them back a husband and father that is better, wiser and stronger than the one I took away.

I am leaving the aforementioned “Company” because they can’t pay me what I need to survive in the long term.  I will go on to a new, better paid position.  Among the new challenges are Tankers, Multiple Trailers, and Hazardous Materials.  The “Company” had black trucks.  The new ones will be Orange.  Feel free to make jokes and analogies with popular TV show names.

I resist saying that the Walkabout is over.  But it has taken a different turn and the Undiscovered Country (the future) lies beyond.

.  To continue with the previous analogy…the horse has learned to sing.  And now the prisoner must find another impossible task to accomplish. 😉

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

-Winston Churchill-
Over The Road,

Steve

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Hauled Out in Baytown,  Kenworth Dealer  May 31, 2017

I am just returned from “home leave”.  This load of pineapples started from La Porte, Texas just to  the Southeast of Houston.  It will deliver to New Albany, Mississippi and there is plenty of time.

Every load must be weighed (with the truck, of course) to make sure we are legal.  This is especially important if the route includes the State of Louisiana, which this one does, almost immediately. The load checks in at 24300, which is a good eight tons lighter than the average.  Add in the vehicle itself and we have 61,200 pounds out of a maximum 80,000.  So no sweat, right?

A view in the trailer was enough to see that the pineapples were all stacked in the front.  So, “sliding the tandems”  to the forward limit will take more load on the trailer and come as close as possible to balancing the load.  The load must be weighed anyway and the nearest scale is in Baytown.  The tandem axle weights are 27120  (drive) and 20440 (Trailer)  – no worries, Mate!  The limit   for a dual/tandem axle is 34000! And while those are not exactly balanced, they are legal.  The problem comes when we look at the steer axle (the two wheels that steer the truck – hence the name) weight which is 13640.  That is 1640 (more than ¾ tons) over the limit of 12000.

The “Scale Ticket” with the bad news.

So, the load is light but not legal.  This makes an adjustment of the “fifth wheel”  – which connects the trailer to the tractor. – absolutely necessary.   If done correctly, this will move weight from the steer axle to the drive tandem. This is not often needed and there have been problems performing this stunt before – one of which that nearly killed your humble narrator (see Marooned at Brady’s Leap).

They actually managed to sell my “old truck” which was a Kenworth T680 built in November of 2013. The “new truck” is a Kenworth T680 built in February of 2014 and its fifth wheel is stuck solidly in the middle.  There is no possible solution for the load distribution until that is repaired.  The local truck stop kept me waiting for ten hours only to then tell me that they can’t fix it.  There is a Kenworth dealer nearby and I was waiting at their door as they opened at 0730.  They got the problem fixed in a few hours but The Company could not manage to pay them for it until 2 and ½ hours later.

Now there is not “plenty of time”.  We are trapped in yet another Marathon.  There are 629 miles to the delivery and 13 hours to get there.  That would not be a problem for normal transportation, but I can only actually drive for 11 of those hours.  I can stop the clock by stopping the truck, but I must maintain an average of  better than 57.2 miles per hour while actually moving.  If I run out of drive hours before I arrive, then the load will be 10 hours late – minimum – as I stop to reset my drive clock.  I have found that 60 miles average is possible, barring accidents, traffic, construction or weather.  So, the trip can be done.

At Baton Rouge, I ran into creeping traffic.  There was heavy rain to the East and an accident on the Northbound leg to Mississippi.  At 100 miles out I had a 15 minute buffer.  That began to disappear in the final approach as the route turns to state roads through 35-mile-per-hour towns.  I arrived – exhausted and shaking – with 4 minutes of my 11 hours of drive time left and twelve and one half hours of plain old sequential time after the departure from Baytown.

On Time Delivery.

Giant Carlisle Food Distribution Center Truck Parking, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, June 5, 2017

This load came out of Mississippi and ran to Pennsylvania.  Today was an eventful, hectic and quite long day.  I will employ the sequential format.  But remember, this is in retrospect.  Times are approximate, Eastern Standard Time and in 24 hour format (Military Time).

0400 – Pilot #179, Halfway Blvd, Hagerstown, Maryland.

The iPhone is Velcro-ed to the left of the closet.  This puts it where I can watch Netflix until I fall asleep and I awaken to the iPhone alarm.  The cabin lights are out because the Auxiliary Power Unit (APU) is not charging the batteries.  Nor does it supply cold air in the quarters.  We are up North just now and late night to early morning temperatures are bearable.

0500 – Before departing, the Refrigeration Unit’s (Reefer’s) fuel tank needs filling.  It runs continuously and takes about 20 gallons per day.  The Peace of the Open Road does not last long.

0600 – Arrived at the Giant Distribution Center.  The “drill” here is to park the truck and walk down to the guard shack at the gate to check in.  When they have a door, they will call on CB channel 15 or drive down to knock on your truck.  My appointment is at 0700.

0830 – Now one and on half hours after the appointment, it is time to casually check back with the gate.  They have 1000 as the appointment.  That was the original time, but when they added the second stop, The Company adjusted the time back to 0700 – and nobody told the gate.  I have a magic solution for this.  A message is sent to the Company:

“The gate still has 1000 as the appointment.  I will expect detention pay after 0900 nevertheless!”

Within minutes, I have a door.  A half hour of detention pay would cost The Company $6.25 – and they cannot have that!

1000 The truck is unloaded and I have one hour ($12.50) of detention pay to demand.   The only native-English speaking Lumper (unloader) I have ever met tells me there were 3 boxes of chicken missing.  They are multiple bags of eight pieces each – 50 pounds per box . This happens and they can accept the shortage, which they did.  There is one, little half-stack pallet left and I am off for Allentown – 108 miles away.  After Allentown, I will come back to Carlisle to pick up a sealed trailer from a distributor only 2 miles from here.  So, roughly thirty five thousand pounds of truck will make a 216 mile round trip to deliver 540 pounds of cargo.

No, it does not make sense.

1200 Allentown.

The front gate has a sign that says “one truck at a time in the gate – all others park along the street”.  Early on in this occupation I would have parked and walked in, figuring all these other truck were in front of me.  Now, I know that most of these trucks have delivered and are out of hours and stuck on the street.  There was no truck actually in the gate – so mine must be the “one”!  And, if not, what can they do?  Make me turn around and park on the street? Big deal!

The geometry of the front gate and the guard shack is about the worst I have seen.  I notice that a lot of the fencing is brand new and there are some freshly painted primeval yellow posts.  I had to pass the gate and do the “half-jack knife” to get in.  I nearly took out a fencepost anyway.  The gate guard confirms that a lot of damage is done.  We agree that the guard shack needs to be torn down and re-built to one side.

Going out, I missed a turn and asked Jill to re-route.  She sent me to a right turn at one of the narrowest streets I have seen in a long time.  The next re-route took me through a car-lined “old town” district.  Turns had to have cooperation from the local traffic.  I almost took out a roof overhang on one corner and hopped a couple of curbs with the trailer wheels.

Parked on Shear Drive, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, June 5, 2017

1430 Carlisle.

I returned to find out that Giant did not want those three boxes of frozen chicken.  They want me to “dispose of it”.  You see, this huge warehouse of refrigerated storage does not have room for three boxes of perfectly good chicken and furthermore they have no idea of any charity who might find a use for it.  Furthermore, they don’t have any place to dispose of spoiled (or unwanted) food.

Yeah, right.  The Driver – the man with the least free time and least local contacts – is expected to dispose of this stuff.  My beloved stepmother Gretchen was a volunteer who traveled around to such places to collect such unwanted food for charity.  Her ghost would haunt me if I threw away 150 pounds of perfectly good food.  Your mom wouldn’t like it either!

My clock was down to about an hour.  The next pick-up was two miles away so I drove there for help.  They managed to find the number for the Salvation Army, who I called.  They were eager to have this bounty, but had no transport to come find me.  I was down to fifty minutes and doubted I could get to them and back.  But, it turns out they were only 2.6 miles away.

Carlisle Historic District.  The side street where SA was located was not so luxuriously wide.  I trimmed some trees.

It was a circuitous route through a Historic District.  More car-lined narrow streets.  I found the Salvation Army and pulled around the corner onto an even narrower street, only to be trapped behind a car in the process of parking at a meter.  My trailer is hanging out in the intersection behind me and the “traffic” is turning mean.  I got out to ask the  lady if she could go around the block while I quickly delivered some charity food for the SA.  She was quite composed and understanding – truly a Kind Lady – and agreed to help.  I admired her ability to remain polite despite my wild-haired, ill-shaven and overdue-for-a-shower appearance.  I was still forcing both directions of traffic to share a single lane.

The Salvation Army Officer helped me hustle the chicken out the trailer doors.  He was a bit stunned by the size of the truck and my ability to cram it into the available space.  If I had stopped to think about what I was doing instead of worrying about the time, I would have been impressed, as well.

There were some justifiably angry motorists trapped by my “has-no-business-here-in-the-Historic-District” truck.  To them and to all the poor blokes at the corners who had to back up to let me turn, I shouted “It’s for Charity!”  😉

The SA Officer points out that my trailer is in contact with a street sign. He will go pull the signpost to keep it from scratching the trailer as I pull away. As I ease back in motion and once again enable two-way traffic, I see in my mirror  that the Kind Lady who so graciously made room for me is just pulling in behind me to take her parking space again.  I hastened to beat the clock on the return.  I parked at Giant Carlisle ( I am not technically supposed to be there) again, with just 11 minutes left.  Another job-well-done for Captain Walkabout who will now take a well-deserved rest!

1840 – Giant Carlisle Receiving Clerk just came by to kick me out of parking.  There were five other refugees, so you see she wasn’t picking on me in particular.  In her defense, I can say that she gave us a street name (Shear Drive) where we could creep over (i.e., no Federal clock violations) and park to await Blessed Reset – just a few blocks away.

Shear Drive – A tranquil sanctuary for resetting drivers.

That day is now concluded and this is as good a place as any to stop this post.

Over The Road,

Steve

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Pilot Truck Stop (laundromat), Interstate 57 exit 54, Marion, Illinois May 22, 2017

    This trip is from Green Bay, Wisconsin to Memphis, Tennessee.  Not that it is so important, but because I had forgotten, myself.  I would describe my state of mind as “road weary” and I hope to be home soon.  Back in the “old days” I frequently worked in the field for six weeks or more.  I was younger then and better paid.

  There was an earlier attempt at laundry, but it did not pan out.  That term has nothing to do with moving camera shots or panoramic photographs.  It comes from gold prospecting.  

 The laundry is done and I have a comfortable table and chair here but,  I am packing out of the laundromat now.  The background music is terrible.  The stuff they call music these days – isn’t. 

It was in Oakdale, Wisconsin.  The truck was parked at a Loves, where laundromats are unknown.  Only shower credits had drawn me to this particular spot.  If the Loyalty Card is presented with a purchase, the status of shower credits and coffee discounts is printed on the receipt.  The current status listed two, along with a “refill” that is good for a whole GST* full of coffee.

*Green Stanley Thermos

Showers are much in demand during the afternoon, so a nap was in order.  At about 0100, there was no wait.  The receipt listed zero shower credits now.  Shower credits don’t last forever – they expire in ten days.  The eleventh day had just arrived as the Captain had napped.  I hate when that happens.

This was a 34 hour break and there was a Pilot just across the highway.  At dawn’s early light, I packed up the dirty clothes and dug out twenty quarters from the cup holder.  As I passed the fuel islands, there was a truck from the company I have been talking to about more gainful employment.  The white truck with the big orange trailer was pulled up from the pump and another truck (#2) was fueling behind it.  That means the driver will soon finish his business inside and come out to drive away, so I sat on a garden wall and waited to ask about the company.

And waited.  The truck at the pump was fueled and the driver waited patiently.  Another truck (#3) had joined the line and he went inside for refreshments…and came back with same.  Driver after driver came out of the store – and went to other trucks.  The big orange trailer still blocked the exit.  A horn sounded.  Pretty sure that was driver of #2.

Things like this happen to me all the time.  I always manage to choose the slowest line in the grocery checkout and water fountains are dry when I am thirsty – that sort of thing.  I have stopped worrying about these things and so, in this case I hiked off to take care of the laundry.

There is the Pilot, across the Interstate.

The highway is below grade.  Here is a view of from the middle of the overpass:

You seldom see the Interstate from the median.

Looking back at Loves, the orange trailer is still there. 

    I felt a fight brewing as I left, but I didn’t hear any gunshots.  There are legends of a trucker who leaves his rig at the fuel island and goes for a shower – this might be him.  But, it could be the poor bloke fell and broke an ankle or something, so let’s not jump to conclusions, eh?  -I think I caught that habit in Ontario.

When I arrived at the Pilot, I saw a Mennonite “buggy” parking at the truck stop.

Mennonite transport also finds sanctuary in the Pilot truck stop.

I saw that the Amish had “dropped a trailer” here and were taking the “tractor” (a valid description) away.  You have to clear that sort of thing with the management.  I still avoid photographing these folks…well, because it doesn’t feel right to make them some sort of tourist photo opportunity – like Museum Exhibits.  They have lived here in the same peaceful and friendly  manner for well more than a Century and deserve some respect.   But, this was from far away and they did not see me.  It was not until I returned to the Loves that I figured out what was the story behind this stationing of Amish vehicles.

The Pilot turned out to be a Road Ranger truck stop that was bought out by Pilot and so  they had no laundromat.  It was a good walk anyway.

  The picture is of a statue of what I assume is “THE Road Ranger”.  Poor fellow looks like he lost his job of holding up a truck stop sign.  I reckon that the chain spent too much money on silly statues and had to sell out to Pilot.  Pilot wisely did not spend the money to take down the “Roadie” and left him to welcome visitors…without his sign.

There were traffic control advisories along my walking route that let me know that “We ain’t in Texas no more, Sam”.

    When I returned to the Loves, the orange trailer was gone and there was yet another “dropped”  Mennonite trailer – probably towed by that same hay-burning tractor – that had a “Bake Sale” sign.  I needed some bread and the Amish loaf was fittingly “rustic” and deliciously fresh.

Mennonite Bake Sale bread.   Like the artistic black background?  The bread is perched on  my laptop computer,  with the blackout curtain of the Captains Quarters behind it.

Among the traditionally black-clad women, it was Grandma who sold me the bread and Mom and young Daughter sat behind her.  Mom nudged the distracted young ‘un, who turned and smiled at me, the customer.  That was apparently her job.  She had piercing blue eyes.

At Home at my Kitchen Table, Houston May 26-27, 2017

 

Lakes and rivers in Wisconsin and everywhere else “up North” are full.  Not overflowing, but definitively full.

    The Fates had brought me to Green Bay Wisconsin where I arrive in a “Logistics” yard, which in my humble opinion is a worthwhile innovation and should be repeated nationwide.  The idea is this:  I show up at the logistics yard and drop my empty trailer.  It joins a few other trailers from The Company among the many others that have accumulated here.  It was a good and faithful trailer was 15560 and I will miss it.

At some point a yard tractor will haul away an empty to a meat plant where it will be filled and returned to the same logistics yard.  At that point, the “Gate” will call me and give me the number of the trailer which I will then connect to and depart.  Meanwhile, I park my tractor at an unspecified location somewhere in the yard.  Having noticed that most spaces in the yard have numbers on them, I chose a spot over in the unnumbered gravel “fringe”.

I was handed this load a day and a half late and so I expected it to show up shortly.  However, the definition of “shortly” is rather vague.

All the other spots have numbers but none were painted on the gravel.

The photo above was taken at the peak of weather conditions.  From then on it got colder and wetter and grayer.

Nobody informed me of any restroom facilities when I arrived and there were no convenient signs to that effect.  There was however a small patch of woods behind the truck.   This was not one of those places where they stand on formality.

Some places frown on such “communing with nature” and I have worked out a response if they complain.

“Sir! All day and night, stray animals and birds urinate on your patch of woods.  Are you daring to imply that my urine is somehow inferior?” 😉

Just behind that trailer to the right was a quadrangle guarded by trailers.  Why would they guard empty space?

 

Because they just poured a new, pristine slab of concrete and they know damned well that the trucks would ruin it if it were not carefully sequestered in this manner.  These are smart folks, I tell you!

    After a few hours of walking around the yard, even my sky-high tolerance for boredom was wearing thin.  Let’s see what is nearby to walk to.  Here I am in Green Bay and what might be near?  Well…Green Bay.   As it happened, the place is about a mile’s walk from the namesake water feature.  Yes, the weather is cold and wet and grizzled – but then so was I.  A very polite young lady who was soon to take the night shift at the guard shack described the route and what might be found.  She did not paint false hopes of entertainment.  But, neither did she know the low level of my expectations.  😉  Please see maps below.

Context Map.  That long skinny peninsula separates Green Bay from Lake Michigan.

I could not go to Green Bay and turn down the chance to actually see…Green Bay.

Nearing the Bay.  In this case the camera improves the picture.

The actual scene was much more like Ismael’s mood in the opening passage of Moby Dick:  “whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet…”

And yet it was high-dollar entertainment compared to sitting in the truck, watching the rain.

Arriving at Bay Beach Park, I found nary a soul.  This happens a lot – as you know if you are a regular reader.

The park was deserted, save the lone photographer.  This was not surprising, given the weather.

I remember being a little kid and “flying” those planes with the stubby little wings.   The tiny boats are equipped with enough steering wheels to make every little passenger a Captain.  The park was dedicated to Veterans by the Navy Club in 1956 when your humble narrator was a single year old.

I returned to the yard and slept on into the night.  The call came about midnight that the load was ready.  As it happens, this is a near-optimum time.  When the trailer is connected and the paperwork is done it is nearly 0200 and a good time to get out of a city and on to the road so that when I stop in the early afternoon, there is ample parking and no wait for a shower.

The trailer number is 15560 – the same trailer I had dropped so reluctantly.  This is a favorable omen for a good trip.  All in all, it was a well above average experience and a pleasure to do business with a polite professional at the Gate.

Over The Road,

Steve