SPRING!! TIME FOR A LITTLE HARLEY HISTORY AND TRIVIA!

Ahhhhhhh! Spring is nearing, and a (more or less) young man's fancy turns to . . . his new motorcycle!!! The time for polishing and working on Miss Velvet is coming to an end, and over the next few weeks, it'll be time to ride her again!  So, in anticipation of that, I'm offering this timely entry, filled with some Harley-Davidson lore, history, and trivia. Even if you're not personally into motorcycles, it is my hope that you'll find my efforts interesting and entertaining anyway. And, so -- away we go!!

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Harley-Davidson is the oldest motorcycle manufacturer in the world.

This is true, in terms of continuous production, which has never ceased in 105 years. Although motorized bicycles had been put together in the past, it wasn't until William Harley and Arthur Davidson put their heads together in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in 1903, that the concept became more than a novelty item. Harley was the engineer/mechanic who designed the machine and Arthur Davidson was the salesman who saw a solid marketing gold mine. It wasn't long before Walter Davidson joined them, along with another brother, and the Motor Company was born.

Design innovations followed rapidly. William Harley's designs were different from the past and then-current machines, mainly because he designed a brand-new custom frame for his early creations, instead of just bolting a small engine into a standard bicycle frame. Harley-Davidson, in fact, was the first manufacturer to begin calling their machines "motorcycles." Soon enough, the bicycle pedals had completely disappeared, replaced by the kickstarter which Harley had invented and the machines took on a true motorcycle appearance, radically different from a bicycle. Involved in racing almost from the beginning, there was a need for a more powerful engine and before 1920, the first of the now-legendary V-Twins appeared and soon were standard in all of Harley's street machines. And that unique Harley-Davidson sound was born, albeit not as thunderous as the rumble of the larger displacement engines that would appear in later years.

The company didn't produce or sell many bikes in those early days, becausethey were all laboriously hand-made and only the more affluent people could afford them, but it wasn't too many years before Henry Ford turned the industrial world on its ear and his assembly line process was adapted to other kinds of manufacturing almost overnight. Harley-Davidson, which had already established its early network of dealerships (a first for motorcycle makers), took off from there. Just as it was with Ford, now the common man could buy a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and sales began to soar. The rest, as they say, is history.

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Harley-Davidson's innovation stopped around the WWII era and they haven't progressed much since then.

False. It might seem to be that way, because Harley's advancement has come slowly, a bit at a time, seemingly, but modern Harley-Davidson bikes are just as technologically up-to-date as any others. Harley-Davidson has always had a different philosophy than other motorcycle manufacturers; instead of rapid and radical advances, Harleys have steadily evolved over the years, into the modern machines of today.

The V-Twin engines of today are still based on the same tried, true, tested, and proven design of the earlier days, in that they still retain the 45-degree angle between the cylinders and the two connecting rods still share a common crankshaft pin, but indeed that is the heart and soul of a Harley engine. It's where that sound comes from, after all -- from that configuration. You don't mess with something that works and Harley hasn't. They know, as do millions of owners worldwide, that it wouldn't be a Harley if it didn't sound like a Harley!  Internally, though, the cylinder head designs, hydraulic roller tappets, modern camshafts, etc., have all evolved into the latest technology. Harley-Davidson is even one leg up on their Japanese competition, in that all modern Harleys are now fuel-injected, while the similar rice-burner cruiser-class  bikes are still carbureted.

And the rest of the machine is state-of-the-art as well. The suspension and steering, transmissions, brakes, Kevlar belt final drive (insteadof a chain that slings oil all over you), self-canceling turn signals, electronic ignition, solid-state charging systems and other components are thoroughly modern.

Don't let Harley's styling fool you into thinking that all the bikes are technological throwbacks. Thanks to Willie G. Davidson, the head styling guru at the Motor Company (and great-grandson of one of the founders), Harleys have retained the classic styling that the owners and buyers want, while utilizing the most modern and up-to-date components throughout the product. The massive front fenders and teardrop gas tanks have been retained, giving a modern bike the retro look that Harley owners crave.

Other bikes are faster and more powerful, but a Harley is a Harley is a Harley, like they say. It is what it is. You either like it, or you don't. If you're a techno-geeky speed demon (and enjoy long rides crouched in a position that resembles doing push-ups), then get a "crotch rocket." If you want a classy, 100% American-made legend, then buy a Harley. Depends on your appetite.  

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Harley-Davidsons have a bad reputation because they're the motorcycle of choice for biker gangs and hoodlums.Most of the people who ride them are loud, uncivilized outlaw types who cause trouble everywhere they go.

True and False. Some outlaw types have ridden Harleys in the past and a few still do today. It's true that gangs like the infamous Hell's Angels almost all rode wildly customized Harley-Davidsons, most with loud straight pipes (which all too many -- even the certified non-hoodlums -- still favor today, unfortunately). But in reality, historically, it was lousy, tabloid-type journalism, combined with too many people jumping to unfair conclusions that drove those types to become outlaws in the first place. They were made into what they became.

It all started in Holllister, California, in 1947, when a motorcycle club, made up of World War Two veterans, rode into the little town and decided to spend the night there. They had bought their predominately Harley-Davidson motorcycles after they returned home and had stripped them down to bare-bones machines, tossing things like saddlebags, extra lighting, sheet metal parts they could do without, and so forth. They partied and most got drunk and loud, but aside from a few minor disturbances and some of them who ended up in the local drunk tank and jail cells, due to blasting around on their bikes and making a lot of noise. not much really happened. Nuisance level at best and the local bar and tavern owners were happy because the bikers spent quite a bit of money while they were there. They really didn't cause a lot of trouble. Local townspeople who still live there today will tell you as much.

The hoodlum image got started when a reporter from the newspaper in a nearby larger town, went over there to see what all the hubbub was about. Evidently, this reporter was a prudish type and what he saw must have shocked him out of his gourd, for according to the way he described things in his story, one would think that all the demons from hell had descended on Hollister and were looting, raping and pillaging at will, like the Viking raiders of bygone days. He sensationalized it, whether deliberately, or out of pure shock, and the story was picked up by many larger newspapers.

The gross over-hyping had its effect on millions of readers and before very long, those early biker clubs found that they were unwelcome almost everywhere they tried to go on their two wheels. Police lined up at the town limts, to make sure that they just rode on through, not welcome to stop and quench their thirst anywhere. They could have just hung it up and broke up their clubs, but they were incensed by the unfair image that the reporter had given them. These were former combat soldiers and pilots, who had risked their lives fighting for their country and now that country was treating them like dirt, over a few beer brawls and impromptu drag races. They were fighters and they grew determined to fight back, so they began to live up to the image they had been stuck with.

If you've never seen the old movie, The Wild One, which starred Marlon Brando and Lee Marvin, rent it and give it a look. It's based on the Hollister incident, although the film's director  was not allowed to portray the incident accurately, as he wanted to do. He was forced to portray the biker characters as outlaws and hoodlums by the Film Decency Board of that day, which had drank the Kool-Aid put out by the press. That film made it even more uncomfortable for the bikers, as a result. By the 50's and 60's, the biker clubs had indeed become outlaws, in reaction to the way they had been treated in the aftermath of Hollister.

Nowadays, of course, times have changed and most of the biker clubs around, like H.O.G., or Harley Owners Group, are just honest, hard-working people who travel around on their machines in their leisure time and cause few, if any, problems at all. The Hells Angels still exist, but, except for a few isolated incidents, are no longer seen as a threat to society at all. They have, in fact, volunteered, as part of the Rolling Thunder Brigade, to provide security for the families of slain soldiers, when groups of nutball anti-war protestors try to interrupt the funeral ceremonies. I, for one, say more power to them, in that endeavour!

Society has changed, Sonny Barger (Hell's Angels leader in the 60's) died, and the younger generation has taken over the clubs. Few of them are into violence and mayhem anymore. They're just looking to ride, enjoy the scenery, and stop in for a cold one at the end of a long riding day. Lots of them are tattooed and look weird sometimes, but they are good people, for the most part.

There's no point in being afraid of bikers anymore.

10-7

THE TRUTH ABOUT OIL PRICES

Blogger's Note:  On first glance, it might seem that the subject of this entry would make it more fitting material for my political blog, but I have decided to post it here instead, because of the impact on my profession -- trucking.    L.J.W.

 

It was warmer everywhere I went this past week and it looks like, finally, spring is beginning, after a particularly harsh winter. With the warmer weather, of course, will come the annual blooming of orange construction barrels all over the place -- the surest sign to truckers and motorists that the seasons have changed. And, as we move toward summer and the annual travel season's beginning, we can all look forward to the grim prospect of higher gas prices, which will, without a doubt, soar to more than $4.00 per gallon in no time at all.

Diesel fuel, which Big Trucks run on, has already reached that level in some states, as I observed this week. Pennsylvania and Illinois are two examples of states that are already over the $4.00 diesel price. Most trucking companies don't pay the pump price, of course; they get sizable fleet discounts from the major fuel suppliers. But it still hits them in their wallets, just as it does everyone who purchases fuel. The owner/operators are hurting the most, because in spite of the fact that many get some kind of discount from the company they lease out to, fuel is still largely an out-of-pocket expense for them. Fully independent truckers, who are few and far between these days to begin with, will grow even scarcer in the course of the coming year, as fuel costs prompt them to hang it up, sell off their trucks, and find another occupation to provide them with an income.

The "blame game" has already started, but it will hit high gear a couple of months from now when gasoline prices reach the same level as diesel fuel already has. That long summer vacation trip don't look quite as hot when you're paying $80 a pop to fill your SUV's gas tank, does it? The finger-pointing will begin in earnest and, as always, the primary target will be the oil companies -- those "evil," greedy companies, with their humongous profits who produce the product that everyone who drives any vehicle with an internal combustion engine absolutely needs. The media will drive this anti-oil company fervor by ranting endlessly about the size of those profits and elected officials in Washington, especially those on our political left, will point their fingers and threaten to tax the profits, or cap the price of the fuels they produce. And now, with Democrats in control of Congress, they may just do it.

Big mistake, if we consumers allow them to do that, because history will repeat itself and the result won't be pretty at all. Anyone out there old enough to remember the oil crises of the 1970's? Remember sitting in line for hours, to get a few gallons of gas in your car? Remember gas stations being closed altogether because they had run out of fuel? Remember the alternate fuel-purchasing days (a form of rationing) that occurred in some places? Remember then-President Jimmy Carter's "Windfall Profits Tax?" And, if you think back really hard, maybe you'll recall that those gas lines, closed stations, rationing, and the other miseries didn't begin until Carter signed that tax and other oil price controls into law!  You might also recall, if you think long and hard enough, that the misery went on unchecked until 1981, when President Ronald Reagan, with one stroke of his pen, repealed that tax and all the price controls, so that the market could again work as it was supposed to. The gas lines disappeared overnight, the supplies flowed again and the misery of the '70s was over at last.

In Reagan, we had a president who understood Basic Economics 101 and pulled us out of the mess we were in. He understood the Law of Supply Versus Demand, and how that simple law is the very foundation of our economic system. Reagan knew that when the government interferes with the natural order of things in the economy, it will always result in a shortage on the supply side, as the suppliers cut production in order to hold onto their bottom line. Reagan also fully understood that such government control always results in a dramatic increase in price, as the commodity that's in short supply becomes more valuable. So, Reagan had the wisdom to remove the artificial controls and let supply and demand work in the natural way that it's supposed to.

That crisis ended with Reagan's actions. But now another crisisis looming and many in the government want to do the very same thing Carter did, which will have the exact same results, and millions of unsuspecting Americans, hurt by the high cost of fuel, actually favor their doing so. Some are too young to remember the crunch of the '70s, and many older people have simply forgotten about it. Times have changed, since the Carter/Reagan eras, to be sure, but Economics 101 is still the same as always and a profits tax, or other artificial government price-fixing, is most definitely not the answer. As always, when the government tries to "fix" something, it only succeeds in making things much worse. Until people finally learn that truth, history, I'm afraid, will continue to repeat itself, as it is poised to do right now.

If you want to see the full result of government price controls, you need look no further than Europe, where fuel prices have hit the average equivalent of $9.00 per gallon. We can all take some comfort in the fact that it's still not nearly that expensive here. In most, if not all, of the EU countries, the oil industry is nationalized, which means that the government has taken over complete control of it altogether. Five dollars difference in the price, when the government takes full charge. Don't want that to happen here, do you? Then by all means, don't let the government ever, ever, get control of it, because Europe is your example of what happens, pricewise, when it does so. Things go from bad to worse, just like I told you.

When the government takes control, they can shift the price up or down at will and the direction will definitely be upward. This increase, in America, will be to appease the environmental lobby, which really wants us to stop driving completely. These lobbies are rolling in money, which means that they have great influence in Washington and can get laws and regulations passed which impose their will on all of us, who have next to no influence at all. Our government isn't one of "By The People" anymore; it's become one of "By The Special Interests Who Have Lots More Money Than You And Me." And our public officials, of both  political parties, are the best money can buy, let me tell you that! If you believe otherwise, then you are hopelessly naive.

So, you're probably  wondering now that if I'm right, and government intervention is not the answer, then what is the solution? To get to that answer, it is of primary importance to understand why the price is so high to begin with. And it isn't just oil company greed. Forget that.

One factor is OPEC, or the Organization of Price-Extorting Criminals, as I prefer to call them. If anyone involved in the fuel price game is to be labeled as greedy and evil, this collection of oil barons deserves the title richly. Composed of representatives from all the nations who export crude oil to the refineries around the world, many of whom are most definitely not friends of the United States, this organization can, and does, on the slightest whim, raise or lower their production. This, in turn, moves the going rate for crude oil to higher or lower levels, as the case may be and as it suits OPEC's interests. Lately, they've been tapering off on production, driving the price-per-barrel up to record levels. The sheiks and other oil fatcats must want newer model Rolls-Royces than they already have, or some more golden commodes, or indoor ski resorts.

We're stuck buying about forty percent of our oil from OPEC nations. Although most of our imported oil comes from Mexico and Canada, their prices are set by OPEC agreement and our oil companies have to pay the going rate for it, which may change on an almost daily basis. They get no price break on it and thus must pass the cost on to the consumers -- us, otherwords. That much is just simple business economics, virtually the same as trucking companies passing their fuel costs on to the customer in the form of surcharges. There's not a lot we can do about OPEC; it's their oil. If we want it, we pay their price, or do without.

But as if OPEC's not enough to drive the price upward all alone, here comes our own federal government. and their obsession with regulations and taxation. The oil companies don't make their money at the pump. They never have and never will. Their profits are made at the refineries, where the crude oil is converted into gasoline, diesel fuel, and other products. Oil companies only average about eight cents ($.08) in profit per every gallon of fuel they sell. The federal government, alone, takes eighteen cents ($.18) on  every gallon -- a full ten cents more than the oil companies are making. You tell me who's doing the gouging here?? And some in our government want to raise that tax take even higher??!! Give me a break!!!

Oh, I know -- the government spends the tax money on roads, and so forth, blah, blah, blah. Heard it all before, but it won't hold a lot of water. Roads are built and maintained by the states and municipalities. Show me one road that the federal government has ever built or maintained. Go ahead -- show me one! You can't, because the federal government doesn't build our highways. Yet they add their eighteen cents worth to every gallon of fuel that's sold. Who should one logically be the maddest at? The oil companies, making their eight cents and giving you a product that you need? Or the federal government, taking eighteen cents so they can blow it on studying the effects of cow farts on global warming, or some other worthless foolishness?

And what about those humongous profit margins that the "evil" oil companies are making? The profits that the media and politicians rant and rave about so much, trying to turn all the blame on the oil companies? That profit margin wouldn't be nearly as high, if the oil companies reinvested some of it in things like new refineries, and exploration/drilling in the ANWAR in Alaska, and other domestic oil sites, such as in the Gulf of Mexico, off the coast of Florida.

Virtually all companies reinvest part of their profits in their own businesses; that's how they get much of the capital they need to build new plants, new stores, and to expand. But the oil companies aren't allowed to reinvest theirs, as the federal government has forbidden them to build any new refineries, or explore and drill domestically, all at the behest of the environmental movements, with their cash and political clout.

The fact is, the federal government is responsible for those profit margins being so high, in the first place!  And then, of course, the leftist politicians and the media can then find plenty of ammunition they can use to demonize the oil industry with. They simply "forget" to mention that their own regulations help drive those profits up  to such record levels. Because they don't want us to realize that. They want to make us hate the oil companies, and with all too many people, they are succeeding grandly. 

I've often wondered how high the price will climb before people finally catch on, tell the "greenies" to shut up and sit down, and demand that we build new refineries and drill domestically? Five dollars a gallon? Six? New exploration and drilling, and new refineries are the solution to lower prices and end much of our dependence on imported oil for years to come. Let OPEC see that we are going to do this and watch how fast their crude oil prices drop! It will amaze you! When we no longer need their oil, they will be willing to make us a deal. You can bet on it.

Our own oil industry can bring about lower prices, if we let them; it's just a matter of educating enough people about the truth. Oil companies aren't evil; they are just businesses like all others, producing a product that is vital to us all. Maybe now some of you readers won't jump to conclusions when the media starts bashing them again. Maybe some of you will ask your elected officials why we are letting Cuba and China drill off our coast, and we're not out there claiming our share of that oil. Just the truth and something to think about.

10-7

WINTER REVISITED AND A DRIVING AWARD

Everybody sing along with me:

I'm dreaming of a white Easter, just like the ones I've never known.

Where Al Gore is whining about Global Warming, while sleigh bells tinkle in the snow.

I'm dreaming of a white Easter; springtime still seems so far away.

For the green grass I'm yearning oh so much -- as my tires keep spinning in the slush!

That's what I've been singing all week, as Mom Nature had a winter flashback and they stuck my butt back in the snow both at the start of the week and (as if that weren't enough) again at the end of it!! Somebody at my company evidently thinks I'm Nanook Of The North, but they've definitely got the wrong guy! I am decidedly a Warm Weather Person. Don't like snow. Hate the white frozen crap with a passion. Wouldn't even play in it when I was a kid. Only reason I liked it then was because it got me out of going to school for a day or two, that's all! I was born and raised in the south, where it don't snow much, and I'll stay in the south forever! I know when I'm well-off, thank you!

First off was a little jaunt up to Minnersoda, or Minnesota, I mean -- up in the Frozen North, where it's still very much winter, and will be till sometime in May, I think. The earth has to tilt WAY over on its axis before it warms up in those upper latitudes, so spring is longer getting there. I drove through near white-out "snow showers," driven by a very annoying gusting wind, as I neared my destination. I drive a single trailer, not the doubles some unfortunate LTL drivers are stuck with, but with those gusts out of nowhere, I was rocking all over the road, doing my very best simulation of those wiggle-wagons. Unnerving? That would be an understatement. But after ten years of braving blizzards, hurricanes, tropical storms, "baby" tornadoes, and almost everything else Mom Nature can throw my way, I'm pretty tough, if I do say so myself. Either that, or I'm insane. Haven't figured that out yet. Anyway, I persevered and rolled into the customer, right on time.

I dumped my loaded box in a dock door, tromped the slushy ground beside the trailer to dig out a clear spot, and planted my heels firmly in the slippery slush, so I could crank the dollies down and pull the fifth wheel release without losing traction and falling on my rear. Then I spun my way out from under the loaded box, fishtailed around to the back lot, taking the corners like a really BIG snowmobile and almost spinning a donut in the empty lot. Finally, I spun and slid my way under an empty that was sitting all alone back there. I went through the foot-planting ritual again to get hooked up to it.

I was dispatched quickly for a change, to a little town, barely in Iowa, only fifteen miles south of where I was, in Albert Lea, MN. Not knowing the condition of the backroads and not looking for any extra challenges other than the ones life throws at you normally, I took I-35 down to that exit, went east seven miles, found the place, checked in, then proceeded to wait on the load for four hours. It was late afternoon by the time I set sail again and I had about two hours left, to get a few miles behind me before I hit my break period. I meant that part above about "setting sail" quite literally, because during the time I spent waiting, the weather gods had decided to curse me with a particularly nasty crosswind!

That big windbag was blowing from west to east and came equipped with gusts which felt like at least 60 mph in strength. It felt like a giant fist was hitting the side of my trailer, and I could hear a distinct 'bang' when the gusts slammed into my box. To make things worse, my entire load weighed a wimpy 1,400 pounds!! It was almost the same as pulling a deadhead empty box. Not good. Where is a heavier load when you need one?

I was countersteering my tractor straight between the lines, in the center of my lane and when I glanced in my mirror, I could see that the wind was so strong that it was pushing the box clear over next to the lane divider line. Cars crept cautiously past me, unsure of whether I'd end up on top of them when the next gust came. Actually, if those 4-wheel drivers had realized it, the best thing they could have done would be to tromp the accelerator and get around me as fast as possible, not linger over there like they were doing!! I tried to wave them past with arm motions: "Go on!! Scat!! Get away from me!" I urged them, hoping they could read my lips. A few did and boogied on out of  there, but most of them just crept by, staring at me untrustingly, putting themselves in harm's way out of seeming fascination and/or ignorance! But eventually they all went by unscathed and the road was empty again.

The wind had, of course, blown dry powdery snow from the shoulder and the nearby fields out onto the road surface in places. Normally, this isn't a problem for a heavy truck, but in that wind, it was murderous. I hit a deeper drift at the exact same time that I was blasted with another powerful gust and it literally skated my whole rig sideways across the snowdrift, halfway into the left lane! Now you can understand why I was motioning the cars to speed up and get around me earlier; if there had been a 4-wheeler over there at that moment, I'd have creamed it! Luckily, there wasn't anything over there, and I got it straightened back up and back in my lane quickly.

That was enough for me, on this nasty weather day. I determined that I would stop early, at the closest place I could find, take my break, and hope that the wind would die down that night, by the time I had to roll again. I came to a rest area a few miles further on, and I pulled into it and parked. Got up in the wee hours, found that the wind had indeed died off to nothing, and then rolled on south, through the Mason City area (Hi, Merry!) and on down to U.S. 20, where I drove east, to Waterloo, then south on 380, to Iowa City and I-80. Onward east to I-74, then on to Bartonville, near our yard.

I got rid of that load the next morning, then picked up a loaded trailer at the same place and began another long journey to North Carolina, due there the following day, Friday. It was on that journey that the state of Indiana bestowed a little award on me. I received a Fast Driving Award in the city of Indianapolis, issued by an Indiana state trooper. A "Fast Driving Award" is a speeding ticket, in case you haven't figured that out by now. 65 in a 55, no contest. I was guilty as all hell and admit it. But the circumstances were almost comical and I was chuckling to myself afterward.

I was cruising down I-465, "The Circle," as it's known to truckers, because it's a beltway that circles  the entire city. Right lane full of slowpokes, as usual; middle lane, where I was, full of faster vehicles, and the far left lane almost deserted, except for passing cars. You'll notice I didn't mention trucks and that's because we're banned from the far left lane, as we are in most major cities.

I have taken issue with those bans, but that does no good, of course, because the politicians have to do something to make their constituents think they're doing the job they were elected to do and that something usually involves making it harder on trucks, in some manner. This has become the natural order of things, seemingly. Pamper the cars, then poop on the trucks. That's the thanks we get for keeping the shelves full at your favorite stores. But, I digress.

I was doing fine, humming along at nearly 60, until I ran upon a little 6-wheeled local-yokel delivery truck that was poking along in the middle lane at 45 mph, ten miles per hour under the 55 limit. I tried to "push" him along a little faster, but he wasn't gong to be pushed, nor take the hint and move into the Granny Lane where he belonged. Nope, this yokel was going to keep right on puttering along, ignoring the traffic behind him that would prefer to, uh, go a little faster than construction zone speeds.

Check right lane. Bumper-to-bumper, going about the same speed as the creeping lane hog in front of me. Look to the left. Deserted. Hmmmmmmm. Well, what choice did I have? I could stay behind that clown and take the rest of the day to get through Indy, or I could "bend" the law a little bit, dart into the left lane, pass him quickly, dash back over and slow back down to a tolerable speed again. I headed left, sped up a bit, and put him in my mirror. It was that "getting back over" part that didn't work out as planned, however.

Cars had moved from the right lane into the middle lane in front of the offending slowpoke and had neatly taken up all the real estate I needed in order to get back into the center lane. I put on my signal and held my position momentarily, hoping they would make room for me. But, as usual, they only cared about themselves and not a tractor-trailer, which was now trapped in the left lane, which he wasn't supposed to be in at all! So much for a quick bending of the law. I was now breaking the damned thing outright. I had to get back over, before some cop spotted me out there.

The cars were in a conga line, nose-to-tail, with about eight or ten of them in line. They weren't going to make room for me, so the ony thing I could do was speed up, pass all of them, then move back over where I belonged and slow back down to my reasonable speed again. So, I proceeded to do just that, picking them off one by one. Until I passed a big, gas-gulper SUV and discovered that the car in front of him was an unmarked police car. I had already come up beside him before I realized who and what he was. Okay, cop -- you want me, you got me! I couldn't break into the conga line behind him and was kind of obvious right beside him, so I just said to hell with it, went on past him, then rolled back into the center lane, just as he turned on his red and blue disco lights. BUM-BA-BUM-BUM! Busted. Caught red-handed in a restricted lane, speeding. Oh, SHIT!!!

I made my way into the right lane (NOW they let me over!), found a safe place on the shoulder, pulled over and popped the parking brake knob. He wrote up the speeding rap, but let me off with a warning on the lane violation, after I explained what my original intention had been. He realized, I think, that I was trapped out there and had no other choice. I don't even know yet, how much I'll have to pay for the privilege of fast driving, nor how many points I'll earn for it. But it's only my second speeding ticket in ten years, so my record is still pretty good, I think. I have also long believed that unmarked police cars should be unconstitutional, as driving them amounts to cheating by the cops, but since the Powers That Be don't see it my way, I guess it's a chance we'll always have to take. Except in Ohio, where unmarkeds are unconstitutional!

I got back home yesterday afternoon, after I had to run 100 miles west of Knoxville, to the town of Cookeville, TN, to swap loads with another driver, so I can keep my doctor appointment tomorrow. And it was snowing again, although the roads were snow-free and the wind was tempered a lot by the trees and hills around these parts. Nothing like that wind in Iowa on Wednesday! There's no snow here at all, as it all went north of the valley Knoxville sits in, but it's cold as whiz.

It's supposed to warm up by Tuesday. Let's hope it does, and stays that way!!

10-7

ME AND MY BIG MOUTH!!!

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

 

Made another Ironman run home this weekend; almost 800 miles from Joplin, Missouri, at the Kansas/Oklahoma line, to the Dawg House, beginning on Friday night and ending up late yesterday afternoon. This ain't Kansas anymore, Dorothy. That much is true, but I had been in Kansas on Friday, which I wouldn't have been at all if I hadn't blown a relay that was set up for me by opening my big, fat mouth at the wrong time!! I would happily kick my own butt, with all of you as witnesses, if my danged leg were long enough to reach it!!

This latest sordid affair began on Monday, after spending the weekend in Morton, when I delivered the load I had dragged up there from Kentucky and was promptly assigned a load heading me south, to Florida. To Jacksonville, specifically, and the railyards there, where I would drop the loaded trailer so they could load it on a flatcar and piggyback it to Miami. The railroad has their own cartage operation and they hook up the trailer to one of their trucks in Miami, take it to the customer, haul an empty box back to the railyard, then ship it north, back to Jacksonville.

That's cheaper than having us drive all the way down there and then have to deadhead us 300 miles back up north, to pick up a backhaul load. There's nothing much going north out of Miami and that was a big problem for us in the past. They'd get us down there, then have trouble getting us back out of there, without deadheading us all over the place. And deadhead miles are a loser for trucking companies; they have to pay us for those miles, while they make nothing for hauling an empty trailer around. Now the railroad has solved it and, with the exception of a few of our drivers who live in Florida and run shuttles in and out of Miami, we don't go down there at all. The Orlando/Tampa area is about as far south as I've gone in over four years or so.

However, there's another problem in Florida, at least in the winter months -- a lack of any freight. It dries up down there in the winter, for some reason, andhas done so for years, making for some long waits to be dispatched on another load. But the heck with that, I thought at the time; if you're gonna get stuck in a loadless condition, there are far worse places than Florida to do so, and at least you're out  of the cold, snow and ice that's still around in the more northerly climes. So, I happily made my merry way southward from Star Central.

I got to Jacksonville a couple of hours ahead of schedule, dropped my loaded box, snatched an empty one, and then got just what I was expecting -- a "no load" message from dispatch. I found a spot on the shoulder in a jam-packed rest area and slept as well as I could, with the truck tilted downhill, which wasn't very well at all. I moved to a truckstop the next morning, napped some more, and got dispatched more quickly than I expected. Load picked up in South Georgia and went to a town in Kansas, just over the Missouri line, near Joplin. It was set to deliver Friday morning, more than 800 miles from home, after I'd already been held out the previous weekend. The past weekend had played to my advantage, in getting a newer truck assigned to me, but this weekend it would be a decided hardship on me, if I couldn't get home. And the prospects didn't look too hot, from so far away.

A "discussion" with dispatch ensued. I pled my case relentlessly; I had to get home in order to get my prescriptions refilled. I would run out of my medications if I didn't. Was it possible they could set up a relay somewhere? "Get the load and we'll see about it" was the response I got. So, I headed for Georgia, to a little burg 30 miles east of Valdosta.

I got there, was told the load wasn't ready yet (as usual), was instructed on where to drop the empty and where to park and wait. Drove around the plant, dumped my empty in a sandlot out back, parked behind another Star-mobile and waited. Meanwhile, the lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with me and I nodded out at the wheel. BEEP! "Message Waiting," said the Qualcomm. I rubbed my eyes and jabbed the key that opens the messages for viewing. They had a relay set up in Nashville and the driver would be there waiting on me. Great!! But that also meant an all-night drive, with little to no sleep, which I needed badly.

Guess I'd better nap while I can, I thought, so I hunkered back down and headed to dreamland again. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! I opened my eyes, jumped up and looked out the window at a spotter. Load's ready, I was informed. Go get your bills and you're outta here, sleepyhead! I grinned at him as I climbed down from the cab. "You would wake me up NOW," I told the guy. "Hell, I was just getting to the part where I almost had her clothes off!!" He laughed and I went to the office and signed my bills.

I had to drive back the way I'd come, to the front of the building, to get my loaded caboose, and the "driveway" was a narrow sandy path. On the far, or east, side of the building, I encountered a spottermobile headed my way and I moved as far to my right as I could, to make room for us to pass each other. In so doing, my mirror on the passenger side was whacked by some shrubbery branches that stuck out along the fenceline. It didn't hurt the mirror, but the little antenna for my satelllite radio was stuck to the top of it and when the branches slapped it, my satellite unit went dead. Nothing but static on the FM frequency the satellite operates on.

I looked, expecting the antenna to have been knocked off the mirror, but it was still there. Hmmmmm. I went on around, backed under my loaded trailer, then had a look-see when I got out to finish hooking up. The antenna was trashed totally. The branch had snapped the wire from the antenna in two and it was hanging limply from the passenger door, where I had routed it inside. No user-serviceable parts. Not repairable. Shot. So, no satellite radio until I could purchase another antenna. After I got the trailer all hooked up, I tore it from the mirror, unhooked it from the unit, turned it off, tossed the antenna, and scanned around for local FM stations, until I found one with music I liked.

I drove all night long, stopping only for a brief three-hour nap, and sleeping just long enough to get really sleepy, if you know what I mean. About 50 miles out from Nashville, the following morning, the other driver called me and told me he was there. I told him where I was and that I'd be there shortly. Then dispatch called and it was not my dispatcher. He was taking the day off again, it seems. He's been absent a lot lately, but I'm danged if I know what's going on with him, and haven't talked to him enough to find out. The replacement dispatcher wanted to check with me about the timing of the relay that my dispatcher had set up, so I told him what he wanted to know. 

It was then that my Big Mouth went out of control. Blame it on lack of sleep and being half brain-dead as a result. Blame it on driving all night, in a mental fog half the time, with my well-oiled driving instincts taking over, amounting to an "automatic pilot" of sorts, to keep me out of trouble. It's a level regular everyday drivers never acheive at all and it's kept me alive and well for ten years. But in spite of what I may blame on it, the fact remains that I blew my own relay right out of the water!

I HAD to ask Mr. Replacement where the load I was swapping for went and I HAD to ask him when it was set to deliver. Greeneville, Tennesse, was the reply and that part was great! Seventy miles from home and only about 4 1/2 hours away from Music City. It was set to deliver that same afternoon and that wasn't so good, as I was falling-down tired and didn't have the legal hours left to get there. Then I JUST HAD to tell Mr. Replacement about my hour situation. Open mouth, insert foot squarely in mouth!! He asked me when I could be there. I told him I was familiar with the customer and knew well that they'd be closed by the time I took my break and drove there. So, I concluded, the earliest I could be there would be the next morning. He said he'd call them and see if they could wait that long. I drove onward.

The Qualcomm beeped on the outskirts of Nashville, but I was in city traffic and didn't answer it until I got to the truckstop where the relay was to take place. The other truck wasn't there. I backed in and opened the message. "Cancel Relay," it read. Well, dog-poop, I thought!! Looked like that Greeneville customer couldn't wait till the next day, after all. The other truck had obviously been sent on, to make his delivery and I was going to Kansas. Double dog-poop!! When I complained, Mr. Replacement told me he'd get me home from out there. Yeah. Right. For how long?? Fifteen minutes before I have to leave right back out? I left that unsaid and hit the bunk. Enough was enough and I was bone-tired.

I got up and prepared to head west and north of where I was. I never sleep as well during the day, but I got enough rest so that I could drive all night again. And my head was clear enough now to realize I had torpedoed my own relay with my big mouth! If I had been thinking clearly that morning, I'd have kept my stupid mouth shut about my hours, swapped loads, and drove illegally to that customer! The HOS doesn't exist when it comes to getting home! I KNOW that only too well! I'd probably be there by now, or on Friday, at the latest!! Dumbass Dawg! Stupid mutt!! I proceeded to call myself every name in the book at that point, showing myself no mercy at all. A brain fart of monumental proportions; that's what it was. No doubt at all about that. Probably the Greatest Brain Fart Of All Time. A world record. I spent the next hour beating myself up severely. And I deserved it!

So, I was in Kansas on Friday morning, once again weary from the all-nighter and making my way on a detour route when I discovered that the road I was supposed to take was closed, due to [expletive deleted] road construction. I got unloaded, got dispatched quickly, and, as promised, the load would take me home, then on to North Carolina on Monday. I scurried to get it picked up , sleep some more, then head out that night. Had to run all over a little town, to three different places, to get it, but I did, then headed, illegally, back to Joplin for my break. I wasn't making the same mistake this time, by golly!!

I fueled in Joplin and found a new antenna for my Sirius at the truckstop, and a much better one than I'd had before, to boot. Couldn't install it until I got home to my tools and bench vise, though, because it had a gollywhompin' HUGE 1-1/8 inch nut holding it to the bracket it was assembled with and I would need to change the bracket, for another type that came packed with it. Needed a big wrench that I only had at home. So, I laid it on the dashboard, but it lost the signal every time I changed directions because it wasn't outside, where it belonged. So I turned the thing off and made do with local stations along the way.

My trek home began around 10 P.M., Central Time, on Friday night and ended a little past 4 P.M. Eastern Time yesterday. Almost 800 miles, virtually overnight, but I made it and at least I've got today off. I was tired, but still had the energy to swap the brackets out and get the antenna installed, now clamped to the sunshield on the front of the cab's roof. It works fine and I've got my satellite radio again now. And this antenna won't get shredded by shrub branches again!

Now, to catch up to things, when I've been out for two weeks! Talk to all of you later!!

10-7

SICK TRUCKS AND ANOTHER TRADE-IN

Morton, Illinois

Not home this weekend, but that's turned out to be to my benefit, for once. The newer truck I got a little over a week ago got sick and they put me in an even newer one today. This time I could "hang around" (try, like, all weekend) because my load delivers right here in Morton Monday morning. Actually, truck 3402 got sick, got better for a day or so, then had a relapse this morning. I'll be happy to explain. Glad you asked!!

It started Wednesday, while I was enroute from some little burg in Pennsylvania, to my delivery in Bowling Green, Kentucky, with an eta set for Thursday morning. It sounded at first like a dog when you take its dinner bowl away from it -- a growling noise, otherwords, from the engine, which up to that time had purred like the Kitty-Cat it is. But not now. That growl soon enough turned into a dead miss. It felt exactly like a car with a bad spark plug wire and a dead cylinder. The "Check Engine" idiot light was on and blinking a bit now and then and my steed was losing power. Wouldn't hold 65 if there was even the slightest uphill grade and would take nearly forever to get up to speed from a stop.

Since diesel engines don't have spark plugs, or plug wires, the first thought that hit my head was "injector going bad." That's about the only thing that'll kill a cylinder in a diesel -- that, or a dropped valve, which is even worse news. So, I went into that famous "OH, SHIT" mode immediately. But I remembered then that I'd had a similar problem with an earlier truck and it turned out that the fuel filters had gotten waterlogged. I had them changed and everything was fine again. So, I made plans to stop at a truckstop where we're authorized to have repairs done and try that out, if our shop was agreeable.

They were, and I pulled it into the Northern Kentucky truckstop shop in short order. I was thinking that if I was lucky, I'd maybe just gotten some lousy fuel the previous day. That 80/20 fuel/water mix doesn't run too well in any engine, to be sure. So, they changed them both and I signed the tab and took the rest of my break. Next morning, I went across the street to the Pilot, where we fuel all the time, and topped it off. It held a  little over a hundred gallons,which is a half-tank, by Big Truck standards. Now we'd see about things!!

I headed toward Louisville, and I-65, and Bowling Green, eventually. The idiot light came back on and my rig did what is best described as a "slump" momentarily. It felt like I had one foot on the accelerator and one foot on the brake, at the same time, only I didn't, of course. Hmmmmmm. Not fixed?? The shop had told me to get it back to Morton if the filters didn't fix it. However, the idiot light was acting like what it's named for -- a total idiot! It would blink, stay steady a minute or two, go out for a few seconds, then blink again, like it was signaling some kind of insane Morse Code. Finally, after maybe a half-hour, the thing went out for good, the engine smoothed out and purred again, and I was saying, "Ahhhhhhhhh!" Had to run long enough to get the new, fresh fuel circulating, I reasoned.

And it stayed that way, purring along, all the way to my destination. Purred while I sat for over an hour in traffic that was stopped because there was freezing [expletive deleted] rain on the road and, naturally, a truck and car had collided and blocked the entire road. Purred when I finally got to the delivery, an hour and fifteen minutes late. Purred all night at a little mom 'n pop truckstop in the local area. And purred all the next day, when I picked up the load I brought up here and headed north and west with it. Fixed, I thought!! Ah-ha!!! I LOVE it when I'm right!!

And then, of course, the damned thing made a fool out of me this morning. Without warning, the light came on again and the slump was back, this time with a much heavier load. Now, there aren't any terribly steep hills in Illinois -- not like Kentucky, or Tennessee, for sure. But what high spots in the road there are made for a slower trip. Felt like I was going backward, half the time. But I persevered and I made it in here.

Talked to the shop foreman and he got a guy from a local Cat dealer to hook up his diagnostic laptop to the truck's ECM. He came back shaking his head. He wasn't whistling "Taps," but he didn't have to; I knew the news wasn't good. "Ya hear that 'tick' in the engine?" he asked. I listened intently and heard the sound he mentioned. "The engine's about to drop a valve, I think. You're lucky you got it up here." I agreed wholeheartedly. It would have to go to Peterbilt for several days, to fix the bad valve. Without that truck, I ain't got no bed, and I let them know. I also mentioned (just in passing, you understand) that 3402 wasn't the truck I was supposed to have gotten a week ago, anyway. My philosophy is that if you don't toot your own horn, don't expect anyone else to toot it for you! So I let out an air-horn-like blast, figuratively speaking.

I was told to go over to dispatch and tell Ish (a dispatcher whom I've known for almost as long as I've been with Star) to see what trucks they had available. I had all day to get moved over and that one would go to the Pete dealer Monday. Ish told me to take 3550. I got the keys and another check-out sheet from the shop, right before they closed and a few hours later, here I am, all moved into my new ride. This one's an early '07 model, a year newer than the other one. Same engine and tranny, and looks the same, but it's got a CD player in the dash, instead of a cassette, so I'll grab a few favorites when I get home again, and take them along with me. It seems to do well and be strong as an ox, but I won't hit the open road again until first of the week.

Let's just hope 3550 don't have terminal valve problems!

10-7

IT'S MOVING DAY AGAN -- FINALLY!!

I got a Qualcomm message this week that came totally out of the blue and was completely unexpected. I was headed to Bartonville, IL, 12 miles from our terminal, with a load and was maybe 175 miles away when the message came in and the thing started beeping, nagging me to answer it. I'm blocked from doing so while the truck is moving, so as soon as I stopped for a bathroom break, I clicked the "Next Message" key.

"Would you like to move into truck 36**?" it read.

Well -- duh!! Does it get dark at night? Does a bear sleep in the woods? Is our current president's last name Bush? Is the Pope a Catholic? HELL, yes!!! I'd been in that old relic I had way TOO long, as it was.

"You betcha!"  I sent back, then waited exactly eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds for the response to arrive.

"Okay. I'll have truck 36** ready for you in the A.M."

"That'll work out good," I replied. "Gonna use almost all my hours up on this trip anyway, so I'll be due a break."

It took about 3 more hours to get to Bartonville, working my way through Peoria-area afternoon rush hour traffic, and dump my loaded trailer in a door at the Caterpillar crossdock I delivered to. I quickly found an empty and sent my "Unloaded, Ready-To-Roll, Dispatch Me" message in. I was pre-planned, and the load didn't pick up till the next morning, at the same place where I was sitting. I didn't need an empty trailer to pick up a load at that crossdock, so I unhooked and bobtailed over to our yard in Morton. I cruised around the tractor lot, noting that the truck I was supposed to move into wasn't there yet, so I got something to eat, schmoozed awhile, to let my meal digest a little, then hit the bunk for a night's sleep.

The next morning, my new ride still wasn't on the lot, or in our shop, so I listened to the radio and waited. And waited. And waited. A little after ten, they sent me the loaded trailer number and suggested I go over and get the load. This dispatcher was the formal type, who called me "sir," so I knew it wasn't my own dispatcher at work. Hmmmmmm. Does this other guy even know about the newer truck I'm supposed to move into?? Dispatchers are notorious for not putting messages up for the other shifts, so that everyone will know what's going on. They like to keep drivers in the dark and apparently like to keep each other in the dark as well. Mushrooms. Human mushrooms. That's what we are in this business, seems like.

I told him that I was supposed to get a newer truck that morning, told him the number, and asked him if he knew when it would be ready for me to move into. Told him I had all my belongings and assorted junk packed up and ready to transfer. All but my satellite radio, that is, which I was still listening to. That would be the last item to be moved. He hadn't been told, just as I'd predicted.

I went into the dispatch kiosk and talked to him in person a few minutes. He found out from the shop foreman that the truck I was supposed to get was tied up at the local Peterbilt dealer and it had a bad turbocharger, which had been ordered and wouldn't be in until the following day. This was Thursday, the day that orientation lets out and the new drivers are assigned their trucks and first loads. If he took me off the load I was on, which went to Georgia, close to home for me, it was likely I wouldn't get another load going that way at all, so I couldn't wait a day. The replacement dispatcher told me to wait a minute, while he called my dispatcher, to see what he wanted to do about the situation.

I waited while he made the call, then talked to another guy in dispatch. When he came back to the window, he informed me that my dispatcher wanted me to stay on that load, as planned, and that they had truck 3402 available. The driver had quit his job just that morning and it was a lot newer than the one I had. They prefer to put the new drivers in the older trucks, so they wanted my relic for that.

What could I say?? It was quite a bit newer and I couldn't hang around, if I wanted to get home. Okay, I'll take it. I went to the shop, got the keys to it, and a check-out sheet, then went back to my old truck and began cruising around, looking for it. I found it after a five minute search, parked next to it, and climbed in to look things over. After letting a ton of air out of the seat and sliding it back so that I could get in the thing, I looked around at a disaster area.

I knew that since the other driver had just quit, that our shop wouldn't have had the time to clean it up as yet, so I was expecting it to be somewhat dirty, but my God -- nothing like what I encountered!! It was littered everywhere and looked like a rolling garbage dump!! Cardboard boxes, plastic bags, coffee cups, old logbooks, clothing items -- you name it, and every nook and cranny I looked in was filled with the previous driver's garbage. Food cans and packages were all over the place. Apparently he'd rigged up a microwave and left the shadetree "wiring harness" for it in place in the storage space below the bunk, right in my way, so that I didn't have room for my tools and other supplies I keep down there. My God in Heaven!! Was this unknown former driver a packrat, or what??!! I don't think he ever threw a thing away, the entire time he had the truck!!! My work was cut out for me.

It was obvious that I'd have to clean up his clutter before I could even move my own stuff in, so I cranked the engine and drove it around to the front of the shop, where our dumpster is, and went to work. I worked hard and fast, too, because I had to get moved in, go get the load, then head out and put some distance behind me before I hit my break. And I would have to stop, too. The distance was too great to log in just 11 hours. Plus, I was going to be tired, I knew. I was getting tired just looking at the mess I was working on.

It took me an extra hour and a half, to clean out that packrat's nest, so I could move my own gear onboard. I had the shop get that wire from hell out of my luggage bay and I filled half the dumpster with the former driver's garbage. Filled two boxes with the food he'd left behind and took it in the shop, for anyone to take what they wanted. I didn't have room for it, with my own stuff in place, and I don't cook on the road. I eat sandwiches and get hot meals in truckstop restaurants when I have the time. Have cooler, will travel. That's my motto.

It took me until after 2 P.M. to get my stuff situated onboard, get the checkout sheet done, take it and the permit book to Safety, so they could make sure everything was up to date, then fuel, and leave the yard to get my load. I signed my bills and hooked up to my loaded caboose in record time, then hit the highway southward. There was some minor damage I noted, and the left sleeper extender was totally AWOL, as in missing, not there, etc., but other than that, the truck was solid. The engine purred like the "Kitty-Cat" it is and this is the quietest truck I've ever seen in my entire career. Very little engine clatter and roar, compared to the older ones. You still get the turbo roar when you push it hard in the lower gears, but that's common with all trucks nowadays.

The steering took a little getting used to, as always -- no two trucks are exactly alike; they all have their own little "personalities." The transmission is different and I'm still getting used to it. It has a higher gear ratio. You have to start out in 2nd gear with light and moderate loads, instead of in 3rd, like the old ones. The shift RPM points are different, too, and I'm still getting used to that as well; I still grind a gear now and then, or lug it occasionally, but before the next week is out, I'll have it down to a routine thing again. After all, it's the same old 13-speed tranny; just different internally.

I got that load delivered in Griffin, Georgia, got my homebound load, which picks up Monday and delivers Tuesday in Pennsylvania, and got in here yesterday morning. I had another small problem at the truckstop when I was dropping my trailer for the weekend. The fifth wheel release is totally different on these newer trucks. It's an easy-pulling hand release on the driver's side, as opposed to the old ones, on the opposite side, which liked to stick and jam and required the use of a puller tool, unless you enjoy getting grease all over you while you yank, tug and curse the thing!

The problem is that I like to have never figured out how to get the danged thing to lock in the disengaged position!! Pull out and let go. Bang! It slams back into the engaged position. Pull out. Bang! Pull out. Bang! Curse fluently. There's a trick to it, I surmised. Well, what the hell is the trick, I wondered? Finally, I pulled it out, held it in that position, and stooped under it, to study the nomenclature of the beast. Ah-ha!! I get it now!  Pull it out, hold it toward the front, and ease it back until the notch in the lever engages the front of the slot it slides in. Voila!! Locked in the disengaged position!! Well -- now ain't that special!! So easy it plumb evaded me!! I'll have to remember that trick, from now on.

So now I'll leave out tomorrow in a newer truck, finally. Maybe I'll get an even newer one by next year and not stay stuck in this one forever. That's a real possibility as my company is buying a different model Peterbilt now and will eventually replace the entire fleet with the new 279 models. Then I'll have to get used to a danged narrow cab again, like the old 377's were, when I first started with the company. But that'll likely be 3 years or more in happening, since that's how long the lease cycle is in my company. In the meantime, I'll take the newer 387's as long as they have them and I'll miss all that room when they finally go.

Truck 3402 again, if any of you see me on the road in the near future.

10-7

A LITTLE "SUPER" DIVERSION FROM MY USUAL CHATTER

It's very rare for me to talk about sports in this blog, but this time I just can't help myself. So, even if you hate football, please indulge me on this occasion. It is the Super Bowl, after all!

From The Sports Desk

You've gotta hand it to those Manning brothers -- they sure know how to create excitement on a football field. Last year, in Super Bowl XLI (that's "41," for those that don't get the Roman numerals), it was brother Peyton's aerial circus in action, methodically dismantling the Chicago Bears. A team of destiny, the Indianapolis Colts, clobbering an upstart, "Cinderella" team, just as they were expected to do. Peyton Manning took his passing artistry to the highest of levels and wowed the crowd on multiple occasions. The better team won that game, hands-down.

This year, in the forty-second Super contest, it was just the opposite scenario. Peyton's younger brother, Eli Manning, was the general in charge of the upstart New York Giants, a wild card team, of all things, who faced the much-touted New England Patriots. The Patriots were coming off an undefeated regular season and playoff series, where they had vanquished every team who stood in their way. 18-0, going into last night's game, and it looked like nobody could stop these Pats from matching the undefeated season of the 1972 Miami Dolphins, so long ago. After all they had Tom Brady at the helm; every bit as skilled and savvy on the field as either of the Mannings are, and perhaps even better, according to some. And Brady had that awesome team at his disposal; a team composed of some of the league's most stellar players. The Patriots had everything going for them all season long. This game was to be the icing on the cake -- a reward for an incredible, so-rarely-seen season. How could they lose?

But lose they did, 17-14, spoiling the perfect season and a fourth Super Bowl ring for the players. In spite of all the Patriots' many weapons and against all the odds, those pesky Giants just refused to go away. Within those sixty minutes on that field the Giants reversed things and they morphed from an upstart and became the real team of destiny on Sunday night.

You might have seen this coming, if you were paying attention to the final game of the regular season, in which these same two teams had met. In that essentially meaningless game, with both teams having secured berths in the playoffs, the Giants gave the Patriots all they could handle before the Pats finally won out. I know what all the prognosticators said -- that it didn't mean anything, that the Patriots were saving their best for the playoffs, and blah, blah, blah. I didn't pay that much attention myself, at that time. But that game was a preview of last night's game, I believe. A forecast of things yet to come. The New York Giants were a team that was peaking at the perfect time. Beware.

Although Eli Manning shined in Super Bowl XLII, he wasn't the key to the Giants' victory. Give that one to New York's defense, which almost entirely shut down the mighty Patriot machine throughout the game, holding them to a mere 14 points; a dismally low score by Patriot standards. With Giants defenders right in his face all night, Brady was knocked totally out of his usual smooth rythym, many of his passes going awry and landing harmlessly on the turf, instead of in the receiver's hands. New York blitzes penetrated seemingly at will, knocking Brady on his bottom, or sacking him on several occasions. And isn't that the simplest rule of good defense? "The quarterback can't pass, if he's flat on his ass!" And so Brady was, many more times than he expected to be.

The Giants also shut down the New England running game well, downing the running backs well short of first-down yardage, and penetrating deep enough to down them behind the line of scrimmage many times. New England had its moments, to be sure. A great team always does. But the Giants 'D' did just what it had to, keeping them out of the end zone and holding down the score. The board stayed locked at 7-3, Patriots, until the fourth quarter, in fact.  

The other key to winning, for the Giants, was their offensive line, which protected Manning and kept him from suffering the same fate as his Patriot counterpart when it mattered the most. Because of them, Eli was able to pass for his first touchdown in the fourth quarter, giving New York the lead for the first time, at 10-7.

That lead would be swapped a total of three times in the fourth quarter, setting a new Super Bowl record. The Patriots answered back, making it 14-10, and eating up most of the clock in doing so. With time growing short, Eli Manning marched his team downfield one last time and tossed a picture-perfect strike to Plaxico Burress in the end zone. Burress, the Giant's leading receiver, had been neutralized all game long by the New England coverage, but he got wide-open for the score that would prove to be the winning one. After a not-so-great night, he was great when he had to be, and when it counted most.

With the score now 17-14, Giants, 29 seconds on the clock and with all three time-outs intact, Brady mounted one last drive, using those time-outs wisely and going with a no-huddle offense. They made it almost to the Giants' 20-yard line, but there the New York defense rose to the occasion once more. Brady couldn't connect on a single pass in four tries and the ball went back to the Giants on downs with one second left on the clock. After a premature celebration on the field was cleared, the lines formed for a last time, Manning went to his knee, and the latest Super Bowl went into the history books. It was over. New York had pulled off the most unlikely of upsets and one of the greatest ones in this writer's memory. And one of the hardest-fought and best Super Bowls I've seen in years.

Lighting has struck twice in a row for the Manning family. Will Archie Manning and his two sons become the greatest family dynasty in NFL history? I don't know what the future holds, but I can say that they're well on their way to becoming just that.

10-7