TOP BRAIN FLATULENCE OF 2008

I've been trucking around the Eastern U.S. since 1998. Ten years. In that time, I've learned much, although I'm not fooling myself into thinking I know it all. By no means do I; there's always more to learn. My sense of humility keeps my ego under tight control all the time and the"big head" has never been one of my vices. I am not perfect -- far from it. I make mistakes. Not nearly as many as in my rookie years, to be sure, but I still err from time to time. And when I do, I usually pull out all the stops and screw things up royally. No sense in doing a half-assed screw-up. Hell, let it all hang out, I say!!!

And I surely did so this week -- just yesterday (Thursday), in fact. This was a certified ten-story, ten thousand pound blunder of massive proportions. It cost me half a day of time and likely had dispatch and customer service tearing out their hair by the roots and cursing me thoroughly. But they couldn't have ripped me any more than I ripped myself, because I pulled the stupidest and most embarrassing stunt that I've ever pulled, in my entire ten years.

It began when I got dispatched Wednesday evening, in Griffin, Georgia. I had just delivered a load to our top customer's local warehouse there and I was SHOT, to put it mildly. As in "very fatigued," or "worn-out," or "exhausted." I hadn't slept worth a hoot the night before and then I drove myself silly, getting the load there on time. Seems like I drove at least 3,500 miles on that one trip, although I'm sure it was a considerably shorter distance. That's what driving more than ten hours when you're already tired is like; NOT fun!! Eat your heart out, Parents Against Tired Truckers!!! Shi -- uh -- stuff happens.

BEEP! Went the Qualcomm. Load info. Looked at it. Picked up in Macon, Georgia, about 70 miles south of Hot'lanta. Requested and got directions to the shipper. Same exit and roads to a place I'd been to once before. When I saw those directions was the moment my brain expelled its flatulence. I somehow got it into my head that I was going to that same shipper again. I couldn't remember the name of the place, nor the street name it was on, but I knew a short-cut into it, because you have to weigh in and out at a public scale up the street from the place. I wrote everything up and plopped into my bunk, asleep almost before I hit the sheets. The address of the shipper just didn't register on my numbed mind at all.

Next morning, I ate a quick bite, the drove the rest of the way into Macon. Never bothered looking at the load info again. I exited I-75 in town, turned onto the main road that led into the area, then took my short-cut when I passed the moving company where the public scale was located. Went to the front office, signed in, and got my ID badge issued to me. Then gave my badge number to the guard and went around back to the dock area. Again, it never registered at all that the name of this place and the name of the shipper on the load information were different. Places change their names all the time. Ask any truck driver and they'll tell you. It's all too common to have the actual name of the place turn out to be different from the information that you have. Somebody at the trucking company neglects to update the change in names, so the old name stays on the load info for quite some time, in lots of cases.

Told the Guy In Charge there where I was supposed to go (Chattanooga) and he nodded and told me to go over to the scale and weigh in empty. I left to do that. He didn't question the destination I told him -- a major gaffe on his own part. Got back with my weigh ticket and backed right in after a short wait, while they loaded their own company truck. Spent about two hours being loaded with big bales of what looked like fiberglass scraps. Some kind of extruded plastic fiber, at any rate. The loader brought my bills out and I signed them, then began to write the weight and quantity on my "dummy bill" -- the little delivery ticket that I actually get paid off of. It was at that point that I noticed the destination was in South Carolina, not Tennessee. Well, duh!!! "What we got heah is a failyah to commun-icate!" to quote the evil deputy in Cool Hand Luke. Somebody got something very wrong. I took the bills and went back inside, to hunt the loader.

I found the guy and told him that -- uh -- that the destination on the bills was just slightly different from the one on my Qualcomm. A different state, in fact. Hmmmmmmm. "Come with me," he invited. "I gotta make a call!" And so he did and I waited about twenty minutes before the Guy In Charge whom I'd talked to at first reappeared. "Chattanooga??" He made two quick calls. Nope. Load went to South Carolina. A sense of dread was enveloping my brain then. I mentioned the name of the shipper on the load info. He grimaced. "They're down the street. You're at the wrong place and now we've already got you loaded!" My face hit the floor. Famous Last Words: "Oh, shit!!" I had really done it this time!! Gone to the wrong shipper altogether. Well, now -- that sure explained why the names were different, didn't it?? Yessiree -- it ALL made perfect sense now; and I was like the lady in that commercial, when she has something in her eye and winds up in the men's room -- "Wanna Get Away???" Yep, I certainly did, at that moment. How the hell am I ever gonna live this one down?? I had no clue.

So, that explains why I'm in South Carolina today, instead of in Chattanooga, two hours from home. After a dozen phone calls, and having to face dispatch with my self-made dilemma, it finally all got straightened out. The loads went through a logistics outfit and another carrier was really scheduled to pick it up that day. I did his job for him, it seemed, but that kind left the load I was supposed to get hanging in thin air. The logistics outfit worked out a switcheroo between my company and the other carrier. I would haul this load to South Carolina, and their driver would pick up and deliver the load I was supposed to get in the first place. The Guy In Charge took part of the blame for it himself, and told my dispatch as much. He should have caught on when I mentioned Chattanooga, and he somehow failed to realize that they only had ONE load for my company that day -- and that driver had gotten loaded and left before I even got there. So, I wasn't the only one asleep at the switch yesterday, and that softened the blow of my stupid stunt a little.

Now, if I could just buy a little time at home!! Second week in a row I've had one of my Fifteen-Minute (TM) weekends. Even less time this week than last week, as my load don't pick up until tomorrow, and I have to be in Wisconsin Monday morning at dawn. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to do more than look at Velvet, in my garage, and wish I had the time to ride her!! Getting tired of "wish-riding."

10-7

REMEMBERING . . . PAUL NEWMAN

Academy Award-winning actor Paul Newman passed from this life this morning, in California, losing a long battle with cancer. Newman was 83. He is survived by his longtime wife, actress Joanne Woodward, and several children.

Although his first box office hit was in the movie adaptation of Tennesse Williams' play, A Streetcar Named Desire, the first film I ever saw Paul Newman in was one of his biggest early hits, Hud, in which he played a hard-drinking and partying, wild young Texas rancher, with Knoxville, Tennessee's own Patricia Neal in the female co-starring role. It was a memorable performance that I've never forgotten since and he earned the Oscar he got for that role. I knew then, as I know now, that the man was a consummate actor and a master of his trade. Newman went on to prove that, in later years, with such hits as The Cincinnati Kid, Cool Hand Luke, Winning, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting (both of which he co-starred in with Robert Redford), and The Color of Money, for which he won his final Oscar. Every movie the man ever played in made money, a feat that few other actors could brag about. Newman was very shrewd at picking his pictures and roles. And he played them to perfection, always.

Paul Newman married actress Joanne Woodward (who also won an Oscar, for her role in All About Eve) in the 1950's, if I remember correctly, and neither of them ever looked back. Theirs was one of the happiest and most stable marriages in a community where divorces flow like water and couples change partners like people change their socks. Woodward co-starred with her husband in the auto-racing film, Winning, in 1969.

It was that film, shot at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, that launched Newman into a second career -- becoming an auto racer in real life. He actually drove a racing car in the film himself, under the coaching of professional drivers. He became interested in the sport and launched his own race team a few years afterward. He competed in various sports car events and even finished well up in the standings on several occasions. After he quit his active driving, he still remained active in the sport, co-owning a CART Indy racing team, which featured racing father and son legends Mario and Michael Andretti. They won many races for their team and Michael Andretti came within three laps of winning the Indianapolis 500 in the late 1980's, losing the race when an engine problem forced him to retire his car.

In the 1990's Paul Newman also started his own business, one for which he is probably best-known to the younger generation. Having been a gourmet cook for years, he gathered his own recipes and created Newman's Own brand, a line of salad dressings that he had concocted himself over the years. It was an instant hit, and the company remains in business to this day. I have sampled a couple of his dressings and can report that they are quite good indeed, living up to the advertising and promotion (although a bit pricey.) But, you get what you pay for, huh??

To say Paul Newman will be missed is an understatement. I missed his movie performances for years, since he retired from acting, and had to get my occasional "Newman fix" from television re-runs of his classic films. You still saw him hanging around the race tracks sometimes, especially at Indy, for the 500, but not as much as in the past. But, his food products, as well as his films will be his legacy forever. A good, decent man and a wonderful actor has left us and I am saddened by his passing.

Think I'll go to the store, buy some salad greens, and a bottle of Newman's Own dressing, and watch one of his old movies tonight.

10-7

THE GREAT 'DRILL BUT NO-DRILL' BILL

Well, our illustrious U.S. Congress has once again outdone itself!! Gee -- just what high fuel price-weary truckers and consumers wanted to hear, too!! We finally got a domestic drilling bill passed by the House of Representatives last week.

Or did we?? It turned out to be a no-drill bill, in reality.

The bill was a surprise to most in Congress. It was written in the middle of the night and put up for a floor vote the next morning, allowing no one an opportunity to read it. One congressman said you can always beware when something like this is done, because it's not going to be anything that you will like. It wasn't.

The bill purports to open up a small, meager bit of land for drilling in addition to the land already open, which isn't being drilled on. This new expansion won't be either, and for the same reason:  Because there is either little or no oil to be found on that land, or it would be so expensive to recover that it isn't economically feasible to do so. Why else would the oil companies not drill on that land?? They are in business to make a profit, like any business is, and you can believe that they would be tapping wells there if it were profitable to do so. Common sense would tell anyone that, but the current leadership in Congress believes that average Americans are stupid and won't figure that out. Well, we're not stupid, and they risk a serious backlash in November, with stunts like this.

But, it gets better still. Oil shale production? Still off-limits. Nuclear power?? Ditto on any new plants. New refineries?? Nope. The ANWR?? Huh-uh. Nada. And offshore drilling?? Not within 50 miles of the coast (where most of the recoverable oil is known or suspected to be). Then, from 50 to 100 miles out, it's up to the state governments, but neighboring states must approve any drilling, also. Under Democratic state governments, like you have on the Left Coast and the Northeast, it will never happen. If Virginia wanted to allow drilling, New Jersey could veto it. No drilling allowed, otherwords. If Florida voted to allow it, North Carolina could block it. And, finally, from 100-200 miles out, to international waters, the federal government has the say-so on it. Last time I checked, the environmental lunatic-loving Democrats were in charge of Congress. So, nope again. No drilling.

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) plopped the bill down and said, "Okay, guys, here's your drilling bill!" Only it's a no-drilling bill, in reality. Nothing changes with this turkey; everything stays just like it now is. It will likely die in the Senate, but if it should survive, Pelosi & Company know that President Bush will veto it. Then the Dems can puff their chests out, look indignant, and say:  "Well, we gave you a drilling bill, but he vetoed it!!" Yeah. Right. Sure you did. Uh-huh. This is an election year political ploy, designed to buy time until November, when the Democrats believe they'll get the whole ball of wax -- the House, the Senate, and the White House. But they sure won't with my vote, and I can't help thinking that many other angry Americans, tired of high fuel prices and sick of bowing to the whims of OPEC, will follow suit. Pelosi and the Democrat-led Conress have arrogantly thumbed their noses at average Americans, like you and me. The question before all you should be, what are you going to do about it on November 4th?? Are you going to keep this Democrat majority in power?? Or will you elect someone who will open up that land and let us tap our own natural resources??

America runs on oil. Our economy is a petroleum-based one and has been for most of the past 100 years. It's not just the cars and trucks that we drive, but our industry needs oil in order to operate. While it's true that the oil won't last forever, we still need to drill and refine it for now, to serve our needs until we can come up with a viable alternative energy source to replace it with. That replacement energy source hasn't been decided on as yet, and the technologies that do exist don't do so on anywhere near a large enough scale. Switching over could take as much as 25 years, and maybe longer, while the source is found and the technology is developed to utilize it safely and cheaply enough to be readily available to everyone. You can't force this issue, as the enviro-loonies and the Dems want to do; it's going to take time. Meanwhile, we need the oil for now. We have an abundance of it, and a few people block every effort we make to pump and utilize it. This is sheer madness and it has to stop!!

It's up to us -- us "stupid" average Americans. We control
Congress, with our votes. They may think they control us, but that's not true -- yet, anyway. I think that it's high time when we show them who their boss really is; not the Sierra Club and not Greenpeace, but US!! The time has come. Are any of you with me on this one??

10-7

MORE MILES, BUT STILL MILES FROM HOME

London, OH

Well, the good news is that I'm getting more miles lately, and doing less sitting. The bad news is that this is the second weekend in a row that I've been stuck out on the road. I've heard it said that a driver knows he's been on the road too long when his wife or girlfriend cooks him a delicious hot meal and when he finishes it, he leaves her a two-dollar tip on the table. Well, I don't think I'm quite at that point yet, but I'm getting close. I don't know why I can't get good miles AND get home every week, but the "trucking gremlins" have apparently decided that that's not to be the case, at least for now. I'm not really griping this time, though, because it's been so slow lately, and paychecks have been low, and I need the money, greedy capitalist pig that I am. Lots of money helps immensely when the bills come due.

I guess I was conspicuous by my absence from these pages last weekend. That was because I had no time. I got dispatched late Friday afternoon, had to contend with Chicago-area rush hour traffic, got into a truck stop even later that evening, dead-tired, and slept late Saturday. That was the only free day I had, as my load was the dreaded SUNDAY pickup and delivery variety. I got online and managed to read some of my e-mail, but was continuously hassled by electrical problems emanating from the voltage inverter which powers my laptop on the road. Problems which took the form of ominous beeps and buzzes from the inverter, calculated to (A.) get your attention and (B.) drive you completely NUTS!!

Something -- God only knows what -- had apparently convinced the thing that my laptop was overloading it. Well, duh!!! It's a freakin' 400 watt inverter -- at least 3 times more than would ever be necessary to power this laptop!! Heck, playing a DVD movie never overloads it, and that about steals all the memory and processing resources this machine has at its disposal! Put in the simplest possible terms, something was bullshitting my inverter and it was believing the B.S.

Those of you out there who have encountered similar electronic gremlins know as well as I do how frustrating they can be. I became frantic to SHUT THAT DAMNED INSANE BEEPING UP, RIGHT NOW!!!  I flipped the power switch on the inverter to 'off,' forgetting, naturally, to save what I was working on and wiped out an entire masterpiece of a reply I was writing to a friend's e-mail message. Sigh. Reboot. Get back online. Start all over again. The inverter shut up -- for awhile. But 15 minutes later, it started beeping its false warning once again. Cursing ensued at that point and I'll leave that to your imaginations. Finally, in desperation, I began trying to SLAP some sense into the damned thing, as "reasoning" with it had proved futile. BEEP-BEEP! SMACK!! "Shut up!!" BZZZZZZ-BEEP-BEEP! SMACK!! "SHUT UP!! I SAID SHUT UP!!" And so on. I finished my personal e-mail, said "to hell with it" and shut the thing down.

And now this week, of course, I haven't heard a peep from it. Go figure!!

I got my load early Sunday morning, as scheduled. They had the pickup time PRECISELY set at EXACTLY 6:52 A.M., CDT, with no window on the time at all. Well -- okaaaaay, I thought. So, I was careful to punch in my 'arrived at shipper' message at that exact time. Nothing like being punctual, huh?? I was tempted to send my 'loaded at shipper' message at 6:53, but what the heck?? I'm not known to be a notorious smartass, as are some, and it would be out of character for me. So, I sent it in at 6:54 A.M. instead. Two minutes, to go into the shipping office, get my bills, go back to the truck, drop my empty in one spot, find my loaded trailer in another location, hook up to it, do a REALLY quick pre-trip on it, do the ritual with the gate guard and seal inspection, then hit the road. Not bad for a middle-aged old geezer, huh?? Now, if that ain't efficient, then what IS??? Since there's nobody in our dispatch office until noon on Sunday, they would have a hard time proving that I DIDN'T do it that fast, although common sense would indicate that I was faking it through my teeth!! But let them figure it out, I say!!

I had my two deliveries set at what I call "reefer hours." Late at night or in the pre-dawn morning, otherwords. They delivered in two different Detroit suburbs. I got the first one off quickly, before midnight, then cruised through what they now call "Dearbornistan" (due to the many Middle Eastern immigrants who live there) enroute to the final stop. This one took four hours and I got just enough of a nap in to get good and sleepy. But I napped more, after unloading, as they had no load for me, much as I expected. It was mid-morning before I got dispatched.

That, as it turned out, was the most waiting I did all week long, for a pleasant change. Everything seemed back to normal last week, with overnight deliveries on every trip and the miles began to rack up again. I ended the week in York, Pennsylvania, where I feared that I wouldn't be able to get home once more. That state, and the whole Northeast region in general, have been a freight Dead Zone for the past two years, and any load you can get back out of there is a good thing. Not nearly enough loads available to get choosy, so I knew I would be stuck with whatever dispatch and customer service could come up with.

Sure enough, I had to go all the way to a Philly suburb the next morning, reload my caboose, then haul it back to the area around our yard, for a Monday afternoon delivery. Good, much-needed miles once again. I stopped here yesterday, just east of Columbus, Ohio, to get my 34 hour reset in before continuing westward. I've got all kinds of time on this load, unlike last weekend, so I can get as lazy as I want to be, and catch up on things I missed out on last week. I schmoozed under a hot shower for an hour this morning. Ahhhhhh -- I feel almost human again now!! At least as human as a Dawg can feel!

Will these good miles continue?? I can only hope so. Lately, it's seemed like I'll have one good week, mile-wise, then follow that up with another crappy one. I need the same consistency I used to get, before this fuel-price-related, election year, economic downturn struck. But, if anything, I'm an eternal optimist, and I know it'll get better, in time. Just a matter of when and treading water, financially, until it does.

10-7

ON LOUD PIPES AND BIKER FILMS

Well, if the trucking business has been slow this summer, motorcycling sure hasn't. Here it is, Labor Day weekend already! Where did the summer go?? Seems like only a day or two ago, I was helping kick off the season at KH-D's 40th Birthday Bash and partying half the night away at Coyote Joe's Big Twin Blowout rally back in June. Now the muggy, humid days of early fall are upon us -- the in-between season that my granny used to call "dog days."

Still a lot of riding to be done in the next couple of months, to be sure, but late October gets weird down here. One day it's sunny and up near 90 and a day later, you're shivering, wondering if it will snow before nightfall. Coyote Joe's will end it with another blowout the weekend of Sept. 25th and that will about do it on the local scene. They'll be open all winter, of course, but many bikers, including myself, will cruise over there on 4 wheels, instead of two, when the cold weather sets in. There are almost always some mild days, even in January, when we'll dare to venture out, but not that many and only the hard-core types will get out and around when it drops much below 40 degrees.

Winter will, perhaps, give me a chance to scope out the location of Joe's sister bar, the Chrome Pony Lounge. It's on Alcoa Highway, a dangerous, curve-laden thoroughfare known locally as "I'll Kill Ya Highway," due to the number of wrecks that occur on it each year. Four "suicide lanes," with no median until you get all the way out of the K-Town metro area, and the local Powers That Be have never bothered to build a Jersey barrier in the middle of it. It AIN'T the kinda road you want to go looking for something on, while on two wheels, trust me on that. While you're distracted, looking, it gives somebody in a cage an excuse to nail your ass. I'll scope it out in my 4-wheeler, see just where the place is, then I'll know where I'm going if I ride out there later on. That is a relatively unfamiliar area of town to me, as I've never lived out there, nor run around in that area very much.

I'm thinking now that maybe there's something to this notion many bikers have that "loud pipes save lives." I used to poo-poo that idea, alternatively thinking that "loud pipes draw cops," or "loud pipes  anger the neighbors." Well, they'll surely do both of those latter two things, if one isn't cautious about how frisky he/she gets with the right twist-grip. But, I've seen the light now -- seen, in fact how they can save lives. They just *might* have saved my own last weekend.

I recently got a set of performance pipes I had been saving up for, put them on, then paid the Harley shop to recalibrate the bike's ECU, to compensate for the changes. Now Miss Velvet sounds like a REAL Harley; the way God intended for a Harley to sound! Loud?? Well, they vibrate the whole house when I fire it up in my garage! Sounds like I just pulled off a dragstrip when I'm sitting at a light. WAY cool, let me tell you!! If you're a Harley freak, like me, you love that unique sound, can't get enough of it, and want to hear the thunder when you open it up on the highway. That's part of the Harley mystique and if you have to ask why, then you'll never understand. That's just the way it is:  Birds fly, fish swim, and Harleys roar down the road with authority. Not only that, but the pipes, in conjunction with the low-restriction air cleaner I put on awhile back, allow Miss Velvet to realize the full power of her factory-stock engine -- a gain of about 7-8 horsepower and, more importantly, about 10 lb./ft. of torque. Torque is what puts the power of an engine to the pavement and the more of it you have, the better!

Loud pipes will also teach you handy little things like superior throttle control, especially when you want to take that traditional Sunday morning ride and your neighbors may not be awake yet. You fire it up, and roll on just enough throttle to ease it down the driveway, then let it idle down the alley. Once in the street, you accelerate slowly through the neighborhood until you hit the main road, keeping the rpm's to a minimum. That's how you stay a good neighbor and avoid getting the cops called on you! That's a good practice to use anywhere in town, actually, unless you enjoy paying fines for noise ordinance violations. Want to open her up? Hit the interstate, or a major highway. That's the place to do that.

I learned about "loud pipes save lives" when I was riding over to see my mom. I was motoring down a street when a senior citizen in a cage started to pull smack out in front of me. I laid on the brakes, hit my horn and got a puny "myeeeeep!" for that effort. So much for that. I pulled the clutch lever in and opened the throttle wide. He heard that and slammed on his own brakes, finally stopping halfway out in the street. I downshifted and wobbled a little, balancing Velvet until an oncoming car got by, then swerved smoothly around the  geezer and went on my way.

The theory goes like this:  If they don't see you coming, then by God, make them HEAR you coming!! On a motorcycle, you have to use everything you have to get the attention of the cagers, 75% of whom are only looking out for cars, and not bikes. Eye contact don't work all the time. I've looked straight at them and still had them pull out, like I wasn't even there at all. You wear bright-colored clothes as much as you can, keep your headlight on high beam during the day, don't be shy about using the horn, and use those pipes if you have to, also. Works for me.

Finally, I've been wondering why Hollywood can't produce a film which shows the biker community like it really is. Most all of the flicks and TV shows portray bikers as the villians, which few of us are at all. The only things I've seen which relect us in a positive light were the old late-60's movie and TV series, Then Came Bronson, which was about the adventures of a biker loner, traveling the highways in search of himself. Easy Rider was another one that, apart from the drug sequences, showed how misunderstood we so often are by society. It had an unforgettable, tragic ending -- the senseless deaths of the two main characters, blown away by two liquored-up rednecks in a pickup truck. As I wrote about in an earlier entry, the 50's flim, The Wild One had the potential to tell the truth, but the film's producer wasn't allowed to, by the film board of that day. He was forced to portray the bikers as villians, even though he knew the true story of the Hollister incident.

All the others I've seen are biker gang movies, showing the gangs terrorizing entire towns and young teen girls. They glamorize the hoodlum image of the so-called 1%ers among us; the biker outlaws. Yeah, they're still around, but they're not out to kill, rape and pillage, as Hollywood leads you to believe. Few, if any, wantthat sort of trouble, or actively seek it out. Most of them, in fact are just social groups for the most part. Yeah, they do some drugs, and they party harder than most others, but the worst they amount to is nuisance level stuff at best.

Hollywood never shows the many good things that bikers do, year around. Things that helpother people. Things like the charity rides and poker runs which are most often organized to help children who need a lifesaving operation and whose parents can't afford it. Things like the local ride that took place a week or so ago, which benefitted a Knoxville police officer who was shot in the line of duty. Or how about the annual Christmas rides for the U.S. Marine Corps' Toys For Tots campaign? I may participate this year, if I'm lucky enough to be here at the right time. Hollywood is silent on biker groups like Rolling Thunder, which is one of the most active groups in the country when it comes to the rights and benefits of our military veterans. And they never show organizations like the Patriot Guard Riders, which I belong to, and which provides security for the families of our fallen heroes, so that protestors can't disrupt the funeral ceremonies. No Hollywood fame ever comes our way, nor is it ever likely to.

If the only image one has of bikers is through Hollywood, then they'll keep getting the wrong impression of us. You see, the truth about the biker community isn't nearly dramatic enough for the Hollywood types. It's also a sort of secret lifestyle, one that you have to LIVE in order to understand. Standing on the outside and looking in won't cut it at all. How would you portray a biker character accurately unless you were a biker filmmaker yourself? You couldn't do it at all. That's why Hollywood will never be able to make a true-to-life film about bikers.

Want to get a real taste of what bikers are all about? Then step out to a biker club some evening. Party with us and talk to us. We won't bite you -- honest!! Attend some of the rallies that are held all over the country all summer. You don't have to ride; you can volunteer to drive your car as a support vehicle on organized rides. We need those, too. You'll see some different-looking people, to be sure, but you'll find out that they're not bad people at all. In addition, you'll likely have a lot of fun for a few hours. Andwhat's wrong with that??

THE TRUCKIN' SLOW SEASON HAS COME EARLY

With no doubt in my mind at all, this is the slowest trucking summer I've ever experienced in all my ten years on the road. Even though fuel prices, including diesel ("truck food"), have eased a bit, the stuff's still hangin' up there in the stratosphere somewhere. The politicians in our wonderful, helpful Congress, who can do something about it, aren't. Instead, they take off on a summer vacation and ignore us regular folks who are suffering through this mess. I hope everyone takes notice of that arrogance and remembers it, come November 4th. I sure will.

Fuel prices have slowed the economy in a decisive manner, added to the usual election year slump that almost always occurs. My occupation, trucking, is tied to the economy hand and foot, like Siamese twins, so truckers are feeling the pinch, bigtime. Owner/operators, who comprise roughly half my industry, have been hit the hardest, but don't think it hasn't affected company drivers as well. Companies are cranking down truck speed limiters as fast as you can whistle "Dixie" these days. My company, once one of the slowest outfits on the highway, hasn't done so (yet), but now we have quite a bit of company at 65 mph and lower speeds.

Get too many speeding tickets and you'll be finding out where the "door" is located very quickly. Because of that and the cost of fuel, more and more drivers are sticking to the speed limit, forming long "elephant parades" in states that have split speed limits, in lower-speed urban areas, and even in the inactive construction zones that we used to all ignore and fly through like there was no '45' sign there at all. I, too, have slowed somewhat, sticking to 60 a lot now, unless the limit is higher and I have to run hard with a load. Pumping $500 of fuel in your truck and not even quite getting your tanks full will raise anyone's eyebrows.

High fuel costs are highly inflationary, in that they directly affect the price of everything else that you buy. "If you bought it, a truck delivered it." I know that's an ancient slogan, but it's still very true. Trucking companies and O/Os have to put a surcharge on the freight bill, to offset the added costs of hauling the products, middlemen raise their prices in response, followed by the retailers, and that's where the higher price hits your wallet or purse. Normally, it's a more-or-less "trickle down" effect, but when prices are as unstable as they've been this year, it becomes a body slam.

Until a month or so ago, fuel prices were as volatile as the product that goes into your car's tank. But people ran the numbers, finally, and discovered that three, divided into two, just will not go. They stopped much of their excess driving and began to rethink that 2,000 mile vacation trip. Many parked their RVs. The demand dropped, and so did the price, somewhat. Yep, the open market still works in America. Want to bring prices down? Then either lower the demand, or increase the supply. Works every time. But increasing the supply is impossible, as it's being held artifically low by a members of the Organization of Price-Extorting Criminals, better known as OPEC, a bunch of filthy rich oil producers who don't like us very much. They won't produce any more and Congress won't get off their asses and open up the land to oil drillling and exploration where we know there is a huge supply. Right here at home. So, we have a stalemate, at least until after the November election is decided.

Sales are slumping, due to high prices and strain on the public's pocketbooks, so production is down and so is ordering. That means loads for trucks are also down. I've spent almost as much time sitting, waiting to be dispatched this summer as I typically do in the winter months, when the bottom traditionally drops out for a few months. I'm paid by the mile, which means, simply, that if my truck's wheels aren't rolling, I'm not making one penny. Oh, I can draw layover sometimes, but only if I'm stuck somewhere without a load for 24 straight hours. And that's not nearly what I'd make if I were rolling. So, my paychecks are smaller on average this summer; not helpful when you're in debt. I can't complain too loudly, though, because I'm certainly not the only trucker facing this dismal state of affairs. We all are, to some extent or the other. It sucks, but you have to put on your game face and keep on keepin' on. That's all anyone can do. Roll with the punches and ride it out. Weather the storm. [Let's see -- can I come up with another cliche?? Nope. That's it.]

When I look toward the future, am I afraid?? Not at all. I don't do fear anymore. Screw that. Life's too short, to live in a state of fear and dread all the time. I decided that after 9/11, but the seeds of it were in me, lying dormant, before that terrible day. That was just the catalyst that brought it out in me. Que sera, sera -- whatever will be, will be. But I think things will get better in the future. That's my optimism, and history is on my side, because they always have, sooner or later.

History may not exactly repeat itself, but it sure does echo. We Americans have been down many times before, but we've always come back from it, in time. We went through much more severe economic times in the 1930's, during the Great Depression, but we survived and went on to prosper again. When the Japanese bombed half our navy into non-existence, at Pearl Harbor, we were caught with our panties down, completely unprepared for  war. But we got up, brushed off the dust, and went to work. We won that war and prosperity returned when it ended. The doldrums and "stagflation" of the 70's gave way to the economic boom of the 80's. We Americans are tough and resilient. Nothing can keep us down for long. We fought our way back before and we'll do it again.

I am an American. Damned proud to be one. And that's what I'll always believe.

10-7

IRON BUTT AWARDS AND MISSING FENDERS

I was sitting in my favorite biker watering hole Saturday, sipping on a beer, listening to the rock music on the juke, chatting with some friends, and watching the usual parade of bikes coming and going. Presently a couple rode in on a Harley bagger (that's one of the big touring bikes, with the fairings and hard saddlebags, for you non-biker readers) who both looked as road-weary as a trucker who got stuck out for six weeks or so. They knew some of the same people I was talking to and sat at the table next to mine.

They were returning from a trip out to the rally in Sturgis, South Dakota, which I talked about in my entry last week and they had tried to set a personal record on the return trip home. They had attempted to try for the elusive Iron Butt Award which some biker club hands out every year. This is an endurance contest which is legendary in biker circles. They had attempted to run approximately 1,800 miles, from Sturgis to Knoxville in two days, or 48 hours, or less. My eyes went wide at the thought of that feat and I was chuckling. Folks, that is territory where even long-haul truckers like myself rarely, if ever, venture. And on a motorcycle, to boot!! Ambitious? Absolutely. Crazy?? Positively. Still, some hardy souls will attempt such things. The lady of the couple held up the pin they'd won for their efforts.

I couldn't keep quiet. "Was it worth it?" I asked them both. They both grinned wearily and she rolled her eyes back in her head. He laughed. "Well, I wouldn't ever do it again, I'll tell you that," he said. "I heard that," I agreed. "How many times did you come close to crashing?" "Too many," he admitted. "We had some good scares a few times," she added. "Well, I'm glad you made it back in one piece," I told them. I looked up toward the sky. "Somebody up there was lookng out for you."

I can visualize the fatigue they must have gone through, and what that can do to you I know all too well, from ten years of over-the-road experience. There have been times in my truck, especially in the wee morning hours, when I began nodding out at the wheel, fighting tooth and nail to stay awake and alert, in order to avoid killing myself and/or somebody else who shared the road with me. On a motorcycle you have to be even more alert at all times, only  in that case, it's to keep somebody in a truck or car from killing you!  I make my living driving and dealing with fatigue is part of the job at times; there is at least some justification for it, even though I know that one should never drive in a fatigued condition. It's just unavoidable in some circumstances; the nature of the beast. In the case of that couple, the whole thing was voluntary; they didn't have to do such a thing at all. I try to never judge others, but that's sure not something that I would ever attempt, under any circumstances. I want to enjoy myself riding my bike and they sure didn't look like they'd had much fun at all on that trip. To me, that defeats the purpose of the whole thing.

A short time later, Ol' Charley (as I'll call him) rode up and came in to have a beer. He sat down at my table. Charley owns two Honda Goldwing touring machines, both painted in the same shade of green. They're both older bikes, dating back to the early 80's. Charley is a regular at Coyote Joe's and Saturday he came in on the newer of his bikes, one that had been parked for six months and that he felt needed to be ridden again.

"Lost my fender today," he told me, pointing to his bike, which indeed was missing its front fender. I could see the end of it, sticking up out of the right-hand saddlebag. I laughed. "Now that's sure not your usual biking experience," I told him. "Just how the hell did that happen?" He went on to tell me that he had trashed the original fender awhile back and had taken the one off his older bike and stuck it on the newer one. "I just started the bolts in it. Never tightened them all the way up, then I didn't ride it for six months and. . ." "And you forgot all about it," I finished. "Yep," he confirmed. "Sure did."

He told me that he'd gotten as far as the entrance ramp to I-640 before the bolts had worked loose and the fender had come flying off, right in the middle of the ramp. "It landed right on the white line at the outside of the ramp," he added. "Oh, no!!" I groaned. Several listeners around the table laughed. "Cars and 18-wheelers were swerving around it and me, trying to avoid running over it, but one truck did hit it. Squashed one end of it. I waited for what seemed like ten minutes before there was a break in traffic,then  I ran out there, to grab it real quick, but I fell, right in the middle of the ramp!"

I laughed until my stomach hurt, getting a mental picture of what that scene must have looked like. "They were blowing their horns at me and I could just reach out and grab the fender, so I did. Then I rolled -- two or three barrel rolls on my belly, back across the ramp to the shoulder where I'd parked. They were cheering me from the cars, yelling, 'Way to go!' and the like. I got up and stuck the fender in my saddlebag."

We went out to his bike and looked at the fender he pulled out of his saddlebag. The back end of it was flattened. Useless and too light to use as a boat anchor. "'82 model," he said. "I'll never find another one for it now." Several guys suggested he try looking around at swap meets in the area. "You never know," I told him. "Look in some of the biker magazines. They have dealers who specialize in vintage parts for older bikes. Somebody might come up with one." I told him some of the mags I had seen those ads in and he said he'd look for them and check it out. I told him I'd poke around online and let him know if I came up with anything.

I thought I was embarrassed when I dumped Velvet on the parking lot of the Harley shop while I was on vacation a couple of weeks ago, but Charley's experience tops my own by a mile. I'm gonna collect these incidents and compile a book someday. Something with a title like, 1001 Ways To Embarrass Yourself On A Motorcycle. Wonder if that would make the best-seller list??

10-7