Impressions: Rolling Into New Orleans, Three Years After Katrina
Road construction everywhere, orange barrels lined up like toy soldiers. New bridges being built. Some roads resurfaced, others resemble washboards, crumbling, truck bouncing under me like a bucking bronco. Yee-haaa! Ride 'em, cowboy!!!
7:30 A.M., CST. Morning "rush" hour?? Traffic is light, ten, five, three miles out of town, becoming heavier only as I enter the inner city/downtown area. Definitely not what it once was, in pre-Katrina years. Starting to see abandoned buildings, ripped-up roofs, some still covered with blue tarpaulins. Glass broken out in forelorn-looking windows. People once shopped here, ate here, lived here. Not anymore. By some estimates, roughly half this city's population is gone -- moved elsewhere. Houses off the freeway -- waterline marks on some, and on a few, the infamous red 'X' marks, denoting that someone died there, now slowly fading in the Louisiana sun.
Passing the Louisiana Superdome. The Saints are playing there again now, and it's been refurbished, from the human mess left there when the levees went down. Downtown N'awlins is still intact. Blown-out glass now long replaced in most of the structures. French Quarter still alive, as it should always be. And the famous restaurants have remodeled and rebuilt, open for business again. Normality has resumed here, for the most part, but there are still signs here and there. Abandoned warehouses and shops, some with storm damage still visible. But there will always be a Mardi Gras in February -- as there always should be -- just fewer visitors nowadays.
Jefferson Parish, on the west side of the Mississippi, where my load delivers. This area was one of the hardest hit, back in 2005, and it still shows. Abandoned houses and buildings, mixed with small mom 'n pop businesses that have reopened, especially the bars. Reckon they all needed a drink or two, or three, after that one hit! Alcohol still flows here like the river, just like it always did. I pass an entire abandoned residential block. Faded siding, bare joists showing in the roofs of some, like a pine skeleton, more blown-out windows. I slow down a tad, taking it in, and I feel very sad. It is impossible to view those sights without being moved emotionally. People lived there and their homes, years of life there, memories and dreams vanished in the great wind that blew through this place. Gone in the space of a few hours. Now the reminders sit, rotting away in the sun. It is sobering. It is touching.
Being unloaded and looking out of the passenger side window at the levee on the riverbank. They move a lot of water through this town. They always have and always will. An employee tells me that this levee held, as all the river levees did, but the storm surge topped it. Eight feet of water was once where I was sitting, 3 years earlier. Millions in damage, he told me. Brand-new appliances ruined and unsellable. Junk. Insurance covered it all and the premiums doubled. But they stayed and re-opened. The look in his eyes said it all: This is home and always will be. Storms come and storms go, but home is always home. He knows the risks, but is willing to take them, for the sake of that sense of home. Can't blame him a bit. Roots are roots. And trees will grow back again.
There will always be a New Orleans; it's impossible to imagine America without it. There will be many changes, but this city is slowly rebuilding itself.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
A LONG NIGHT IN A REFRIGERATOR
I thought I was going to freeze early Thursday morning. I had two "reefer hour" deliveries in Durham and Raleigh, North Carolina. "Reefer hour" deliveries are those that take place late at night, or in the wee hours of the morning, for those of you who may be unfamiliar with my terminology. The time of night when only insomniacs are awake, and truck drivers -- especially the "meatheads" who drive the refrigerated freight. The ones who are perpetually cruising truckstop parking lots, and rest areas, which are all pretty much full at those hours, searching for anything that remotely resembles a parking space. They most often must get creative, to get a few hours of sleep, and have to endure endless abuse from other sleeping drivers who are awakened at 4 A.M. by a screaming refrigeration unit that is set to cut on and off every ten minutes. Those guys always have appointments at 2 A.M., or thereabouts, and last week, so did I.
My two stops went to two different bulk-quantity warehouse stores, owned by a huge national discount chain which I'm sure everyone is familar with, without me mentioning any names. Well, that Arkansas-based, Fortune 500 outfit is very socially conscious and very politically correct, buying into all the global warming nonsense, lock, stock, and barrel. You can't find a regular incandescent light bulb in their stores; only the Al Gore-approved CFL bulbs are sold. Who can blame them, really? What do you think they make the most profit from selling? A fifty-cent incandescent bulb, or a three-buck CFL? Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.
Anyway, along with all the other PC environmental-friendly hoopla, they have instituted a "green" policy on all their property. That means, to cut to the chase, that trucks aren't allowed to sit on the property and idle their engines. That means, in turn, that when the weather's cold, a driver has to sit there and freeze their buns off, in the night chill. Running the engine is the only means I have to keep my truck warm. Ignore their policy? Nope. They will simply refuse to unload you until you shut it down and give them the keys. A truck that can't get unloaded can't pick up another load, thus greatly hindering a driver's ability to make a living. I greatly enjoy getting paid, so I reluctantly shut it down, in the 34 degree evening chill.
Now, 34 degrees may seem mild in the middle of January, in places like, oh, Iowa, for instance, where it routinely drops into the single digits and even negative numbers at night. But this ain't January; it's early November and I ain't USED to this cold crap yet!!! Plus, it was a danged damp cold -- the kind that penetrates and chills you to the bone. It wasn't so bad in Durham. I didn't drop a lot at that store, and they were done pretty quickly. At Raleigh, though, I was an hour early (where the hell else did I have to go at 3 A.M.?)
They are strict about their appointments, so I had to wait an hour before they would even let me dock. Then, they proceeded to take their time unloading me. One hour. Two hours. Going on three hours. I was shivering and I could see my breath in the cab. I put on my light jacket. Thirty minutes later, I swapped it for my heavy one. And my gloves. And I still shivered. My legs were like lumps of ice, and no relief for them at all. I couldn't feel my feet, after two hours. I finally went inside the driver's cubicle, used their toilet, and stood around in there, attempting to warm up a bit. I got away with that for twenty minutes before I was told to go back out to my truck and wait. Like a condemned man, I went.
Another thirty minutes before the light over the dock door changed to green, indicating that they had me all unloaded. Thank you, God! I went back inside, to get my signed bills and start that mother up, ready for some serious heat. But, as usual, there was a catch. They had to count everything they had unloaded, and I was told to go back to the truck again. The Eskimo Dawg trudged back to his 18-wheeled igloo once more. Finally, the guy who unloaded me brought my bills to me. I thanked him and twisted the key, cranking that diesel to life again. I slammed the trailer doors shut and tore out of there, blasting back to the interstate and running hard, trying to get my partly-cooled engine back up to operating temperature as fast as I could. Heater full-blast on "high," until it started to get warm in the cab again. About out of hours and no load right then, anyway (third-shift dispatch never has any loads at that hour -- you can count on it). I lucked out and found a space in a rest area a few miles east of Raleigh. My bunk had warmed up by the time I closed my eyes.
I sncerely hope I don't deliver another one of their stores this winter. Pretty crummy when businesses worry more about pollution killing a damned tree, than some driver getting frostbite in a freezing cab! Apparently, whatever your do in a truck, you pollute. You can't idle because you pollute and some counties in my own state think that truck speeds above 55 mph pollutes. Our illustrious state Supreme Court agreed with them and now lets the counties set the speed limits in their jurisdicitions, even on the interstate!
You just can't win, if you drive a truck, it seems.
My two stops went to two different bulk-quantity warehouse stores, owned by a huge national discount chain which I'm sure everyone is familar with, without me mentioning any names. Well, that Arkansas-based, Fortune 500 outfit is very socially conscious and very politically correct, buying into all the global warming nonsense, lock, stock, and barrel. You can't find a regular incandescent light bulb in their stores; only the Al Gore-approved CFL bulbs are sold. Who can blame them, really? What do you think they make the most profit from selling? A fifty-cent incandescent bulb, or a three-buck CFL? Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.
Anyway, along with all the other PC environmental-friendly hoopla, they have instituted a "green" policy on all their property. That means, to cut to the chase, that trucks aren't allowed to sit on the property and idle their engines. That means, in turn, that when the weather's cold, a driver has to sit there and freeze their buns off, in the night chill. Running the engine is the only means I have to keep my truck warm. Ignore their policy? Nope. They will simply refuse to unload you until you shut it down and give them the keys. A truck that can't get unloaded can't pick up another load, thus greatly hindering a driver's ability to make a living. I greatly enjoy getting paid, so I reluctantly shut it down, in the 34 degree evening chill.
Now, 34 degrees may seem mild in the middle of January, in places like, oh, Iowa, for instance, where it routinely drops into the single digits and even negative numbers at night. But this ain't January; it's early November and I ain't USED to this cold crap yet!!! Plus, it was a danged damp cold -- the kind that penetrates and chills you to the bone. It wasn't so bad in Durham. I didn't drop a lot at that store, and they were done pretty quickly. At Raleigh, though, I was an hour early (where the hell else did I have to go at 3 A.M.?)
They are strict about their appointments, so I had to wait an hour before they would even let me dock. Then, they proceeded to take their time unloading me. One hour. Two hours. Going on three hours. I was shivering and I could see my breath in the cab. I put on my light jacket. Thirty minutes later, I swapped it for my heavy one. And my gloves. And I still shivered. My legs were like lumps of ice, and no relief for them at all. I couldn't feel my feet, after two hours. I finally went inside the driver's cubicle, used their toilet, and stood around in there, attempting to warm up a bit. I got away with that for twenty minutes before I was told to go back out to my truck and wait. Like a condemned man, I went.
Another thirty minutes before the light over the dock door changed to green, indicating that they had me all unloaded. Thank you, God! I went back inside, to get my signed bills and start that mother up, ready for some serious heat. But, as usual, there was a catch. They had to count everything they had unloaded, and I was told to go back to the truck again. The Eskimo Dawg trudged back to his 18-wheeled igloo once more. Finally, the guy who unloaded me brought my bills to me. I thanked him and twisted the key, cranking that diesel to life again. I slammed the trailer doors shut and tore out of there, blasting back to the interstate and running hard, trying to get my partly-cooled engine back up to operating temperature as fast as I could. Heater full-blast on "high," until it started to get warm in the cab again. About out of hours and no load right then, anyway (third-shift dispatch never has any loads at that hour -- you can count on it). I lucked out and found a space in a rest area a few miles east of Raleigh. My bunk had warmed up by the time I closed my eyes.
I sncerely hope I don't deliver another one of their stores this winter. Pretty crummy when businesses worry more about pollution killing a damned tree, than some driver getting frostbite in a freezing cab! Apparently, whatever your do in a truck, you pollute. You can't idle because you pollute and some counties in my own state think that truck speeds above 55 mph pollutes. Our illustrious state Supreme Court agreed with them and now lets the counties set the speed limits in their jurisdicitions, even on the interstate!
You just can't win, if you drive a truck, it seems.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
NATURE'S LAUNDROMAT
Ever wonder how truckers cope with things like laundry? Well, I'm gonna reveal some of our not-so-secret (to truckers, anyway) methods. There are, of course, coin laundry facilities in most of the larger truckstop chains, but what if you don't have eight bucks or so worth of quarters? And change can be hard to come by sometimes on weekends -- the only time many drivers have the downtime to do their laundry. The majority of banks are locked up tight on weekends, and they get as many of the bullcrap holidays as the USPS does. Columbus Day?? Good grief! Can anyone tell me why Americans even have a holiday celebrating an Italian, who sailed in Spanish ships, and discovered South America??!!! The Vikings discovered this country, so why ain't there a Leif Erikson Day??
But, getting back to laundry. . . How do you think I dried out my soaked socks and shoes, during the monsoons I endured last week? Simple. Bungee cord hooked through holes in the passenger side step plates. Tuck shoes under bungee, tie laces to it. Drive and let the moving air current dry them in no time flat. And the same for my socks. Wring water from them, then crank down the passenger window a hair. Insert socks through opening in window,then crank window back up, trapping them with the glass. Drive and the breeze will dry them quickly. Okay, okay -- it might look like something out of the Beverly Hillbillies, but it works!!! Poor man's clothes dryer.
I have a younger friend, who drives for another company, and he thought that he had "invented" this little method. Ha! The joke's on him, because I've been doing stuff like that for ten years!! Heck, I've even seen women drivers use this method, and even for their, uh, unmentionables. I had a red Kenworth pass me one night not long ago, and it had a bra and two pair of cute little floral print panties hanging out the passenger window, flapping in the breeze. I couldn't resist -- got on the CB and said something to the effect that the driver was either a woman, or some guy got damned lucky and had one heck of a night!! Female laughter came across the airwaves and the voice of the driver was definitely a sweet-sounding lady. I laughed and complimented her on her excellent taste in undies. She laughed and we had a pleasant conversation for the next fifty miles or so.
Well, I have hung my own "unmentionables" out that window, too, when it was necessary and I'd run out of clean undies. Wash 'em out in a truckstop, or rest area sink (truckstop preferred, because they don't have those insane faucets that cut themselves off after a spurt or two of water). Hang 'em out the window, usually at night, when fewer people will notice and you won't have some smartass teasing you on the radio. In emergency situations, I have dried them in the daytime, and to hell with what anyone thinks. Just turn off the CB and cruise along. You get some weird looks from the cars sometimes, but I just grinned at them and trucked onward.
Where there's a will, there's a way, and when you're stuck in a truck all the time you often have to improvise. We've all gotten very good at that over the years.
But, getting back to laundry. . . How do you think I dried out my soaked socks and shoes, during the monsoons I endured last week? Simple. Bungee cord hooked through holes in the passenger side step plates. Tuck shoes under bungee, tie laces to it. Drive and let the moving air current dry them in no time flat. And the same for my socks. Wring water from them, then crank down the passenger window a hair. Insert socks through opening in window,then crank window back up, trapping them with the glass. Drive and the breeze will dry them quickly. Okay, okay -- it might look like something out of the Beverly Hillbillies, but it works!!! Poor man's clothes dryer.
I have a younger friend, who drives for another company, and he thought that he had "invented" this little method. Ha! The joke's on him, because I've been doing stuff like that for ten years!! Heck, I've even seen women drivers use this method, and even for their, uh, unmentionables. I had a red Kenworth pass me one night not long ago, and it had a bra and two pair of cute little floral print panties hanging out the passenger window, flapping in the breeze. I couldn't resist -- got on the CB and said something to the effect that the driver was either a woman, or some guy got damned lucky and had one heck of a night!! Female laughter came across the airwaves and the voice of the driver was definitely a sweet-sounding lady. I laughed and complimented her on her excellent taste in undies. She laughed and we had a pleasant conversation for the next fifty miles or so.
Well, I have hung my own "unmentionables" out that window, too, when it was necessary and I'd run out of clean undies. Wash 'em out in a truckstop, or rest area sink (truckstop preferred, because they don't have those insane faucets that cut themselves off after a spurt or two of water). Hang 'em out the window, usually at night, when fewer people will notice and you won't have some smartass teasing you on the radio. In emergency situations, I have dried them in the daytime, and to hell with what anyone thinks. Just turn off the CB and cruise along. You get some weird looks from the cars sometimes, but I just grinned at them and trucked onward.
Where there's a will, there's a way, and when you're stuck in a truck all the time you often have to improvise. We've all gotten very good at that over the years.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
AND THE RAINS CAME . . .
Well, let's see how this looks. Testing. Testing. Testing. Writer in search of a font.
Oh -- hi, there!!! Still getting used to things, here in New Blog-Land -- just another AOL Journals refugee, getting used to the new system. Y'all let me know how you like the fonts, as I'll continue to experiment, each week. Then, as usual, I'll pick one I like anyway, but I thank you for your input, regardless!
Don't look like I'm gonna make it home this weekend. Got handed a nifty little 6-stop LTL-style run yesterday and toured EasternWisconsin pretty well. With the last stop in Dixon, IL (Ronald Reagan's boyhood hometown) and winding up, finally, in Bartonville, just a few miles from my company's yard, it took up the entire day. And, just as I'd suspected, as soon as I dropped my trailer and asked for dispatch on another load, I got the "no load" message on my Qualcomm.
Thursday is Rookie Driver Graduation Day at Star Central, and if the class is large enough, they tend to eat up all the loads. And so they did this week. Loads in general have been in short supply at times lately, anyway, and when you add rookie first-loads to the equation, the leftovers can be skimpy, or non-existent. It looks, on this Saturday morning, like most of the newbies have gone on their way already, so I'm stranded here with a few other unlucky late arrivals. Can't afford a motel, and since the one I always stayed in before now has a "smoke-free" policy, I'll decline that, rather than be miserable all weekend. If I have to stand outside half the time, in order to indulge my nicotine craving, then I'm just as well-off in my truck. If you're a smoker and feel threatened, rest assured that you are NOT paranoid. They ARE out to get you!! Quite literally. Bad habit, I know. And I should quit. But maybe -- just maybe -- I would have done so long ago, if I didn't feel like I was being forced into it against my will. There's something about being forced to do something that brings out my most mega-stubborn streak. I think it's a freedom and liberty thing. And we have less and less of that, as time goes on. Sadly.
In other news. . . I'm sick of freakin' rain!! That's ALL it's done, where I've gone, for that last three or four days. Sick of soggy shoes, soggy socks, soggy pant cuffs, and soggy jackets that I have to drape across my sleeper cabinets, to dry out. Sick of water on my glasses. Or, in my glasses! Has anyone ever figured out why, when a raindrop splatters on your eyeglasses, that it always manges to land on the inside of the lens??!! GRRRRRRRRRR! Maddening!! Next rain trip I make, I'm gonna pack my biker goggles!! I guess it beats snow, in that you can drive faster on it (assuming you can get the 35 mph scaredy-cats in the cars out of your way), but snow rarely, if ever, soaks you to the skin the way rain does. They're both differing forms of misery.
Sick of mudhole trailer lots, too. The back of my tractor looks like I've been in an off-road endurance race in a swamp. Dried mud, slung up there by my spinning, sliding drive tires, at least two inches thick. Absolutely sick of backing under a loaded box, opening up my door, and finding that I'm parked in the middle of a 3-foot-deep mini-lake!! Double-GRRRRRRRRR!! Splop-splot-splash! Hook up the trailer. Splop-splop-splash! Crank up the dollies. Splop-splop-splash! Adjust the tandems. Get back in truck. Remove shoes and socks. Wring half-gallon of water out of socks. Pour other half-gallon out of shoes. Set all aside to dry out. Drive in my sandals. Stub big toe on pedals. Curse fluently and frequently. Q$X&X#X#-ING RAIN!!!! Dump the cluch in the mini-lake and blast off with a pretty nice "rooster tail" from my spinning drives. Hell, yeah -- CLEAN the bottom of that trailer!!! Freakin' rain!!!
It actually looked like in might clear off while ago. The sun (remember it??) came out for a short time. But it was "just kidding," I guess, because it's reverted back to solid overcast again now. Hasn't rained a drop, so far, though. Just looks like it wants to. And it probably will, if I have to walk any distance at all. That's Murphy's Law, y'know??
Oh -- hi, there!!! Still getting used to things, here in New Blog-Land -- just another AOL Journals refugee, getting used to the new system. Y'all let me know how you like the fonts, as I'll continue to experiment, each week. Then, as usual, I'll pick one I like anyway, but I thank you for your input, regardless!
Don't look like I'm gonna make it home this weekend. Got handed a nifty little 6-stop LTL-style run yesterday and toured EasternWisconsin pretty well. With the last stop in Dixon, IL (Ronald Reagan's boyhood hometown) and winding up, finally, in Bartonville, just a few miles from my company's yard, it took up the entire day. And, just as I'd suspected, as soon as I dropped my trailer and asked for dispatch on another load, I got the "no load" message on my Qualcomm.
Thursday is Rookie Driver Graduation Day at Star Central, and if the class is large enough, they tend to eat up all the loads. And so they did this week. Loads in general have been in short supply at times lately, anyway, and when you add rookie first-loads to the equation, the leftovers can be skimpy, or non-existent. It looks, on this Saturday morning, like most of the newbies have gone on their way already, so I'm stranded here with a few other unlucky late arrivals. Can't afford a motel, and since the one I always stayed in before now has a "smoke-free" policy, I'll decline that, rather than be miserable all weekend. If I have to stand outside half the time, in order to indulge my nicotine craving, then I'm just as well-off in my truck. If you're a smoker and feel threatened, rest assured that you are NOT paranoid. They ARE out to get you!! Quite literally. Bad habit, I know. And I should quit. But maybe -- just maybe -- I would have done so long ago, if I didn't feel like I was being forced into it against my will. There's something about being forced to do something that brings out my most mega-stubborn streak. I think it's a freedom and liberty thing. And we have less and less of that, as time goes on. Sadly.
In other news. . . I'm sick of freakin' rain!! That's ALL it's done, where I've gone, for that last three or four days. Sick of soggy shoes, soggy socks, soggy pant cuffs, and soggy jackets that I have to drape across my sleeper cabinets, to dry out. Sick of water on my glasses. Or, in my glasses! Has anyone ever figured out why, when a raindrop splatters on your eyeglasses, that it always manges to land on the inside of the lens??!! GRRRRRRRRRR! Maddening!! Next rain trip I make, I'm gonna pack my biker goggles!! I guess it beats snow, in that you can drive faster on it (assuming you can get the 35 mph scaredy-cats in the cars out of your way), but snow rarely, if ever, soaks you to the skin the way rain does. They're both differing forms of misery.
Sick of mudhole trailer lots, too. The back of my tractor looks like I've been in an off-road endurance race in a swamp. Dried mud, slung up there by my spinning, sliding drive tires, at least two inches thick. Absolutely sick of backing under a loaded box, opening up my door, and finding that I'm parked in the middle of a 3-foot-deep mini-lake!! Double-GRRRRRRRRR!! Splop-splot-splash! Hook up the trailer. Splop-splop-splash! Crank up the dollies. Splop-splop-splash! Adjust the tandems. Get back in truck. Remove shoes and socks. Wring half-gallon of water out of socks. Pour other half-gallon out of shoes. Set all aside to dry out. Drive in my sandals. Stub big toe on pedals. Curse fluently and frequently. Q$X&X#X#-ING RAIN!!!! Dump the cluch in the mini-lake and blast off with a pretty nice "rooster tail" from my spinning drives. Hell, yeah -- CLEAN the bottom of that trailer!!! Freakin' rain!!!
It actually looked like in might clear off while ago. The sun (remember it??) came out for a short time. But it was "just kidding," I guess, because it's reverted back to solid overcast again now. Hasn't rained a drop, so far, though. Just looks like it wants to. And it probably will, if I have to walk any distance at all. That's Murphy's Law, y'know??
Saturday, October 18, 2008
MOTORCYCLE, OR GIRLFRIEND??
TOP FIVE REASONS WHY A MOTORCYCLE IS BETTER THAN A GIRLFRIEND:
1. A bike doesn't get jealous when you look at other bikes.
2. A bike is ready to go anywhere you want to go, anytime, instantly.
3. A bike will never wake you up at 3:00 A.M. and ask you what you're thinking.
4. A bike will never ask you if the new saddlebags make its rear end look too big.
5. You can ride a bike all you want to, without spending a dime on it.
TOP FIVE WAYS TO FALL OFF OF A MOTORCYCLE:
1. Ride a dirtbike under a neighbor's clothesline (actually happened to me, years ago).
2. Come home drunk at 4 A.M., miss the turn into your driveway, plow into dew-sodden grass, riding on street tires (might as well be on ice).
3. Stop on a steep incline and absent-mindedly put your foot down on the downhill side!!
4. Put your foot down in an oil puddle at a gas station pump.
5. Try to pop a "wheelie" to impress a girl and lose your grip on the handlebars.
NOTABLE CELEBRITIES AND MOTORCYCLES
1. Marlon Brando/Lee Marvin: The two stars of The Wild One -- the movie adaptation of the Hollister, CA incident, in 1947, that gave biker gangs (and bikers in general) a bad reputation, largely undeserved. Both actors actually owned and rode motorcycles in real life. Brando, in fact, rode his own personal bike in the film, a Triumph TR6 model. While the Harley that Marvin rode in the film was supplied by the film studio, he actually owned a Harley-Davidson of his own and rode quite often in his personal life. The main riding scenes in the film were shot with the actors actually riding the bikes, not stand-ins or stunt riders.
2. Steve McQueen: Ever seen the classic WWII film, The Great Escape, and the sequence in which McQueen's character is trying to cross the German/Swiss border on a motorcycle?? That was actually Steve McQueen on the bike, doing his own stunt work in the movie. McQueen was a successful motorcycle racer before he became an actor, so he had plenty of chops to do the job in the film. The bike he was using to jump over those barricades was in reality a 500cc Triumph, which had been cosmetically disguised, to make it look like a WWII-era German military machine. One of Steve McQueen's personal bikes, a pristine vintage Indian machine, is on permanent display today at the National Motorcycle Museum, in Anamosa, IA.
3. Peter Fonda/Dennis Hopper: The two stars of Easy Rider were also both real-life bikers, as well as actors. Both actors also did all their own actual riding in the film. Fonda's "Captain America" chopper, as well as the Harley bobber that Hopper rode in the film, were commissioned and created especially for the film and the American flag-themed chopper has since become legendary among motorcyclists all over the world. It currently resides in the National Motorcycle Museum, in Iowa.
4. Kyle Petty: The son of NASCAR legend, Richard Petty, is a long-time biker as well as a NASCAR star in his own right. His annual cross-country charity ride draws riders from all over the country, as well as from other nations. The younger Petty owns several motorcycles, mostly Harley-Davidsons, including some vintage machines. All proceeds from his charity events go to the camp he created, which gives aid to disadvantaged children.
5. G. Gordon Liddy: Radio talk-show host, actor, and Watergate "plumber" Liddy owned five Harleys at one time. His wife, Frances, made him get rid of all but two of them, as he related to listeners on his popular show awhile back. Liddy makes his pilgrimage to the huge rally in Sturgis, SD, every summer, and his show has been broadcast on location from there most years. An avid motorcyclist, Liddy also attends several other rallies during the season every year. Look for his famous "G-Man" helmet, if you go to rallies; you might just get a chance to shake hands with him sometime.
6. Jay Leno: The Tonight Show host and comedian has an extensive collection of classic and performance cars, as well as a motorcycle collection. Another avid rider, Leno can often be seen on the streets of L.A., riding one of his Harleys, or custom bikes around. He also shows up regularly at Sturgis, as well as many other rallies around the country. He was seen most recently in Milwaukee, WI, at Harley's 105th Anniversary celebration back in August.
7. Henry Winkler: The Fonz character he portrayed on the TV show, Happy Days, was a biker, but nothing could be further from the truth for the actor himself. "They (motorcycles) scare me," Winkler told an interviewer one time. And so, "The Fonz," who recently had a statue unveiled in Milwaukee, will always remain a fictional biker.
1. A bike doesn't get jealous when you look at other bikes.
2. A bike is ready to go anywhere you want to go, anytime, instantly.
3. A bike will never wake you up at 3:00 A.M. and ask you what you're thinking.
4. A bike will never ask you if the new saddlebags make its rear end look too big.
5. You can ride a bike all you want to, without spending a dime on it.
TOP FIVE WAYS TO FALL OFF OF A MOTORCYCLE:
1. Ride a dirtbike under a neighbor's clothesline (actually happened to me, years ago).
2. Come home drunk at 4 A.M., miss the turn into your driveway, plow into dew-sodden grass, riding on street tires (might as well be on ice).
3. Stop on a steep incline and absent-mindedly put your foot down on the downhill side!!
4. Put your foot down in an oil puddle at a gas station pump.
5. Try to pop a "wheelie" to impress a girl and lose your grip on the handlebars.
NOTABLE CELEBRITIES AND MOTORCYCLES
1. Marlon Brando/Lee Marvin: The two stars of The Wild One -- the movie adaptation of the Hollister, CA incident, in 1947, that gave biker gangs (and bikers in general) a bad reputation, largely undeserved. Both actors actually owned and rode motorcycles in real life. Brando, in fact, rode his own personal bike in the film, a Triumph TR6 model. While the Harley that Marvin rode in the film was supplied by the film studio, he actually owned a Harley-Davidson of his own and rode quite often in his personal life. The main riding scenes in the film were shot with the actors actually riding the bikes, not stand-ins or stunt riders.
2. Steve McQueen: Ever seen the classic WWII film, The Great Escape, and the sequence in which McQueen's character is trying to cross the German/Swiss border on a motorcycle?? That was actually Steve McQueen on the bike, doing his own stunt work in the movie. McQueen was a successful motorcycle racer before he became an actor, so he had plenty of chops to do the job in the film. The bike he was using to jump over those barricades was in reality a 500cc Triumph, which had been cosmetically disguised, to make it look like a WWII-era German military machine. One of Steve McQueen's personal bikes, a pristine vintage Indian machine, is on permanent display today at the National Motorcycle Museum, in Anamosa, IA.
3. Peter Fonda/Dennis Hopper: The two stars of Easy Rider were also both real-life bikers, as well as actors. Both actors also did all their own actual riding in the film. Fonda's "Captain America" chopper, as well as the Harley bobber that Hopper rode in the film, were commissioned and created especially for the film and the American flag-themed chopper has since become legendary among motorcyclists all over the world. It currently resides in the National Motorcycle Museum, in Iowa.
4. Kyle Petty: The son of NASCAR legend, Richard Petty, is a long-time biker as well as a NASCAR star in his own right. His annual cross-country charity ride draws riders from all over the country, as well as from other nations. The younger Petty owns several motorcycles, mostly Harley-Davidsons, including some vintage machines. All proceeds from his charity events go to the camp he created, which gives aid to disadvantaged children.
5. G. Gordon Liddy: Radio talk-show host, actor, and Watergate "plumber" Liddy owned five Harleys at one time. His wife, Frances, made him get rid of all but two of them, as he related to listeners on his popular show awhile back. Liddy makes his pilgrimage to the huge rally in Sturgis, SD, every summer, and his show has been broadcast on location from there most years. An avid motorcyclist, Liddy also attends several other rallies during the season every year. Look for his famous "G-Man" helmet, if you go to rallies; you might just get a chance to shake hands with him sometime.
6. Jay Leno: The Tonight Show host and comedian has an extensive collection of classic and performance cars, as well as a motorcycle collection. Another avid rider, Leno can often be seen on the streets of L.A., riding one of his Harleys, or custom bikes around. He also shows up regularly at Sturgis, as well as many other rallies around the country. He was seen most recently in Milwaukee, WI, at Harley's 105th Anniversary celebration back in August.
7. Henry Winkler: The Fonz character he portrayed on the TV show, Happy Days, was a biker, but nothing could be further from the truth for the actor himself. "They (motorcycles) scare me," Winkler told an interviewer one time. And so, "The Fonz," who recently had a statue unveiled in Milwaukee, will always remain a fictional biker.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
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
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
Saturday, September 27, 2008
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
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