FIRST GROUP RIDE AND BIKER BASH OF THE YEAR

I actually got to participate in a motorcycle group ride yesterday -- one of the few I have been able to take part in. These group rides are held at various times, year-round, but I haven't been able to ride in many of them, because my occupation doesn't allow me the time to do so very often. But I've had nothing but time the past week, being laid off from work while I treated the Virus That Ate Me and started breathing normally again at last. And so, I was primed to go.

I didn't think I was going to go at all, for awhile there, as my mom wanted to do some of her laundry at my house, and how could I say no?? She got 'er done in time for me to ride west, to the staging area for the ride, where I barely arrived in time to lay down my $10 registration fee and get signed up, etc., etc. The ride was a memorial to Steve "Bo" Goins, a locally well-known member of our little biker community here, who was killed in a traffic accident a few years ago. He was stopped at a traffic light, around midnight, when a small pickup truck failed to stop in time and slammed into the rear of Bo's bike, ending his life at age 37. That incident shook our entire community, as it was so tragic, yet completely senseless at the same time.  

The Motorcycle Awareness Foundation of Tennessee (MAFT) stepped in and has hosted this memorial ride ever since Bo's death, in an effort to raise awareness of motorcycles that share the road with all other vehicles. It is a cause that concerns all bikers everywhere, no matter what they ride, because we all share the same streets, roads, and highways and we're all subject to the same traffic conditions. We all share the same common fear -- that some 4-wheel motorist won't notice us and will endanger our lives by doing something foolish. It's a very rational fear when you're up on two wheels, believe me. 

"But officer, I didn't see the motorcycle." 

That's what they all say, after the accident has happened and it's too late to save the fallen biker's limbs, skin, or even life. And it's the lamest excuse ever concocted by the human mind. There is no excuse -- repeat -- NO EXCUSE, WHATSOEVER, FOR FAILING TO SEE A MOTORCYCLE. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. It holds water like a seive. If you fail to see what is obviously there,  sharing the road with you, it's because YOU AREN'T LOOKING! And if you don't look for ALL vehicles in your path before pulling out, you aren't a competent driver and should have your license suspended until you learn to do so. 

If that makes some readers mad, then so be it. I won't apologize because that's honestly how I feel about it. YOU aren't the one sitting on that bike, watching everything around you like a hawk and thinking "what if?" every time you approach an intersection where there's a car sitting, waiting to turn onto the road you're on. You aren't the one having to wear hot leather clothing in the summer heat, in order to protect your skin when you end up riding the pavement because some apparently blind car driver pulled out in front of you, or cut you off, forcing you to lay your bike down hard. Most of us do everything we can to make ourselves visible and noticeable -- bright-colored clothes, hard-wired headlamps that burn all the time, flashing our brake lights, reflective patches and decals, loud exhaust pipes -- you name it and we've done it or do it, but some car drivers still say they didn't see us. 

Some states, including my own, aren't just taking that old, lame excuse for granted anymore. They are cracking down, pulling drivers over when their actions endanger motorcyclists and ticketing them. Some, including Tennessee, are imposing mandatory jail sentences for motorists whose poor driving habits result in the death of a biker. They are going all-out with advertising and educational campaigns, designed to raise motorists' awareness of motorcycles that are on the road with them. All I can say is that it's about time!!! It will make riding that much more enjoyable, if everyone in a cage is aware that we're out there and they watch out for us, like they do for other cars. 

There is no one as blind as someone who refuses to see. Open your eyes, motorists. Watch for motorcycles all the time, when you're on the road,   and especially in the warm weather months. 

The ride was a short one -- just through town, from our Kingston Pike starting point,  and out onto highway 25W (Clinton Highway). It went uneventfully. I was near the back of the pack, with the anchor riders, because I'm relatively inexperienced at group riding. This is something you need to tell the ride organizers when you go in the front door, so they won't mix you in with the more eperienced riders in the group. They keep you toward the rear, so that the anchor riders, who are often the most experienced in the group, can keep an eye on your riding and help you when you need it. I was helped several times with interpreting the common hand signals that are used in biker groups. I know most of the basic ones, but there are some specialty signals that I'm still learning about. One anchor rider gave me a complete run-down on it after the ride was over and gave me the address of a website, where they show all the commonly used signals.

We ended up at Coyote Joe's, for the post-ride bash. They had Bubba's (Coyote Joe's owner) famous Road Kill Grill in operation and I inhaled two loaded charcoal-broiled burgers, along with some great potato salad and Bubba's world-famous baked beans. Topped off with a Bud Light, it was a great meal. Only charge was a minimum five-buck donation to MAFT. I threw $10 in the bucket and got two burgers, four raffle tickets, and a bottle "sock" to put over my beer and keep it cold longer. Bubba finally opened up the outdoor patio bar and had the first live band on their outdoor stage that I've seen this year. It was a good day for it; sunny, with the temp in the upper 80's. The band was good, but the sound was a little bit bass-heavy; you couldn't half-hear the guitar. They played well, but need to work on their equalization a little bit, methinks. But what the hey -- live music is just that. Live. Sometimes, things get screwed-up. Like Jimi Hendrix was famous for saying:  "Only cowboys play in tune." I still enjoyed the music and hung out in the sun until they ended their gig and started packing up. 

By then, I had reached my four-beers-with-food personal limit when I'm on Velvet and sat in the sun, sweating it off until it was time to head back home again. I hated to see it end, but I know there will be more to come, later on this summer. 

HALF-SICK ALL WEEK, BUT NOT THIS WEEK!

I got hit by a nasty bug back in March. A virus/cold/creeping crud condition which settles in your chest, making you cough in fits and making your lungs very congested. It was going around, as I knew several people who got smacked by it, including my mom and my special friend up in Kentucky. It sucks, it's miserable, and I still have it, a month later. Still congested and short of breath from being so stopped-up. That is my particular misery and I was plagued by it all of last week. Tomorrow, I will go to my doc and let her examine me and perhaps prescribe some antibiotics to knock this thing out for good, as well as some industrial-strength medication to relieve my congestion. To hell with my load. My health is too important. Let my company deal with that. I want to breathe normally again.

Trucking is a lousy occupation to be in when you get hammered by something like this. The problem is that you don't stay in one place for very long, like normal folks do. You're constantly on the move. For me, it's a typical south-to-north-to-south routing that has you running your heater one day, your air conditioner the next, and then back to the heater again. Constant abrupt changes in temperature means that your body never becomes acclimated to the steady climate in one region and it confuses your system. 

Add to that the unpredictable and often changeable weather in early spring and you're almost assured of being stuck with the crud for months, until it turns warm to stay everywhere you go.  You think you're getting over it, then you move again and the weather turns cool; you get chilled and you relapse -- it hits you all over again with a vengeance. Keeps your resistance low and allows the original virus to mutate to an even nastier form. It did that to me last week, hitting me with chest congestion and I was so short of breath from that at times that I couldn't walk across a parking lot without panting and gasping by the time I reached my destination. I also ran out of my allergy pills, couldn't find any at a truckstop, and so added nasal congestion and stopped-up sinuses to my misery. To say that it was a tough week is the understatement of the year. And I AM NOT going to repeat it, load or no load!!! 

At least I did have warm weather to be thankful for. I stayed south, where the temperature was in the 70's until the end of the week, when Mom Nature decided I needed to be cooled off again, and turned her thermostat down a few notches. I was in Florida and southern Alabama at the first of the week and ended up taking a tour of the Sunshine State that was  more like a forced march than anything. No vacation for me yet, it seemed. From Jacksonville, where I had unloaded on Tuesday, I traveled almost 300 miles down to the Tampa area to pick up my next load, then, after a break, I boogied almost 200 miles back north to I-10, then close to 400 miles across the panhandle and into Alabama, through Mobile, and 85 more miles up I-65 before I stopped for another break. By the time I reached my destination in northern Mississippi Thursday morning, the temperature had plunged back down into the 40s, forcing me to turn up the heat and bundle up in my hoodie jacket when I ventured outside. My allergies were going nuts and though my breathing seemed a little better that day, I was still puffing more than I do normally whenever I had to exert myself much. 

I was assigned a load which didn't deliver in North Carolina until Monday, taking me home and giving me some quality downtime at last. Our "mileage ticker" in the Qualcomm unit goes back to zero again around midnight on Friday of each week and I looked at mine before it clicked over that morning. It showed I had gone almost 2500 miles in just four days, since the last reset. Makes for a fat, healthy paycheck, so I was happy about that, anyway. But misery still loomed ahead, one last time, before I got back home. 

My congestion and breathing issues resurfaced stronger than ever Friday morning. I had to go inside the truckstop to use the bathroom and look for some more OTC medication for my ailment. I had parked as close to the building as I could get the afternoon before; it probably wasn't much more than 100 yards to the door. I started walking, slowly. By the time I reached the building, I was virtually gasping for breath. Sit down before you fall down and thank you, God, for making them put this bench right here! I plopped down on it and sat there until I was breathing halfway normally again, then made my way inside. Using the bathroom helped a lot. I found an allergy pill, like I normally take!! A single 24-hour dose. I bought it and some decongestant cough syrup, with an expectorant, to help me cough up the mucus in my viral-plagued lungs. Made it back to the truck much better than I had  going into the building, and dosed myself up all around. Self-medicating, without the alcohol. As it started to kick in, I nodded out and napped. Allergies can make it hard to sleep well, when they flare up. 

I made it home Friday afternoon, feeling some better, but still with the same problem. It has improved some while at home, but not enough to where I feel comfortable going back out, without seeing my doctor and getting some professional treatment for this bugaboo. I am a large, economy-sized person and that doesn't help me a bit. But you can't lose weight overnight and I'm not in an occupation which aids in weight loss to begin with. Sitting behind a steering wheel is lousy exercise, to say the least. I'm also a smoker, which also doesn't help things, but believe you me, something like this will strictly curb your appetite for cigarettes. I've probably smoked less in the past week than I have in months. I'm still trying to/wanting to quit, but that's something else that I can't do overnight, as cold-turkeying doesn't work for me at all. And even when you quit, it takes months to get rid of all the effects of smoking. 

But I'm confident that my doc will find some relief for me and I'll be back 100% very soon. I only hope I don't lose too much time off from work. 

FIFTH WHEEL HANGUP

If a reader asked me why that little round slotted thingie mounted between the frame rails of my tractor is callled the "fifth wheel" they'd most likely get a blank stare from me and a shrug of the shoulders. If they pressed the issue, they'd get an answer suitable for the average three-year-old:  "Because!" Uh -- it really don't make sense at all. If you count the wheels on my tractor you'd get two steer wheels and one, two, three, four, five . . .  eight wheels on the two drive axles, adding up to ten wheels, total. So, that round slotted thingie which couples my tractor to my trailer is really the eleventh wheel. 

I think they named it that illogical name way back in trucking's stone age, in the early days of the 20th Century, when Big Trucks weren't all that big and they only had four wheels, like a car. It would've really been a fifth wheel in that case. That's my story, anyway, and I'm sticking to it. 

Fifth wheels have been around for quite some time and they've pretty well ironed all the gremlins and goblins out of them nowadays. They function quite well and are a part of the truck that is taken for granted by most drivers. What the hell can go wrong with a fifth wheel? Usually nothing, unless, of course, it's the one on MY truck. I would have the one-in-ten-zillionth fifth wheel that gives trouble and acts crazy. At least mine did on Thursday of last week, and for the second time in three weeks. 

First off, the trailer's dollies were set a little low, meaning, probably, that the previous driver had set the box down in a pothole, or some other low spot in the ground. I got under it without dumping my rear air bags, but it was a tight squeeze. The dollies were then lifted off the ground slightly by my tractor's higher ride height and the full weight of the trailer and load were on my wheels as I backed under it. It was not as smooth as usual. It was more like a scrape-jerk-jerk-jerk, and as hard as I tried to ease the slot into the trailer's kingpin, it went jerk-jerk-K-BANG in spite of all my efforts to be gentle. 

After my head stopped bobbing to and fro and my eyeballs stabilized in my skull again, I put it in low gear and did the standard "tug" test to make sure I was hooked. I wasn't. The tractor shot out from under it and I tromped the brake pedal hard, to keep it from coming all the way out. Another jerk that left my head bobbing like one of those figurines you've seen on the rear parcel shelves of umpteen cars. I threw it in reverse and dumped the clutch. The impact with the trailer this time almost gave me a case of severe whiplash as my head was tossed around. When my vision cleared, I tugged again. STILL not hooked, as I eased out from under the box a second time. 

I shook my head to clear it and got out for a look-see. "What's WRONG with this [CENSORED] thing?" I asked, rhetorically. Was the kingpin missing off the trailer? Looked underneath. No, it was right there, where it belonged. By the process of elimination, that left the fifth wheel as the culprit. I scoped it out. Release handle still pulled out in the "released" position. Hmmmmm. Yanked and pushed around on it. Didn't budge. Leaned over the frame rails, trying to eyeball the locking jaw mechanism that secures the fifth wheel to the kingpin. Poked around on the locking jaw clamp. Got all greasy in the process. Pulled and pushed on the release handle again, to no avail. Meanwhile, another driver had noticed my difficulty and walked over. He was looking at the locking mechanism.

"It's released right now," he informed me.

"Coulda fooled me," I responded. "Damn thing does NOT want to lock on the kingpin!"

"Give it another try and hit it harder this time. Looks like there's some rust down in there." 

"Harder?!" I asked, looking at him like he was insane. "Heck, I hit it hard the last time. Any harder and I might end up in traction, in the hospital!!" 

"Sock it to it," he told me. 

"Okay." 

I climbed back in the cab amidst visions of myself in a hospital bed, wearing a neck brace, and poking a cute nurse, when she was all bent over . . . well, let's not go there. Anyway, I sat back down in my seat and eased as far out from the box as I could. Then I closed my overhead cabinet doors, put the cap on my bottle of soda in the cupholder and generally battened down the hatches. "Brace for collision!" I yelled, as I pressed the accelerator and let out the clutch. "Ramming speed!!!" KA-WHAM! It was a collision this time, nothing less, and I think I pushed the trailer back a foot, even with the spring brakes fully applied.  I whacked myself up'side my head, then shook it briskly, to jar my brain back in place. I put the tranny in low again and eased out the clutch. Tractor no move. I did the same thing again, letting the clutch out a little harder this time. Tractor no move and I was thrown up against the steering wheel. Hooked at last!!! I thanked the other driver for his help, got my bills, and boogied out of there a few minutes later. 

I gotta get that thing looked at, next time I'm at the yard!

TRIP ON MERRY-GO-ROUND LEAVES DRIVER STRANDED

Glad You Asked That (reader comment response)

To M88:

First off -- no, your question isn't stupid at all. It's a very good question and if more motorists would ask us truckers about these things, there might be fewer car/truck accidents in the future. You're doing the right thing by getting past the truck as quickly as possible and not hanging out in the "No-Zone," as it's called. The right side of any truck is called the "blind side" and for very good reason -- there are many blind spots on that side of a truck; the driver is seated on the other side and can't see out the window over there at all, leaving him only his mirrors to see what's over there. The most dangerous spot of all on a truck's right (passenger) side is when a car is right up next to the cab door, or right beside the truck's hood. The car will be totally hidden from the driver's view in these locations, and not visible in the mirrors at all. My truck has a "bus" mirror on the right front of the hood, but the way I adjust my seat for my height, I can't see that mirror over the dashboard without leaning forward. And that mirror is worthless at night, as it picks up nothing but glare from my own headlamp! So, be extra cautious at night, when you're on a truck's blind side. You're even harder to see then.



Yes, flashing your lights is a standard signal to a trucker that his trailer is clear of your vehicle and that he can safely move over into the lane you're in. Just be sure that the trailer is well clear of you before signaling him!! You don't want your bumper chopped off. Truck mirrors have a very narrow field of view and a driver has to pull out way ahead of a car he's passing before attempting to return to the proper travel lane. The standard rule of thumb employed by truckers here is "don't change lanes until you can see BOTH the headlights of the car you're passing." For that reason, you shouldn't hug the shoulder, either, trying to give the truck extra room; this makes it even harder for the driver to see if he's clear of you. Helping him out by flashing your lights is always a good idea and many of us will blink or flash a "thank you" with our 4-ways or marker lights.



Jackson, Georgia

Sitting in a Flying Bankruptcy (Flying J) truckstop here this weekend, instead of schmoozing it up at the Dawg House, as usual. This well-known travel center chain has been in Chapter 11 reorganization since last year, thus the pet name I hung on it. It's run by a group of Mormons out in Utah and I think that when Mitt Romney blew so much of his money in his presidential bid last year, that it also pulled the rug out from under the Flying Hook as well. I don't see many signs of reorganizing here, if this location is any example. Same-ol', same-ol', by the looks of things. So, I suppose all that Chapter Elevening is happening out in Salt Lake City, or Provo, or some other Home Office location.

How I came to be stranded here is another story for the annals of this blog, however. It was because of another blinkety-blank, freakin', [EXPLETIVE DELETED] shuttle run that I was saddled with on FRIDAY, of all the lousy days it could have been. Pardon me a moment, while I catch my breath and calm down a bit.

Ahhhh -- that's better. Now then, where was I?

Oh, yeah -- the shuttle run. I hate shuttle runs. They suck. I call them "One Day Wonders," because you have to pick up a load and deliver it on the same day, usually after you've driven all night and slept like crap and are half-past tired to begin with. And, of course, since these runs almost always involve our top customer in some way, they want the load to get delivered at least two hours before you even pick it up. Get the idea? They RUSH you to death, otherwords ["Lone Ranger Theme" in background here]. So add that together: Tired, sleepy, saddled with a load that has to deliver the same afternoon, and forced to bust ass through everything to get it there. Ah, yes -- that should be the formula for a good, safe truck driver on our highways!!! Just be glad that I'm experienced and fully qualified to drive in my sleep. Been doing it for years and no major accidents so far. I just put my brain on Autopilot Mode and go. That goes right along with the Cast Iron Bladder that all truckers have to develop over the years behind the wheel.

The run was from a plant 40 miles south of Atlanta, up to a customer in Welcome, North Carolina -- a distance of some 330 miles. Somehow, I always felt welcome there in the past. Wonder if that has anything to do with why they named the town that? So, got loaded in no time flat and motored my tired butt on up the road toward the destination. Everything went well until I hit the 5 P.M. Charlotte Crunch. Moving like molasses on I-85, for more than 18 miles, through all the suburbs and closer surrounding towns. Average speed -- 8 mph. "Oh, yeah," I commented to myself, sarcastically, "like I really need this shit right now!!" All that wonderful afternoon rush hour traffic, with cars running amok all over the place, and making a trucker have to be ten times extra cautious to avoid squashing someone. I just wanted to get my load there and find a place to crash out for a week or two, but I was going backward all the sudden. I was less than happy, but resigned to it.

I made it through it, eventually, and managed not to kill anyone, or terminally damage any 4-wheelers. I got to Welcome unscathed. I hadn't been there, probably, in five or more years and I promptly turned on the wrong street. Fortunately, I was able to loop back around and came right back to where I'd started. Found the right road this time and arrived at the customer. There I learned that I'd be dropping my loaded trailer, hooking to another loaded one at their dock, and hauling it right back to the same plant in Georgia. I hadn't been there in so long that I'd forgotten that this was a Merry-Go-Round Shuttle and now I faced the other end of it. I kissed goodbye the idea of getting home, or at least of getting any time to spend there at all.

It didn't surprise me at all that the customer knew more about where I'd be going than dispatch did. Dispatch's typical relationship with drivers is a case of the blind leading the blind, usually around in circles. Wanna drive a dispatcher crazy? Put him in a round room and tell him to go pee in the corner. Know what's long and hard on a dispatcher? Third grade. Anyway, I got dispatched on the return load, got hooked up to my new load and blasted out of there. I drove back toward Charlotte, the traffic by now having calmed down, found the closest rest area, parked and was sound asleep before my body plopped down on the bunk.

I had it planned out well yesterday, heading out in time to fuel my truck and get back south of Hot'lanta again, to the same Big Customer's plant. When I got there, right on time (as usual), I was told by security that the receiving department was closed on Saturday and that I'd have to deliver the load bright and early Monday morning. I duly informed dispatch about that -- something else they should know, but didn't, apparently. Well, they do now, don't they? I drove four miles down I-75 and here I am, publishing my thoughts to all of you once again. Be nice to see home again, when and if I ever do!!!

FIRST BIKER BATH OF THE NEW YEAR AND ONE INSANE WEEK

Finally!!!! Decent weather to ride a motorcycle!!! And ride I did, yesterday, almost all day long, making up for weeks of crappy, cold-ass weather and being stuck away from home. I went everywhere -- visited my friends at the Harley shop, rode out into God's Country on the twisty two-lanes that I love on a bike and visited my aunt and uncle for the first time since Christmas. My uncle got some good shots of me and Miss Velvet, but he hasn't send them to me yet, due to an AOL malfunction. I told him that those kinds of malfunctions were why I drop-kicked AOHell last year. He will send them ASAP and then I'll finally have a recent pic of my ugly mug to put on my Facebook profile page, instead of a five year old self-portrait. Laughed myself silly at my aunt, who was all steamed up over their rooster, who has aggressive sexual designs on the chickens out there. That's what roosters DO, I told her, they make baby chickens! It's their nature to be constantly horny.

After leaving there, I rode back into town via a different route and visited my favorite watering hole and "adult daycare center," Coyote Joe's. The usual gang was all there, but Susan, my favorite barmaid, was off for the evening. I missed talking to her, but she'll be back the next time I visit, I suppose. Actually, Coyote Joe's is part of a two-bar operation. The Chrome Pony Lounge is a sister bar and grill, located in a different part of town, and the Coyote and Pony gals rotate back and forth between the two all the time. After having a delicious tenderloin sandwich (one of their specialties), fries, and washing it down with a brew or three, I left before the band started up, not wanting the spend the money for a cover charge.

Fired Velvet up and rode away into the night, blasting the surrounding neighborhood with the rumble of Velvet's Harley pipes. And took my first biker bath of the year. I don't think I had gone a block before a rain shower hit me. Riding a bike in the rain is an experience unlike anything you've ever done before. Especially when some knucklehead like Yours Truly once again neglects to wear his leather chaps. The cars ahead of you kick up rooster tails of spray and the safest place to ride on a bike is right in the middle of the tracks those tires in front of you leave in the road. That minimizes the risk of hydroplaning, because the leading car has plowed 80% of the water out of your path. However, riding in that position also subjects you to the full force of that spray. I was wearing my leather jacket, of course, but nothing but my jeans around my legs. My pant legs were soaking wet within a minute or two. I got shivery quickly, because the wind chill you naturally create when you're moving makes wet denim become very clammy in a heartbeat. And it was windy out anyway. Thought it would blow me into the ditch a couple of times.

There are no windshield wipers on a crash helmet, of course, but when you're moving in the windstream, it tends to blow the water off of your face shield, enabling you to see very well, unless you're caught in a major storm. In that case, it's best to find somewhere dry to pull over and wait until it slacks up. But it's when you're stopped that the water obscures your vision and drips off your chin. And when you start out again, it takes a minute or so for your shield to clear again. I almost rode right over the top of a car in front of me, which was accelerating slower than my Big Truck with a 40,000 pound load in the caboose. Fortunately, disc brakes work far better in the wet than the old drum brakes of yesteryear did and I avoided that nasty situation. I made it home, soaked, fishtailed in my driveway a little, but got it back into my garage unscathed. I wiped Velvet down before I went upstairs, not wanting to ride her, then put her up wet. Got out of my waterlogged jeans and hit the shower. At least that water was warm. But in spite of Nature's Bath, it was still a fun day on my bike.


It wasn't nearly so much fun trucking last week, but it was comical at times. A crazy, insane week in which nearly everything went wrong. I drew a three-stopper early in the week, which ended up in Rockford, Illinois, just south of the Wisconsin line, and about 80 miles west of Chicago. The two intermediate stops were miles apart, both in Indiana, at opposite ends of the state. But I got them off uneventfully. It was when I got to Rockford that my trouble began. It is March -- spring -- and the orange road construction barrels are blooming out like the trees soon will. I-90, which runs through Rockford is, to put it mildly, a Major Mess. It's one of those "Rip Up Pavement -- Rebuild Road" kind of projects, which goes on and on and on and on and on, forever and a day. The first thing I noticed was that they had my exit ramp closed, as in "blocked off." Barricaded. Inaccessible. Etc. Well, now ain't that just fine and dandy?? Boy, howdy!! So now whaddahell do I do?? Keep going, that's what. There's no other choice, actually.

I went five miles further west, to the next exit. I noticed on the way that eastbound traffic was exiting where I needed to go, meaning they only had the ramp closed in one direction. Cool! I'd just get off ahead, make two left turns, and get back on the interstate heading back the way I'd come. Or so I thought, anyway. No such luck. When I got off, I found that they had the eastbound entrance ramp shut down on that exit!!!! [EXPLETIVES DELETED] This is a family blog, after all, but suffice it to say that I was NOT a happy camper at that moment in time. Twenty minutes to make my delivery on time and I was lost in Rockford. GRRRRRRRR!!!

Fortunately, I have an incredibly good sense of direction. You'd BETTER have that gift, if you want to drive a truck -- if you don't, you'll never survive in my business. I knew that if I could find the right major intersection, and turn left, or south, that the road *might* just bring me back out on the U.S. 20 bypass, which was where I needed to be, but had been denied access to because of the consucksion project (so-called because it sucks!) I proceeded south. One light, two lights, three lights, and at the fourth one, hit a 'T' intersection. Flip a coin. Turn which way?? Hmmmmmm. Turned right. One light, two, three, four, five -- no bypass signs appeared. Made a left turn at the sixth light, another major-looking intersection. And bingo!!! The bypass was right there, a block and half away. Now, was I already past the exit off the bypass I wanted, or was it still ahead of me?? Again, which direction did I want to go on the bypass? Decision time; traffic is getting restless behind my big 70-foot-long ass. A couple of horns sounded a reminder. "Up yours!!" said your Dawg. "If you think you're BIG enough, why don't you try MOVING me??!!" I went west. Lucked out. My exit appeared about a mile down the road. Found the place with 45 seconds to spare. "Last Minute Larry" has arrived!!! It was a drop and hook place, so I was in and out of there in about a half-hour.

Deadheaded 140 miles southwest to Mossville, IL, to pick up a load of engines bound for South Carolina, the same crossdock where I had started the week. Starting to feel like a yo-yo, but at least I'm making money again. Not many hours left after my pickup, but I made it as far as Le Roy, IL (yes, the town is actually named that) and a little mom 'n pop truckstop, where I had the buffet dinner. Really good Swiss steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and two biscuits. Yummy! Then I took some medication for the stinking, rotten cold I've had for seemingly three or four years now. I drank part of a soda, while I waited for the Nyquil to hit me. It did, with a vengeance. I got groggy and went to bed. Woke up early, clear-headed and cough-free, for a change and couldn't find my cellphone -- a vital neccessity for text-messaging trucker pals, calling girlfriends, etc. I nearly tore my damned truck apart -- no phone. Where the hell did I put it?? Double-GRRRRRRRRR! Am I losing my ever-loving MIND???!!! Sighhhhhh. Put it down to a "senior moment," aka "premature Alzheimers. " Started up and drove away. Damned thing has GOT to be in THIS TRUCK somewhere, but I had to boogie. Got a long way to go. I motored east to Indy, then south.

I was outside Corbin, Kentucky when I finally found my elusive phone -- in the top tray of my electric cooler, of all places!!!! I pieced together what I remembered of the previous evening. When the Nyquil hit my brain, I got so spaced-out that I had carried my phone back into the sleeper with me and when I put the rest of my soda in the cooler, so it would stay cold, I had taken the phone with me, set it down on the top tray and was so zonked that I forgot about it completely!! I turned it on and the message ringtone sounded for a half-hour, seems like. My trucker pal, Brian, had been busy. Yep, about 20 messages from him and a couple from my favorite gal. Well, no time now -- gotta roll. Can't be late with a load going to our best customer.
Motored on and arrived about a half-hour early and totally out of hours. Load didn't pick up till Friday afternoon, so I had plenty of time to rest, catch up with Brian and talk to my sweetheart. The load brought me home for a long weekend. I don't leave out until Monday, when I'll head for the Detroit area with my load.

So that was my week. How was yours?

BLOWN AWAY AND IDLE-IS AS IDLE-DOES

Morton, IL

Been stuck up here since Wednesday, believe it or not. I think I'm going to set a record for the longest time a driver can sit without a load! While I'm at it, I'll also probably set a record for the skimpiest paycheck of the year next week, because I can't draw layover pay, sitting here at the terminal. I guess it's considered a home away from home, or something like that. I delivered my load Wednesday morning, then was told to come on up here, to get my truck serviced and have some problems fixed. That was completed Wednesday afternoon, then no load showed up and here I've been ever since.

I was thinking that my hiatus up here might be punishment for idling my truck too much, but a talk with another dispatcher the other night indicated that this is probably not the case. We only hold orientation classes for newbie drivers every two weeks nowadays and Thursday is still Rookie Day here. They graduated a small class this week, and the newbie drivers stole all the loads there were, over Thursday and Friday. They get priority on the loads because they've been out away from home for 4-6 weeks, during training. The Peoria area is very depressed now, because of the financial woes of our biggest customer, who is headquartered in that city and whose plants dominate the entire area around here. They employ more people than anyone else around here and there have been several rounds of layoffs of late. Not good. Not good at all.

I got a nasty Qualcomm message about idle time Thursday. threatening "disciplinary action" if I don't bring my percentage down in the next two weeks. It stated that I am not to idle at all if I'm not in the truck. Well, DUH!!! I mean, I DON'T idle it, if I'm out of the truck for any length of time!!!!!!!! I never have. I might leave it running if I'm only stopping for a brief bathroom break, but that's about all. And just how the hell do they KNOW if I'm in the truck or not?? They haven't got spy cameras in these things (yet, anyway). Only one way they could know that. Company cops. Those self-appointed company policy enforcers who scrutinize every other company truck they see anywhere, to see if the driver is in compliance or not. And if not, they call one of the Suits upstairs and rat that driver out. Back-stabbers, brown-nosers, apple-polishers -- take your choice of a name for these characters. I have some personal names for them, but they're not printable in this family-friendly blog. That's the only possible way they could know, and add that to the warning; I've been spotted by one of these creatures and ratted out to the company brass.

To be honest, there are certain things that I would rat another driver out for myself. If I saw a driver stealing from a load, intentionally damaging or vandalizing company/customer property, or operating a truck in an unsafe manner, I would report them. But that's it. I'm not going to check out every truck I see to see if the driver complies with every bullcrap policy the company runs up the flagpole. Especially if I don't exactly salute that policy. I might say something about it to that driver, in person, but I wouldn't rat him out. I don't like having that done to me and I won't do it to anyone else.

I had good, mild weather Thursday, Friday and yesterday, so I kept it shut down, except for excursions into town, to get a meal. I was careful to shut it off when I left the truck, as there are always many of our trucks around all over the place up here. It turned cooler last night, so I fired it up to stay warm. I ain't freezing and I'm not going to stew in my own juices in hot weather, either. If they want to fire me, so be it. I'll cross that bridge if and when I get there. But I will go on a "idle diet," if that's what they want. Hell, I'll shut the engine off in heavy traffic and at long-holding traffic lights, if that makes them happy. I'll start it up cold and only let it run long enough to shift gears, then take off in it. That's hard on the engine, yes, but it's their truck and if they don't want me idling it long periods, I won't.

Cooler today too, in the 40s, and I'm running it right now, to warm up this cab. Then, I'll shut it down again. At least it's not idling constantly that way. If I can ever get a freakin' load and get out of here, on the road again, it'll help a lot with that percentage I'm supposed to hit. Along with the cooler temps here, we have wind. Oh, yes -- WIND!!!! This area is/was under a severe storm warning until 4 P.M., CDT. Up here, than means "tornado watch." I've observed no funnels so far, but it has been raining, on and off, and that wind will blow you away.

Went up to the truckstop while ago, to get some cough medicine to treat a rotten cold I've managed to catch (and which made me miserable last night). Opened the cab door and had to hang onto it for dear life, in order to keep it from being torn off! Walking across the lot, to the building, I was blown every way but straight. It's a particularly nasty, swirling wind and it feels like a giant hand pushing you to and fro. I tacked my way inside, like a human sailboat, got what I needed, then tacked my way back out to the truck again. Like before, the door was nearly blown off its hinges by the wind and I thought that I'd never get it closed again. But that breeze lulled just enough so that I could slam it closed, finally. In spite of spinning my wheels and making squat for a paycheck these past few days, I'm kind of glad that I'm not out there driving in this squall. It would be miserable, I know.

Well, tomorrow's a new day and hopefully a load will materialize for me and I'll be on my way again. Someday (soon, I hope) I'm going to get be able to have the time to spend with my new lady friend. Things are going unbelievably well for both of us, on the phone and online. If Murphy don't stop plaguing me with his damned law pretty soon, I'm gonna kick his ugly rear all the way back to Ireland!!!

IS IT SPRING YET? NOT QUITE, BUT. . .

March at last! The first month of an approaching spring, when it'll be time to hop back in the saddle of Miss Velvet again, every time I get a chance. And although the new month is coming in like the proverbial lion, with cold winds and rain all this weekend, that gives hope that March will go out like a lamb in thirty more days. This is the transition month, which serves notice to Old Man Winter that his days are numbered and a new spring is on the horizon. But it's also unpredictable, at least in these parts, where we can go from nearly 80 degrees and air conditioning one day, to 30 degrees, with the heat on again, 24 hours later. It has even snowed in March in the past, but it never lasts long. Too late in the year. The worst of winter is in the rear-view mirror now.

Daytona Bike Week is early this month, starting this next week, if I'm not mistaken, and that annual rally always kicks off the new riding season. Sun, surf, suds, and half-nude, shapely female bodies abound down there each year. I've never been to that fabled biker event, but that don't mean I won't -- someday, given the time and opportunity to do so. And enough money to finance the trip, of course. That's a concern for everyone this year, as it was last year, with the present sucky economy. However, there are definite signs that it won't slow us bikers down a lot. Knoxville hosted the annual Easyriders (magazine) Bike Show just last month and it was a large success. The Harley shop and Coyote Joe's -- my favorite local watering hole and "adult day care center" -- were both packed with bikes, many in here from other states for the event. I have to wonder about Honda's wisdom, since I saw that crowd.

Each year, for the past ten years or so, Knoxville has hosted the annual Honda Hoot rally every summer, over in World's Fair Park. But this year, the company canceled it early-on, back in December, in fact, citing "economic concerns" as the primary reason. It costs Honda a million bucks per year to put the rally on. They, like all the other motorcycle manufacturers, are taking their lumps in these tough times. Sales are slow, to say the least, and credit is tight. But the Honda Hoot last year, when the economy was also in a downturn and fuel prices were soaring to boot, raked in over twenty-five million shekels over the four days it was held. If such outrageous fuel prices as we experienced last summer couldn't keep the bikers away, will this recession do so, when fuel is as low as it's been in years right now? If the Easyriders show is any indication, it won't at all. I'll be watching Daytona with interest, to see if the crowd there is up to the usual levels of the past. If the crowds flock down there, as usual, then it's likely that Honda may have made a major blunder in canceling the Hoot this summer.

Even the venerable Motor Company -- Harley-Davidson -- is taking the same punches as the others. Their sales are on the basement floor also. Our local dealership's showroom here is mainly filled with used bikes, indicating the level to which production of the new ones has been cut back. It matters not that bikes are easier on gas than your average car; that's a great selling point, but when push comes to shove, motorcycles are still primarily leisure products, just like RVs, and that sector has fallen on some very hard times of late. Harley has survived some very tough economic times in the past, though -- like the Great Depression -- and they will survive this crunch as well. They are among the companies that have stood with their head held high and haven't asked for a government bail-out. That speaks well for how the company is managed.

But enough about that gloomy picture. Spring is coming and it's time to ride again. I've had Velvet serviced for the first time, taking advantage of a winter discount the dealer was offering, and I'm ready to go. If you own a bike, are you?? Let's ride!!