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!!

A RUMOR, GETTING T.W.I.C.'ed, NAGGING HABITS, ETC.

From The Rumor Mill:

Latest rumor has it that your Dawg *may* just have a new lady friend who lives in a neighboring state. I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor at the present time, due to certain circumstances. Stay tuned to this blog for future developments.


All About T.W.I.C.

Commonly referred to as "TWIC," the new Transportation Worker's Identification Credential is the latest in unfunded official U.S. government red tape that truckers have to deal with. It's an active ID card, similar to a military ID, which identifies truck drivers, longshoremen, and other personnel who work around U.S. ports and allows them access to the secure areas of those facilities without having to have an escort. This is a great convenience when picking up or delivering a load to a port terminal, which is why truckers who go to port facilities are required to have one. Applicants for a TWIC must pass a comprehensive background check by the local cops, state police, FBI, CIA, NSA, Scotland Yard, and Interpol, I think, to insure that they aren't the sort of person who likes to blow things up and watch them go "boom." The card is issued by the U.S. Coast Guard, the program is administered by the TSA (Transportation Screw-up Administration), and you make the money order out to Lockheed-Martin, an aircraft company. It's your government at work, so go figure! The whole gang's in on the act, seems like.

I got TWICed this past Monday, in Chattanooga, the closest local port to where I live. Knoxville is also on the same river, but it's NOT a port -- hmmmmmmmm. Interesting. Wonder what all those tugboats and barges DO, down on our local riverfront here? I applied for my new "security clearance," took a loyalty oath, promised not to tell anyone, on fear of torture and death, and so on. The lady (very pleasant and friendly) told me to check the website in 4 weeks or so, to see if my card is ready to be issued. Then I have to drive down there again, live and in person, to get it activated and finally put the thing in my wallet. It's good for five years and then I'll have to do the same stuff all over again, if I'm still driving at that time. My company DOES reimburse us for the card, and that's the good thing about it, at least. Danged thing set me back $135.00. I pay for my own gas, down there and back, of course. You can't have everything.

Whole application thing took about 20 minutes, fingerprints and all. It's all electronic now -- just stick your hand in a box and she clicks her mouse and voila! Your prints are now in TSA's computer system. This begs a question: Why do you have to do it all over again in five years?? Like your fingerprints change, or something??!! So far as I've ever known, fingerprints are forever! Always stay exactly the same. They already have them on file, so why can't they just pull them back up, run a new check, then renew the freakin' card if everything's okay??

[Offstage Whisper] "Because it's the government, dumbass!!"

Oh, yeah. You got that right! That'd be way too simple for Uncle Sammy and his bureaucratic pencil-pushers in D. C. Logic goes right out the window when the Fed gets involved with anything. Oh, well -- I may go to a port once every two or three years, on average, but by golly, I'll HAVE that thing the next time I pick up a brutally heavy load of tire retreading rubber from Indonesia in N'awlins!! Nope, this Dawg ain't no terrorist, to anything other than mice, rats, and bratty eight-year-olds.


Nagging Trucker Habits

Anybody ever hear of a "ghost trailer?" Well, I pull one behind me, every now and then. This happens most often when I'm bobtailing, but has also occurred while driving my own personal pick-em-up truck. I'll pull all the way out into the middle of the intersection, or opposing turn lane, so that the invisible trailer behind me won't run over the curb, tear a power pole down, or total someone's parked car. On the interstate, this also manifests itself in the form of passing a slower vehicle and continuing on for an eighth of a mile or so, before returning to the right lane again. Don't want to squash any 4-wheelers with that ghost trailer!! ALL truckers have done this at times and any of them who claim they haven't is a damned liar, and I'll call them that to their face! This ghost trailer driving is pure habit, caused by that fifty-three foot boxcar on wheels that follows you around everywhere you go. A good habit, actually, although it may look a little strange to observers who are unfamiliar with trucking.

A common newbie driver habit which afflicted me when I was in my rookie years is speed perception. The larger the vehicle you operate, the less sensation of speed you have. If you've ever stood next to a semi rig, you know how BIG we are. Thus, you don't feel your speed in a Big Truck as much as you do in your SUV or car. Adjusting from one vehicle to the other can take time, and if you also ride a motorcycle, fuggitaboudit!! Climb on that bike (the smallest vehicle on the road) and you feel like you have a rocket strapped to your butt, compared to a car or a semi!

I still fondly remember the first time I got back home for the weekend, after my first full week out on the road. I grabbed my stuff, tossed it in the bed of my Chevy, and headed to the Dawg House. I hit I-75 and motored south, toward town. I held it at a speed which felt the same as the 65 mph I averaged in my Big Truck. Didn't take me long to notice that I was passing an awful lot of other vehicles. "Damn, why is everyone going so slow today?" I asked myself out loud. Then, I looked at my speedometer. Ninety. Er -- uh -- well, I --uh -- guess I'd better slow this thing down a little, before I lose my then-new CDL!! I slowed to a more reasonable 65, watching the speedometer meticulously from then on. Felt like I was doing about 40. Takes some getting used to, let me tell you!!

MY WILDEST RIDE

In eleven years on the road, I've taken some wild rides at times. I've been blown every which-a-way by tropical storms and the aftermaths of at least two hurricanes. I've been close enough to a tornado to feel the twisting effects of those high-powered storms first-hand and I've soldiered on to many destinations through strong prairie "breezes" that were trying to blow me right off the road into the ditch. I've slogged through sand and mud and mucho snow. An icy road had me creeping down a steep hill one time, with my trailer half-sideways all the way to the bottom of it. And just a few weeks ago, I ran off the pavement in a wet, slushy snow and spent several tense seconds trying to keep my caboose behind me, instead of having it pass me up. I've made it through all of the above somehow unscathed, with God's help and a little driving skill. But in all those years and through all the crap that's come my way, I've never had a wilder ride than I took this past Thursday night and Friday morning. And this one had nothing whatsoever to do with the weather. 

However, it began with weather -- plenty of the nasty winter stuff. I brought a load over from New Joisey (New Jersey, actually) and delivered it in a small northeastern Ohio town, about 60 miles from Cleveland. The weather there on Wednesday was beautiful, considering that I'd driven mostly in light snow in Jersey, and through the mountainous western region of Pennsylvania. Blue skies, bright sunlight -- just great weather for a welcome change. I got my load off in short order and got dispatched very quickly. Only one problem, though -- the new load didn't pick up until Thursday night, in downtown Cleveland,  and then I'd have to do an all-nighter to the destination in Illinois, a few miles from Peoria, since it was due there at 7 A.M. on Friday morning. Oh, well, time to rest awhile. I needed it, since I'd been running like a scared thief all week, up to that point. I headed to the closest truckstop, to take my extended break and on the way I heard the weather folks on a local radio station saying that nasty stuff was headed my way that night and all day Thursday. I looked at the blue sky. Not a cloud in it. Not one. "Are they nuts???!!" I asked myself. It sure looked like anything but snow right then. 

Have you ever noticed that weather forecasters are never wrong when it comes to predicting BAD weather?? They only blow their forecasts out the bathroom window when they predict good weather conditions. It's maddening, but that's always the way it seems to be, ain't it? I shouldn't have questioned their accuracy so glibly, like I did, because when I woke up on Friday morning, Mother Nature had once again taken a dump on the area I was in. It was snowing sideways, very hard, and my truck was parked directly downwind and getting blasted. The flakes looked to be the size of walnuts at times. And the radio weather people were patting themselves on the back and jeering at me:  "See? We told you so, didn't we?? Welcome to our northern Ohio lake effect snowstorms, stranger!!" Lake Erie is just a few miles from where I was and you get some particularly nasty stuff that builds up over that large body of water. 

And some very strange stuff as well. For example, you can drive less than twenty miles in any direction and you might run out of it altogether, into sun and blue skies once again. It snows like an Alaskan blizzard for a half-hour or so, then just tapers off to nothing at all. Just like someone had dumped all the wind and frozen water crystals (snow) out of it completely. Then, just as suddenly as it stopped, it will start up again and resume blasting you just as furiously as before. And that's the way it went, all day long, while I read, napped, and schmoozed in general. The wind was so strong that it blew the flakes to God Knows Where and didn't actually accumulate all that much on the parking lot at all. I went inside at one point and when I came back out, I had a tailwind all the way back to my truck. I think I crossed that lot in ten seconds flat, with the "push" I was getting. If I'd had on skis, I could have glided back, all the way, without moving a muscle, since my body was acting like a big, overweight sail!! Steering might have gotten a little tricky, though. 

Thursday night came and I fueled up during one of the lulls between snow-blasts, then headed west, for the 50 miles to the shipper. I hoped that Cleveland's municipal snow removal crews had cleared the streets during the day, because many of those in-town streets where I was going are decidedly narrow, without much room to allow for any slipping and sliding around the corners. I didn't particularly care to buy the City of Cleveland, Ohio a new power pole or two and I certainly didn't want to cause a localized power outage that would cost some residents their lights and heat. And leave little old me as the scapegoat. But, I needn't have worried, because the roads cleared up nicely just a few miles west of the truckstop in Austinburg and by the time I got to my destination, all the city streets I had to run on were only wet. Very little snow on them at all. 

It was a chemical company, so I knew, logically, that my load would be chemicals. What kind, I didn't know, but I would find out soon enough. The guard up front sent me around to the rear docks, where the gate was already opened up for me. A spacious dock, for an in-town shipper, for a change. I made a u-turn inside the gate (which had already closed again) and backed into the easiest dock I could get to. I was the only truck in there at that time, so I had the whole dock area to myself. I then went in to shipping, gave them my pickup number, then returned to the truck to wait for them to load me up with whatever it was I was getting. I felt the bumpety-bump bouncing of the trailer on its supension, as a forklift rolled on and off of it, with the pallets of whatever. 

After maybe twenty minutes, the green "go for it" light came on, indicating that they were done, off the trailer, and that I could go in and get the bills on the load. I did so. Signed on the dotted line, received a handful of hazmat placards, and was wished a safe trip by the office crew. Placards had a skull and crossbones on them, so this was evidently poisonous something-or-other. I studied the bills in my hand. Some kind of alcohol-based solvent, apparently. No, not hardly the kind you'd want to drink at all. I put placards on both sides of the trailer, then pulled out of the dock and up the sloping driveway far enough to close the doors and put the last placard in the holder on the left-hand side. Ten big yellow metal tanks of the stuff, roughly equivalent to 55 gallon drums in size. So, I estimated that I had close to 600 gallons of the stuff onboard my box. I closed and sealed it, placarded it, then eased up and stopped to allow the gate (automatic on exit) to open, then eased out onto the deserted street. That's when my wild ride began. 

I noticed it at every stop sign and traffic light, well before I got back to the freeway. Every time I stepped on the brake pedal, my cargo would slosh around in the tanks back there, causing my whole truck to rock back and forth, like a child's rocking horse. Under power, it didn't seem to be so bad -- I could barely feel it at all, but change my speed at all -- even by letting up on the accelerator a little -- and it was like being in a rowboat in an ocean full of ten-foot swells. "I'm gonna get seasick!" I said out loud. "And I'm on dry land -- in a truck!!!" 

I thought that surely once I was up to highway speed, things would smooth out, and they did seem to, when I got back on the interstate and headed out of town. Cloverleaf ramps were a little tricky, because the liquid back there would slosh toward the inside of the curve, making the truck want to oversteer in that direction, so I had to take it slowly on them. But once I was rolling on the Big Road, the undulationg motion seemed to go away. Until, that is, I had to hit the brakes in order to avoid running over a scaredy-cat driver who lost it completely whenever the wind blew a little snow across the road in his path. When I did, the rocking of my trailer was amplified by my now much higher speed. It was like riding a mechanical bull in one of those movies! 

I wanted to let off the brakes, but couldn't, of course, without running all over the top of the Nervous Nellie in front of me. The left lane cleared out at last, and I was able to put that one in my rear-view mirror. "If you're that afraid of a little blowing snow, why don't you take that thing home and park it??" I gruffly asked him, as I blew past him. But there were plenty more ahead just like him and I didn't get any relief until I got onto I-71, heading for Columbus, then to points west of there. I wasn't going due west, through Chicago, that night. I wanted to get as far south as I could, and out of that lake effect crap for good. As it turned out, I had to get almost to Columbus before I did. Big storm system. 

500 MILES, driving that 18-wheeled mechanical bull!! I think my body was still rocking back and forth in my seat when they unloaded me in Mapleton, Illinois on Friday morning. I was never in my entire trucking career happier to get rid of a load! I wanted to tell my dispatcher that I didn't care what kind of load he got me to go home with, just as long is it don't slosh!!! I didn't actually get motion sickness and I kept all my food down just fine, but it was hard to focus my eyes when I stopped, because they were still rolling up and down in my skull. 

That experience was definitely -- different. And I can do without any repeats of it. 

OUT IN THE WOODS AND DEAD IN THE WATER

I've been playing this trucking game long enough so that I can often predict things that are likely to happen with a great deal of accuracy. A good case in point was last week, when I picked up a load with two delivery stops on it, the latter of which would stick my butt in a little town way out in the woods of North Carolina, almost right on the coast. I had never been that close to the fabled Outer Banks before and at first I was curious to see what the area looked like out there, as the weather was predicted to be nice and pretty warm as well, up near 70 degrees. So, I loaded up in an Atlanta suburb and headed northeast, with the prospects of seeing some countryside that I'd never seen before. 

But then, after finally finding the obscure little burg in my road atlas, The Fear hit me. I mean, this little town was really OUT THERE in God's country. Looked to be at least 100 miles from I-95 and civilization, as truckers know it. Very likely no truckstops in a town that tiny, and probably none in that entire remote area. A dread came over me. I KNEW, somehow, at that early point, that there would be no backhaul load awaiting me when I got unloaded and sent in my "Empty" message to dispatch. No load and nowhere to park and stay awhile, until one could be found, eventually. And I am quite familiar with that "Mad Irishman," Mr. Murphy and his Law, and due to that it was safe to assume that I would sit awhile, waiting. When you're already cut and bleeding anyway, Murphy just loves to come by and toss a shakerful of salt in the wound. That is his nature. I would kill Murphy with my bare hands and a smile on my face, if I could find him, but nobody can. He hides himself very cleverly. 

However, the nature of trucking being what it is, I had to go, and so I did. I got my first stop off quickly, then headed north and then east, toward the coast. It would be quite pretty country out there in the summer months, when the trees are green, but it's bleak in winter, as you might expect. Flat land and little traffic on the roads. Well off the beaten path. Once I moved east of the last major town, it was flat and desolate. Very little traffic on the road, and I drove for miles without even passing another truck. Nope, this wasn't looking good at all; the less truck traffic there is, the less likely it is that there'll be any services and amenities designed for us. Nobody in their right mind would build a truckstop in an area where so few trucks run; they'd go bankrupt overnight. 

There may be a few tiny little places out there, but you can bet that only local drivers know about them, and they're not about to tell YOU. They keep those places secret -- the reason being that if they told visiting truckers where they are, their lots would be filled with trucks before you could say "hello." Truck parking spaces have always been in short supply, for as long as I've been driving, and it hasn't gotten one bit better. So, the local yokels keep their hidey-holes' locations to themselves, so they'll always have somewhere to park. When I think about it, I can't really blame them one bit. 

Again, I got unloaded quickly, then punched in my Empty message. Less than five minutes later, I got the message I'd predicted I would two days earlier:  No Load. I had asked the guy who unloaded me about truck parking when he signed my bills. He smiled and shook his head in the negative. Nothing he was aware of, just as I'd suspected. Once again, the Dawg Prophet was right on target with his prediction! No load and nowhere to stay. 

I definitely couldn't sit in the little side street I was on forever, so I sent a message to dispatch, telling them there was nowhere there to stay and that I was heading back west, the way I'd come, to try and find a roosting place. I hit the road and reversed course. Back through the wilderness, looking at every restaurant, to see if it had truck parking (very few do, anywhere), every lot I spotted, but they were all private property and verboten. Back through the first major town, asking truckers on the CB if they knew of any place. The ones who bothered to answer me at all didn't. Didn't see a thing there, so kept going, to the next, larger, small city on my route. But I had been through Greenville, NC enough times to know there wasn't anything there that I knew about. One driver did suggest a place I was unaware of, and I checked it out, only to find that every one of the few parking slots was occupied. There wasn't even enough room in it to play invent-a-spot, without being in someone's way. 

I moved on. Nothing in Wilson, another small city, and being so close to I-95 again, I just decided to hit the Big Road and then drove 13 miles south, to Kenly, where I knew there were at least four large truckstops. I ended up at the T/A there, which was being remodeled, but had a huge lot, still mostly empty in the early afternoon. I set my brakes a little past 3 P.M., CST on Wednesday afternoon, then headed to the restaurant, for a meal. Dispatch wasn't happy with my having driven so far to find a truckstop, but what could I do? When there ain't nothing, there ain't nothing! I told them that I wasn't able to wave a magic wand and make one appear out of nowhere. I'm not David Copperfield, by a long shot. I had looked everywhere, and there was nothing. BAD area for a truck to be stranded in, without a load. The further you get from the interstate nowadays, the harder it is to find any truck services. Since the interstate system was completed, almost all the truckstops have relocated to the Superslabs. That's where most of the traffic (and the money) is now. There are a\few mom 'n pop places, here and there, still operating out in the boonies, but they don't advertise and you don't know where they are, unless they happen to be right on your route. And most of them are slowly going out of business, unable to get enough clientele to keep operating. 

So, I sat and sat, and sat some more. A little over 48 hours, in fact before I got dispatched at last, Friday afternoon, at 4:45 P.M. I thought at times that everyone in dispatch had died. That maybe my company had gone out of business and forgotten to tell me. Then I reminded myself that they would likely want their truck back, if that were the case, so I couldn't help but know about something like that. And another Star truck was parked across the lot from me, who'd been there almost as long as I had, so I wasn't playing the waiting game alone, at least. Just the sucky economy, rearing it's ugly head once more, and biting drivers like me smack in the wallet. 

And it seems there are many, many drivers out here just like me, or even worse. Owner-operators, of course, are feeling the crunch the hardest, like they always do. Want to own your own truck and roll down the road? Wait awhile -- that's my advice. This AIN'T a very good time to go independent, unless you enjoy losing your shirt. There are more trucks than there are loads, nationwide, and that's the problem. Sharply scaled-back production, laid-off plant workers, and not a lot of demand for products has made the loads for trucks dwindle to a trickle, across the board, and has practically come to a halt in some sectors. Freight volume hit the basement floor in December, with tonnage down close to the single digits, and it hasn't come back up as yet. And it may not move upward a lot this year, say Those Who Know about these economic things. 

O/Os have told me about sitting for close to a week, trying to find a load to get them back close to home. Many have just hung it up and sold their trucks for whatever they could get out of them. For all too many, it was a choice of either losing the truck, or losing their house. Those who could get hired on have moved to company driving positions, giving up their independence in order to make their mortgage payments. And although they don't have all the expenses, driving for a company, loads and miles are still down, making it hard to keep the bills at bay. I can tell you that from my own bitter experience.  

I don't know when it's going to get better. Nobody does. We can only hang on and hope. It's bad everywhere. And now fuel prices have slowly started creeping back upward again. Nothing like it was early last year, but any upward trend there is very bad news. Add high fuel prices to the current load shortfall and I just don't know how many companies will be able to stay in business. I could easily lose my job, along with many other drivers, if things become a lot worse. Even eleven-year veterans won't be spared if it gets bad enough. Sobering thoughts indeed. 

All you can do is hope and pray that the situation will improve quickly. So, I'm still out here, picking up what loads there are and delivering them and praying that this crunch gets better in the near future. That's all I can do. 

A NICE WINTER DRIVE

Have you ever done anything that made you feel like a total idiot? Of course you have -- we all have, at one time or the other, if we're honest about it. Nobody, however, does things that have them feeling like prize boobs more often than truckers. And the cause of these feelings of stupidity usually center around weather. Crappy, nasty, distasteful weather to be exact. I mean, who else but a truck driver would deliberately head into areas where there are hurricanes, tornadoes, 70 mph gusting winds, snow, freezing rain, sleet, and ice, when every single instinct in their bodies are loudly urging them to about-face quickly and run hard in the opposite direction? At least that's what my instincts tell me in those situations. 

But when you drive a truck, operating in any and every kind of weather is a job requirement. The customers in those afflicted areas need their stuff and they're paying you, directly or indirectly, to get it to them, weather conditions be damned. So, you load up and head up the road, where the storm clouds lurk on the horizon, feeling like you need your head examined for ever taking a job that forces you to do such idiotic things. This is even more evidence to support my long-held contention that you don't have to be crazy to drive a truck for a living -- but it sure does help! 

I loaded out on Tuesday, after sitting out Monday night. My load picked up in Greeneville, TN and once again I would head to Joliet, IL, where I had oh so recently survived a frozen-up truck in arctic-like temperatures. Well, at least the weather was a little warmer up there as of last week, but they were predicting freezing rain and sleet in Kentucky, which would begin almost as soon as I hit the state line, or so they said. Needless to say, I was NOT looking forward to those prospects at all! Would I even GET where I was supposed to go? I didn't know, but in order to earn my next paycheck, I had to try. And it didn't help in the least that my load, which was scheduled to be ready at 1 P.M., CST, wasn't loaded in my trailer till almost 6, delaying me another five hours and giving the icy rain that much more time to coincide with MY schedule! Finally, I was loaded and headed back to K-Town, and I-75, to begin my northward trek. 

Well, they were wrong about the state line part of the forecast, I soon found out. It was mild, in the 40's, all the way up to London, Kentucky, where I took a five-hour nap before moving on again. It was the only chance I'd get, knowing that the nastier the weather got, the less likely it was that I'd find any space to stop later on, since many truckers who don't have next-day deliveries pull off the road and take up all the space in rest areas and truck stops, cramming their trucks into the facilities like sardines in a can. But I had a dual strategy, part one being the needed nap and part two being that my stopping *might* just buy time enough for the salt crews to get out and begin treating the roads before I moved on, thus giving me a safer surface to travel on. And it worked, up to a point. 

When I resumed my journey, me and most of the other trucks cruised up the Big Road at a nice pace between 55 and 60 most of the time. The salt shakers were out and there was just water on the road surface, for the most part. One indicator that it's starting to ice is when you see a lack of spray kicked up by the tires of trucks that pass you, or are in front of you. You can also look in your mirror and see your own "rooster tail" behind you in well-lighted areas. That spray means that it's pretty much just water and isn't any more slippery than a heavy rain. It's when you don't see the spray, or rooster tails, that you have potential problems brewing. Of course, by then you can usually feel the greasy-like slipperiness of ice in the seat of your pants as well. You know the quivery, loose-as-a-goose feeling if you've ever driven on it before. You ease out of the throttle gently and don't dare touch the brake pedal until you're over the icy patch. Hold it straight in the road and if you just have to turn the wheel, you do so very slowly and carefully. But I didn't have that feeling once, all the way into Lexington, through Frankfort and on out past Shelbyville.

I stopped to fuel in Simpsonville and the lot was solid ice. Obviously the state salt crews weren't bothering with truckstop parking lots on that early Wednesday morning. That was the most "fun" I've had fueling in years. It was all I could do to stand up at all. I managed to get a death grip around the card reader machine in order to stand steady long enough to run my fuel card and Pilot Driver Payback card. Then I had to let go and half-walk, half-skate back the the cab door, to get my work gloves. I managed that, and managed to get behind the sleeper and get the fuel cap off. Now for the hose. The motion of pulling the pump nozzle from the pump sent me sliding backward. I banged up against the side of the sleeper. I slid my way back around to the tank, stuck the nozzle into the tank's bung, squeezed the "fill" lever -- and discovered that some dumbass driver had forgotten to turn the pump on! Clicked the lever into the "fast fill" position and began my journey back to the pump again. It was like climbing Mount Everest, but I finally made it and slapped the pump's handle to the "on" position. 

Now for the passenger side. It was equally fun, but I managed to get the satellite pump going just as the nozzle on the driver's side clicked off. It could -- and did -- wait until I finished up on the passenger side. Check the oil?? Ha-ha-ha!! That was a JOKE! Let's just hope it wasn't critically low -- I wasn't about to push my luck that far! I managed to get the nozzle hung back up and started back around to the driver's side, to finish up over there. I did, finally, then looked toward the building and contemplated the vast ice field I'd have to cross in order to go in there and buy some munchies. It was all of 25 yards to the building, but with all that ice, it might as well have been a mile. Forget it. I was ahead on points thus far, so I climbed back in the cab and fired the truck back up. Put it in gear, let the clutch out, and went nowhere. Just spun on the ice. I locked the axles up and tried again. Nada. But it did move in reverse a little bit, so I rocked it backward a few feet, then put it back in first and went forward, out of the fuel island, onto the lot. I slid my way around the lot, dodging a creative flatbed who'd managed to park as much in the damned way as he possibly could, then made the salted road out front once again. A little greasy on the ramp, but I kept it reasonably straight and was back on I-64 in a few seconds. 

I got my first dose of the heebie-jeebies in Louisville, on that infamous I-64/I-65 North interchange ramp, which leads one onto the Kennedy Bridge which crosses the Ohio River into Jeffersonville, Indiana. This ramp is the rough equivalent of the locally infamous "widowmaker" ramp in Knoxville, which takes southbound traffic on I-75 onto I-640 East. The only difference is that the Louisville ramp is (A.) narrower and enclosed by concrete walls (B.) has compound curves in it and (C.) is all uphill, elevated above the ground. This means that there's no ground beneath it to insulate it from the cold and that it will get very icy, very quickly. And it was just that on Wednesday morning. You absolutely can not stop on that ramp in those conditions. To do so would mean getting very stuck in a very precarious position, and/or sliding backward down the ramp, which would be decidedlly hazardous to your own health and that of anyone unlucky enough to be behind you on the ramp. Brakes are worthless on ice. Momentum is all you have and you gotta keep it going, no matter how slick it is. I narrowly avoided sliding into the concrete walls of the ramp twice, as I slithered and spun my way up onto the bridge. That bridge, like all bridges, was also hanging in thin air, with no ground insulation beneath it, but crews from both states had been at work and it was just very wet. Once I straightened up again on the bridge, I made my way on into the Hoosier State without incident. "Hey! How about a little salt on that ramp?" I hollered at a salt shaker on the opposite side, although he never heard me at all. 

The Indiana suburbs of Louisville were pretty much like the state I'd just left -- wet. But things would change quickly enough. Just twenty miles or so north of Derbytown I started seeing white all around me and in just a few miles distance, the sleet had turned to a wet snow. And they hadn't had time to plow one bit. Well, snow is better than ice, in that you can get traction on it, but the slushy wet crap we had there was as slippery as greased glass and my truck's steering  began to get squirrely as all get-out. I eased off the throttle as the "pucker factor" began to set in once again. For those who are unfamiliar with the term, Pucker Factor is when you start getting as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. The cheeks of your behind constrict so tightly that you couldn't slide a greased needle between them, even if you utilized a piledriver. Finally, the truck slows to a speed which stabilizes the steering and the worst of it fades away. As the snow got thicker, all of us were averaging somewhere around 35-45 mph. Any faster and you started puckering up again. I resigned myself to a slow trip northward, until I eventually reached the point at which the plows had had time to remove some of the white crap from the road. But how many miles ahead was that point? I didn't know and neither did anyone else. 

Seymour, Columbus, and Indianapolis all came and went with no relief in sight. By the time I moved on north of Indy, I was having another problem -- clear vision. The salt crud that had inevitably gotten slung on my windshield earlier was now mixed with snow, which built up into an icy mess on the glass. The wipers did only so much good before they just started smearing it all over the place and it had gotten cold enough by then that my washer nozzles were completely frozen up. Just as well, really, because any attempt to wash the crap off would only result in it freezing instantly and making things even worse. I turned the air conditioner on, to dehumidify things, cranked the heat control up, turned the function knob to partial defrost mode and cranked the blower onto a higher speed. It was too cold to turn it on full defrost and I wasn't about to freeze myself half to death for the sake of a windshield which needed a thorough bath anyway. Somewhere in the control settings there had to be a compromise and I played around until I found it, more or less. I could at least half-ass see what was happening on the road before me. 

I settled in on the back door of another truck and told the driver on my CB: "I hope you can see where you're going, cause if you hit that ditch, I'm gonna be following your ass into it very shortly." He laughed, admitting that he was having as hard a time as I was. Misery loves company and we yakked back and forth as we slowly moved northward. Eventually, he exited and I was alone again, with nobody running with me. I was managing around 40 mph and passed two trucks who thought 25 mph was the safest speed, I guess. Passing was LOTS of fun, as the left lane is always worse than the right one and snow had completely covered the guide lines in the road. You had to guess at where that left shoulder was, or hope you would feel the vibration of the rumble strip when your tires hit it. The problem is that snow packs down in the ridges of that warning strip and you can't hear or feel anything, if the accumulation is heavy enough. It wasn't long after I'd passed the two slowpokes that disaster almost struck me. 

I could see the first light of daybreak in the east, but the sun wasn't nearly up yet. A truck came down a ramp to enter the highway and I checked my mirrors and eased over, to make room for him to come out. I was trying to run as far left as I dared, to give him ample room, when I felt my left steer wheel sink into soft snow. I had run off the pavement. Normally, that's no big deal -- you just carefully steer it back onto the road. But something was wrong; the wheel didn't want to respond and turn to the right. I don't know if I'd hit a rut in the soft ground, or what, but I felt a lurch and saw that my trailer tandem had also ran off and was sliding slowly to the left, toward the median. At that point, pure instinct took over and all my experience was called into play instantly. I seesawed the steering wheel until my left tire broke free from whatever was trapping it and cut it shallowly to the right. Not too sharply, for fear that I would tip the trailer over onto its side. Fortunately, my drive wheels had remained on the pavement and they began to pull the rig back onto the road. I had caught it before the trailer wheels got too far into the snow and they came back up, also. But I was now sliding wildly. I countersteered just as wildly, turning into the slide, then back the other way, to compensate for over-correction. For maybe eight seconds, my trailer was all over that roadway. I had lifted completely off the throttle instantly and as the snow slowed the rig more and more, the sliding became more manageable until I finally had it going straight again. I fished for the right gear, found it, and proceeded on. Ten minutes later, my heart began to beat normally again and I let out a sigh and silently thanked the Guy Up Above for helping me out when I needed Him. Comments from other drivers who had witnessed my near miss ranged from congratulating me on a good save to questioning my mental aptitude. I ignored the latter, as there's always at least one asshole in every crowd. That's life. 

About twenty miles further north of that incident, the going got much better. I could see two black strips of pavement in the right lane and a little further on, the whole lane was black asphalt. I had reached the point where the plows were at work. It continued to improve and by the time I hit Crown Point, both lanes were black again. When I got onto 80/94 westbound in Gary, the road was clear; plows, combined with the perpetually heavy traffic in that area had kept it completely clear. Now there's one example of how heavy traffic can be a blessing (although it's probably the only one). I had made better time than I thought I was going to, also. I pulled into my first customer's lot just 45 minutes late; not bad, considering what I went through to get their freight to them. Dispatch never said a word about my tardiness. They'd BETTER not!!! No telling what they might have heard from me. Certainly not printable in a family blog like this one. 

Two hours later, I drove out to the closest rest area and collapsed into my bunk, totally shot. The rest of the week was uneventful and routine. I encountered a little more snow in Michigan, but nothing like what I went through on Wednesday morning!