It's been a slow day. I slept through most of it.
Sunday is the usual "nothing day" on this job, but not always. And I suppose right after Christmas is going to be a little odd in any case. But for whatever reason, I delivered a load last night and I don't have another load until Sunday afternoon. Not good for business, but not too terribly bad for sitting and thinking.
This morning the driver "next door" wanted to know if I was about to get breakfast. I told him I was too broke and we both laughed a little. Then we compared notes and I found he might be broker than I was. (Scary, that.) Between the holidays and truck problems, he was really short on miles.
And even so, he suggested I have breakfast on him.
I told him I had food in the truck, and we parted amiably, he to the restaurant and I to my bed again**. A good ten minutes went by before it occurred to me--maybe he just wanted someone to talk to. And thought spending part of his last five dollars in pocket money on a stranger's breakfast would be worth it.
That's happened to me before. Twice, in the last few months. Once a gentleman told me that he'd ordered too much and the rest would be thrown away if I didn't help out. The other time someone flat told me he'd like to talk, and he'd buy me coffee so the waitress wouldn't feel put-upon. Both times we sat and talked about anything and everything for an hour or more, before the other fellow had to get back in his truck and go on.
And I still didn't pick up on it this time. I'm kind of ashamed.
I should have gotten it a lot sooner. And of course I have, intellectually. I've heard the songs. I've seen the bull sessions that pop up at truck stops among total strangers. And similar ones on the CB, that last for as long as the trucks involved are within range. As I said above, I've even had people bribe me to talk to them. But until this morning I hadn't realized what all that implied.
I'm solitary by nature. I like having time to stare at walls or out windows. To me, time alone is time to think, and before this job I often didn't get enough of it. If there are people to talk to, I'll talk to them. And enjoy it. But I'm not as social a creature as a lot of the people I know.
For a lot of my life, that's been a liability. I never really understood pep rallies in high school. And I was never up on the latest gossip. The old office grapevine always passed me by. Et cetera.
In this job it may well be an advantage. Sheer loneliness isn't something that gets to me often. And it seems to be an occupational hazard out here. Not a huge insight. And it's kind of scary that I didn't really see it until now.
I wish I'd caught on a little sooner. I still wouldn't have let the guy buy me breakfast. But I could have bought a cup of coffee.
I think I'll try calling my wife now.
-----
*Things You Took For Granted
**I'd come up to the cab for a moment, for some reason I no longer remember--no, he didn't beat on the door or anything.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
The blind leading the blind
There is a gate to my right, next to the the dock I'm parked in this morning. It's firmly padlocked. Grass has grown up on both sides. A dumpster is sitting right in front of it. The part of the parking lot it opens onto is marked "reserved for storing old vending machines." At the moment the vending machine stack doesn't quite reach this far, so my truck is the only thing completely blocking the way into the yard from that gate--if you could break the lock and dig the grass out.
Entry from that direction is a hard right turn off a residential-size street that dead-ends about five feet past the gate. Well, actually it makes a 90-degree turn onto an equally small street. A UPS van might could make the turn. I wouldn't want to try it in anything bigger. It's about the same as the turn to get onto that street in the first place.
You may wonder why I'm so fascinated with that gate. Well, it's simple enough.
My GPS told me that was the way in here.
My truck has a GPS built into its satcom unit. It's incredibly handy at times, but neither the company nor my trainer entirely trusts it. My first trip by myself I found myself in total agreement with them. Modern satellite navigation and computerized maps are wonderful things, but they do have their limitations. In the case of this particular system, these include:
1) I don't control the destination settings.
The company sends them when they send me my load information. That's usually not a problem, but the first time I hauled a load on my own I found myself in the heart of Cape Cod, staring at a screen that insisted a warehouse in Pocasset was actually in the middle of a residential neighborhood in Buzzards Bay. No harm came of it, but it sure was educational.
A more subtle form of the disease has shown up seveal times since--like some of the online map sites, my truck's GPS has a "drop back and punt" mode for when it can't find an address in its database. Judging by the maps confused people have waved to me in my home town, I think some of the online services will direct you to the geographical center of the zip code. This machine seems to direct you either to the exact center of town or to the post office--I haven't had the nerve to go find out which. I'm just pretty sure that the big truck stop isn't in the middle of the courthouse square...
Less harmful and more amusing are all the truck stops that are in the exact center of the interstate, right where it crosses a highway. The address did say I-23 and State Route 456, didn't it?
2) I don't control the route selection.
Neither does the company. The machine computes its own "most efficient route." And what it thinks is "most efficient" can be odd sometimes. It's especially fond of cutting corners--adding 3 or 4 extra turns to save you a mile.
Of course, if you ignore the machine it will (usually) stop nagging you with helpful hints on how to turn around and get on the "right" road, and figure you a new route based on the direction you're actually going. So that's what you end up doing a lot of the time.
Which is why I ended up way out of my way once. I missed a turn, and ignored the GPS for some time afterward. As many times as it had cried "Wolf!"...
3) I don't control the display.
There is no button I can push to zoom out and figure which way the Interstate is. Or whatever. And it's always in "Turn by Turn" mode, zooming in on the next place you're supposed to make a right (so you don't miss it).
Which means if you don't want to turn there, you can't tell what other streets are nearby. The street you're looking for might be fifty yards down, but by the time the map scale would show it, the machine is fixated on that shortcut at the next intersection.
4) The directions can be fascinating.
There's nothing like a map with a nice big bright line leading up to the intesection and then going left--while large friendly letters say "Turn right at Zinnia Street."
Or a line that runs on forever in the direction you're going (which you know is the right direction) and the large friendly letters that say "Turn around on I 41." And wants you to do it thirty miles ahead.
And about half the time, there's a big bright arrow on the map pointing away from your road, in some direction that seems to have nothing to do with anything you're doing.
I get the impression this particular software just grabs the nearest appropriate map tile and (supposedly) the right words from a database. But if so, its search algorithms are kind of, um, off.
All this is probably just this particular software package. I'm told there's supposed to be an update coming out that will do something about at least some of these problems. And if I had any money to spare, I could buy a commercial GPS unit that would do a better job--or so other drivers tell me. But then there's the real kicker.
5) To a computer, a road is a road is a road.
All these gadgets are supposed to include a database of places you shouldn't go. I haven't seen any of them I can trust. So far, I've had computers try to lead me
Oh, yes, and they've tried to get me to come into a plant through a back gate that hasn't been opened in two or three years. Which brings us back to the present.
Fortunately, I had directions from the customer. If you've read my "Adventures in navigation" series you know how far I trust those, but they're usually more reliable than the magic box. When the two contradict each other I usually follow the directions, cross checking them against the GPS--and frantically looking for plan B in case they're BOTH wrong. This time I ended up coming through the front gate--after turning around twice trying to find it.
Not bad, all things considered.
Entry from that direction is a hard right turn off a residential-size street that dead-ends about five feet past the gate. Well, actually it makes a 90-degree turn onto an equally small street. A UPS van might could make the turn. I wouldn't want to try it in anything bigger. It's about the same as the turn to get onto that street in the first place.
You may wonder why I'm so fascinated with that gate. Well, it's simple enough.
My GPS told me that was the way in here.
My truck has a GPS built into its satcom unit. It's incredibly handy at times, but neither the company nor my trainer entirely trusts it. My first trip by myself I found myself in total agreement with them. Modern satellite navigation and computerized maps are wonderful things, but they do have their limitations. In the case of this particular system, these include:
1) I don't control the destination settings.
The company sends them when they send me my load information. That's usually not a problem, but the first time I hauled a load on my own I found myself in the heart of Cape Cod, staring at a screen that insisted a warehouse in Pocasset was actually in the middle of a residential neighborhood in Buzzards Bay. No harm came of it, but it sure was educational.
A more subtle form of the disease has shown up seveal times since--like some of the online map sites, my truck's GPS has a "drop back and punt" mode for when it can't find an address in its database. Judging by the maps confused people have waved to me in my home town, I think some of the online services will direct you to the geographical center of the zip code. This machine seems to direct you either to the exact center of town or to the post office--I haven't had the nerve to go find out which. I'm just pretty sure that the big truck stop isn't in the middle of the courthouse square...
Less harmful and more amusing are all the truck stops that are in the exact center of the interstate, right where it crosses a highway. The address did say I-23 and State Route 456, didn't it?
2) I don't control the route selection.
Neither does the company. The machine computes its own "most efficient route." And what it thinks is "most efficient" can be odd sometimes. It's especially fond of cutting corners--adding 3 or 4 extra turns to save you a mile.
Of course, if you ignore the machine it will (usually) stop nagging you with helpful hints on how to turn around and get on the "right" road, and figure you a new route based on the direction you're actually going. So that's what you end up doing a lot of the time.
Which is why I ended up way out of my way once. I missed a turn, and ignored the GPS for some time afterward. As many times as it had cried "Wolf!"...
3) I don't control the display.
There is no button I can push to zoom out and figure which way the Interstate is. Or whatever. And it's always in "Turn by Turn" mode, zooming in on the next place you're supposed to make a right (so you don't miss it).
Which means if you don't want to turn there, you can't tell what other streets are nearby. The street you're looking for might be fifty yards down, but by the time the map scale would show it, the machine is fixated on that shortcut at the next intersection.
4) The directions can be fascinating.
There's nothing like a map with a nice big bright line leading up to the intesection and then going left--while large friendly letters say "Turn right at Zinnia Street."
Or a line that runs on forever in the direction you're going (which you know is the right direction) and the large friendly letters that say "Turn around on I 41." And wants you to do it thirty miles ahead.
And about half the time, there's a big bright arrow on the map pointing away from your road, in some direction that seems to have nothing to do with anything you're doing.
I get the impression this particular software just grabs the nearest appropriate map tile and (supposedly) the right words from a database. But if so, its search algorithms are kind of, um, off.
All this is probably just this particular software package. I'm told there's supposed to be an update coming out that will do something about at least some of these problems. And if I had any money to spare, I could buy a commercial GPS unit that would do a better job--or so other drivers tell me. But then there's the real kicker.
5) To a computer, a road is a road is a road.
All these gadgets are supposed to include a database of places you shouldn't go. I haven't seen any of them I can trust. So far, I've had computers try to lead me
- under 12'9" underpasses, in a 13'6" truck
- over bridges with a 6,000 lb load limit, in a semi that weighs 35,000 lbs empty and 80,000 lbs full
- into cozy residential neighborhoods with streets that would barely hold my rig BEFORE the cars parked on both sides
- and onto cross streets with signs bigger than the road saying "NO THRU TRUCKS."
Oh, yes, and they've tried to get me to come into a plant through a back gate that hasn't been opened in two or three years. Which brings us back to the present.
Fortunately, I had directions from the customer. If you've read my "Adventures in navigation" series you know how far I trust those, but they're usually more reliable than the magic box. When the two contradict each other I usually follow the directions, cross checking them against the GPS--and frantically looking for plan B in case they're BOTH wrong. This time I ended up coming through the front gate--after turning around twice trying to find it.
Not bad, all things considered.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Role model? Me?
It's foggy tonight.
I'm in a rest area overlooking the Interstate, watching the headlights go by, cloudy cones of white leading the way for them. I can see to the buildings--a hundred yards or so, maybe--but things are a little vague at that distance. I can actually see the trucks go by more clearly, at about the same distance. I think the wind from their passing is stirring the air over the road more. Or something.
I had to fuel the truck this afternoon. Had a hard time of it, for several reasons. But the joys of fuelling I will leave for a later date. There will always be another fuelling comedy. Today I had an odder experience.
Because of one interesting thing that happened at the gas pumps, I ended up having to pull away from the pumps and park. As you've probably figured out by now, parking one of these rigs is no small thing. Having to do it when you weren't expecting to can spoil a mood pretty effectively. But if it has to be done...I had found an open space and was getting ready to line myself up when another driver came up to my door.
"Are you backing in?" he said, looking at the parking place behind me.
"Yeah," I said, a little puzzled.
"I'm a trainer.* And I was wondering if you'd mind if my student watches you. I'd be talking him through it, giving him some tips. Seeing an experienced driver do it might help him figure a few things out."
A bit scary, that. Especially since I was about to back to my blind side.** I had room to ALMOST straighten out before I started backing, but still, it wouldn't be fun. And with a critical audience...
But that's not the kind of request you can refuse and still look like a tough, confident trucker. So I said "Sure," and put the truck in gear.
I didn't disgrace myself, and when I turned off the motor and climbed out he thanked me. Said I'd given him lots of opportunities to point things out to his trainee--and he was especially grateful for one moment, when I'd gotten real nervous about what was behind me. He'd been telling the kid how important it was to know if he was safe to move. "If you're not sure, get out and look!" he'd say. And now there they were, watching a real live professional driver--and when he got to a ticklish spot he got out and looked, by gum!
Real live professional driver. I like the sound of that.
-----
*Trainer--It occurs to me that I may not have explained that term before, even though I've used it several times. So here goes.
A lot of "professional driving schools" will help you get your Commercial Driver's License (CDL from here on)--but that's pretty much all they do. You'll get barely enough training to pass the test. And once you've gotten your CDL, you're a public menace. You're not safe on the road, you're not safe backing up to loading docks, you're not safe parking--I'd rather share the road with a kid who just "borrowed" Dad's car to celebrate getting HIS license.
(And I can say that. I'm describing myself a year ago.)
The company that hired you knows this. So before they turn you loose with a truck, you'll spend several weeks (at least) with an experienced driver who's willing to risk life and limb for a trainer's bonus. He finishes teaching you how to drive. He helps you figure out the paperwork. And he tries to help you develop some judgment. If he does his job right, you might live long enough to finish learning the job on your own. At least that's the idea.
A trainer who takes his job seriously is a blessing indeed. I had one. And it looks like I met another one today, working for another company. Which brings up back to our story...
**See the entry for 11/15/2008--"Progress, backwards"--to learn why this is scary...
I'm in a rest area overlooking the Interstate, watching the headlights go by, cloudy cones of white leading the way for them. I can see to the buildings--a hundred yards or so, maybe--but things are a little vague at that distance. I can actually see the trucks go by more clearly, at about the same distance. I think the wind from their passing is stirring the air over the road more. Or something.
I had to fuel the truck this afternoon. Had a hard time of it, for several reasons. But the joys of fuelling I will leave for a later date. There will always be another fuelling comedy. Today I had an odder experience.
Because of one interesting thing that happened at the gas pumps, I ended up having to pull away from the pumps and park. As you've probably figured out by now, parking one of these rigs is no small thing. Having to do it when you weren't expecting to can spoil a mood pretty effectively. But if it has to be done...I had found an open space and was getting ready to line myself up when another driver came up to my door.
"Are you backing in?" he said, looking at the parking place behind me.
"Yeah," I said, a little puzzled.
"I'm a trainer.* And I was wondering if you'd mind if my student watches you. I'd be talking him through it, giving him some tips. Seeing an experienced driver do it might help him figure a few things out."
A bit scary, that. Especially since I was about to back to my blind side.** I had room to ALMOST straighten out before I started backing, but still, it wouldn't be fun. And with a critical audience...
But that's not the kind of request you can refuse and still look like a tough, confident trucker. So I said "Sure," and put the truck in gear.
I didn't disgrace myself, and when I turned off the motor and climbed out he thanked me. Said I'd given him lots of opportunities to point things out to his trainee--and he was especially grateful for one moment, when I'd gotten real nervous about what was behind me. He'd been telling the kid how important it was to know if he was safe to move. "If you're not sure, get out and look!" he'd say. And now there they were, watching a real live professional driver--and when he got to a ticklish spot he got out and looked, by gum!
Real live professional driver. I like the sound of that.
-----
*Trainer--It occurs to me that I may not have explained that term before, even though I've used it several times. So here goes.
A lot of "professional driving schools" will help you get your Commercial Driver's License (CDL from here on)--but that's pretty much all they do. You'll get barely enough training to pass the test. And once you've gotten your CDL, you're a public menace. You're not safe on the road, you're not safe backing up to loading docks, you're not safe parking--I'd rather share the road with a kid who just "borrowed" Dad's car to celebrate getting HIS license.
(And I can say that. I'm describing myself a year ago.)
The company that hired you knows this. So before they turn you loose with a truck, you'll spend several weeks (at least) with an experienced driver who's willing to risk life and limb for a trainer's bonus. He finishes teaching you how to drive. He helps you figure out the paperwork. And he tries to help you develop some judgment. If he does his job right, you might live long enough to finish learning the job on your own. At least that's the idea.
A trainer who takes his job seriously is a blessing indeed. I had one. And it looks like I met another one today, working for another company. Which brings up back to our story...
**See the entry for 11/15/2008--"Progress, backwards"--to learn why this is scary...
Saturday, December 13, 2008
I was attacked by my chair today.
Modern semi-tractors have lots of creature comforts, compared to their ancestors. Among them are seats with adjustable height, tilt, back support, seat firmness, and number of partridges in a pear tree. Fully half these adjustments are pneumatic--the truck's already compressing air for the brakes, the suspension, and a few other things, so why not?
So I got out of the truck to connect the air and electrical lines to the trailer, went back to the cab, and started to climb back in--and suddenly I found myself being swatted by something thin and snakelike that whipped around in the floorboard and hissed, loudly. After a few seconds of dodging and a few more seconds of chasing it around, I got hold of it. It was a tiny hose, the one that supplied air to my seat adjusters. Now it was supplying air to the whole world, and adjusting its own position.
This is a more serious problem than you might think. I was merely annoyed myself--until I heard an alarm go off on the dash. It seems the seat adjusters are powered by the same air supply that operates the trailer brakes. And the people who designed truck air brakes borrowed an idea from the elevator designers: a secondary brake system that's powered by heavy springs, and built so it's always trying to apply the brakes. The air system provides power to keep the brakes from locking up--that way if the air system fails, the brakes come into play by themselves.
In other words, as long as this little hose was loose, I couldn't move the truck.
It only took me about five minutes to figure out where it went, and another two or three to get it there. But I had time to think about just how oddly the systems on these machines work together. I've run into things like this before.
The driver's seat can lock up the trailer brakes. So can the passenger's. The self-leveling suspension can interfere with the driveshaft. On another model truck, the sleeper's fan switch can override the cab's air-conditioner controls. And so on.
You really do have to keep track of everything...
p.s.
I've mentioned this before, but I don't know how far into the past my readers may have looked. So I'll mention it again--my Internet access is kind of spotty. So I will often save up a bunch of these entries and upload them all at once, when I have a connection.
In other words, if you notice a post that you should have read the last time you came in, you haven't lost your mind. It's just me, trying to keep my posts in order. The dates you see are when I first wrote an item, not when it got on the site.
We thank you for your patience...
So I got out of the truck to connect the air and electrical lines to the trailer, went back to the cab, and started to climb back in--and suddenly I found myself being swatted by something thin and snakelike that whipped around in the floorboard and hissed, loudly. After a few seconds of dodging and a few more seconds of chasing it around, I got hold of it. It was a tiny hose, the one that supplied air to my seat adjusters. Now it was supplying air to the whole world, and adjusting its own position.
This is a more serious problem than you might think. I was merely annoyed myself--until I heard an alarm go off on the dash. It seems the seat adjusters are powered by the same air supply that operates the trailer brakes. And the people who designed truck air brakes borrowed an idea from the elevator designers: a secondary brake system that's powered by heavy springs, and built so it's always trying to apply the brakes. The air system provides power to keep the brakes from locking up--that way if the air system fails, the brakes come into play by themselves.
In other words, as long as this little hose was loose, I couldn't move the truck.
It only took me about five minutes to figure out where it went, and another two or three to get it there. But I had time to think about just how oddly the systems on these machines work together. I've run into things like this before.
The driver's seat can lock up the trailer brakes. So can the passenger's. The self-leveling suspension can interfere with the driveshaft. On another model truck, the sleeper's fan switch can override the cab's air-conditioner controls. And so on.
You really do have to keep track of everything...
p.s.
I've mentioned this before, but I don't know how far into the past my readers may have looked. So I'll mention it again--my Internet access is kind of spotty. So I will often save up a bunch of these entries and upload them all at once, when I have a connection.
In other words, if you notice a post that you should have read the last time you came in, you haven't lost your mind. It's just me, trying to keep my posts in order. The dates you see are when I first wrote an item, not when it got on the site.
We thank you for your patience...
Monday, December 8, 2008
Early morning
Backed up to a dock in the early morning hours, watching the morning shift filter in from the parking lot in front of me. It's light enough for that now--as opposed to when I slipped in. I got here a good hour or so too early--I just now felt the truck vibrate, telling me they're opening the dock door and preparing to unload me. Better that than arriving on time, though--that would have involved sharing the city streets with a whole lot of other people who were also getting to work "on time." Tolerable in a car, but in one of these barges...
Before I had to do it, I never thought just how much the sheer SIZE of these trucks affects the way you drive. I've touched on that before, of course--the way you take up EVERYBODY's lane turning right at an intersection, the reason you don't dare be too polite to merging traffic, and so on. But the sheer terror that comes with a trip up Main Street in Smallville, with parked cars three inches from your trailer on the right and oncoming traffic the same distance away on your left--and are those power lines really high enough? Oh, and you'd better spot that cross street in time--you sure aren't going to back up if you miss it. Assuming you can turn at all--it's not like YOU wrote these directions...
So when I can I come in REAL early in the morning. It's a bit less terrifying when the streets aren't full.
(Now the truck is bouncing. If this were Star Trek I'd be pretending to fall out of my chair for dramatic emphasis. Good. The forklift is at work...)
Before I had to do it, I never thought just how much the sheer SIZE of these trucks affects the way you drive. I've touched on that before, of course--the way you take up EVERYBODY's lane turning right at an intersection, the reason you don't dare be too polite to merging traffic, and so on. But the sheer terror that comes with a trip up Main Street in Smallville, with parked cars three inches from your trailer on the right and oncoming traffic the same distance away on your left--and are those power lines really high enough? Oh, and you'd better spot that cross street in time--you sure aren't going to back up if you miss it. Assuming you can turn at all--it's not like YOU wrote these directions...
So when I can I come in REAL early in the morning. It's a bit less terrifying when the streets aren't full.
(Now the truck is bouncing. If this were Star Trek I'd be pretending to fall out of my chair for dramatic emphasis. Good. The forklift is at work...)
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Getting paid
It's warmer tonight, so far. Don't know if that will last, but I'm enjoying it while I can. It's still dark, though.
In the past four days I've driven about 1800 miles. I didn't get paid for them, though. As far as the company's concerned, I haven't done anything yet. Maybe next week.
No it's not corporate heartlessness--though it certainly feels like it sometimes. Y'see, OTR* and Regional** drivers are paid by the mile.*** And before they pay me they want proof that I actually picked up that load in Hooterville, and actually delivered it to Gotham City.
The normal way to do that is with the Bill of Lading. This is a piece of paper that lists all the things that were loaded onto the truck. I have to sign it when I pick up the load, to say I actually did pick it up.**** Then, when I get it to the consignee, he signs it to say I actually delivered it.
Now I have proof that I actually did my job. So I have to get it to my company, so they'll pay me. This usually involves putting it in an specially-addressed envelope and dropping it into a Trip-Pak(tm) box at the nearest truck stop. I'm not sure what happens next--I get the impression that Trip-Pak(tm) gathers up everybody's envelopes, scans the contents, and sends the scans to the correct employers. Then, I think, they send the hard copies by more leisurely means.
Once the company gets the scanned bills, they confirm that somebody actually signed for the load and credit the appropriate number of miles to my payroll account. At the "end" of the week they add all the miles up, multiply by my per-mile rate, and start deducting. What little is left over I get a day or two later.
Which leads us back to this week. I sat around for a day because of truck problems. On the second day I picked up a trailer and started toward a destination about a thousand miles distant, with one stop on the way. On the fourth day I dropped my trailer, picked up another one, and hurried to my next pickup--where I waited some time before learning they had nothing for me to pick up. I told my dispatcher this, and he found me somewhere else to go. On the fifth morning many boxes were wheeled into my trailer and I was rolling again. Another eight hundred miles. I got it there on the sixth day--today--and was sent here, where I will pick up another load in the morning.
As you can see, I've been busy.
But I didn't actually deliver a load until the fourth day of my work "week." And as it happens, my pay "week" ended the day before.
So as you can see, I haven't done anything.
It does even out, of course. I'll be paid for all those miles--next week, after they get the bills. So I'm not losing money. On the other hand, that money could have been handy this week. Bills are a lot more consistent than paychecks in this business. A bit of money in the bank can be a VERY GOOD THING when you're a trucker. Maybe I'll have that someday.
I wonder what they did before Trip-Pak(tm) and fax machines. Carrier pigeons? Trust their very livelihood to the U. S. Post Office? (No backups, remember--the copy machine wasn't commonplace either.) Hold on to everything until the next time they got to a terminal--and do without their money until then?
They was men in them days...
-----
*Over The Road, as opposed to Local (drivers who deliver in a single city, county, or whatever), Line-haul (drivers who pick up a load at Point A, deliver it to Point B, turn around and haul something back to Point A--and then do it all again tomorrow), etc.
**Like OTR, but in a smaller region
***And that may be a whole 'nother post right there--how many miles from Mayberry to Metropolis? The answer is not what you think...
****This can get complicated. For instance, what if I didn't actually stand there and count the cartons as they got loaded on the trailer ? (A lot of shippers won't let me into the warehouse to do that.) Or worse, the trailer was loaded before I got there? Well, I can note on the Bill that I'm taking their word for what's aboard. But a lot of shippers will scream to high heaven if I do. They won't let me check the load, but they expect me to take the blame for anything that's missing...
In the past four days I've driven about 1800 miles. I didn't get paid for them, though. As far as the company's concerned, I haven't done anything yet. Maybe next week.
No it's not corporate heartlessness--though it certainly feels like it sometimes. Y'see, OTR* and Regional** drivers are paid by the mile.*** And before they pay me they want proof that I actually picked up that load in Hooterville, and actually delivered it to Gotham City.
The normal way to do that is with the Bill of Lading. This is a piece of paper that lists all the things that were loaded onto the truck. I have to sign it when I pick up the load, to say I actually did pick it up.**** Then, when I get it to the consignee, he signs it to say I actually delivered it.
Now I have proof that I actually did my job. So I have to get it to my company, so they'll pay me. This usually involves putting it in an specially-addressed envelope and dropping it into a Trip-Pak(tm) box at the nearest truck stop. I'm not sure what happens next--I get the impression that Trip-Pak(tm) gathers up everybody's envelopes, scans the contents, and sends the scans to the correct employers. Then, I think, they send the hard copies by more leisurely means.
Once the company gets the scanned bills, they confirm that somebody actually signed for the load and credit the appropriate number of miles to my payroll account. At the "end" of the week they add all the miles up, multiply by my per-mile rate, and start deducting. What little is left over I get a day or two later.
Which leads us back to this week. I sat around for a day because of truck problems. On the second day I picked up a trailer and started toward a destination about a thousand miles distant, with one stop on the way. On the fourth day I dropped my trailer, picked up another one, and hurried to my next pickup--where I waited some time before learning they had nothing for me to pick up. I told my dispatcher this, and he found me somewhere else to go. On the fifth morning many boxes were wheeled into my trailer and I was rolling again. Another eight hundred miles. I got it there on the sixth day--today--and was sent here, where I will pick up another load in the morning.
As you can see, I've been busy.
But I didn't actually deliver a load until the fourth day of my work "week." And as it happens, my pay "week" ended the day before.
So as you can see, I haven't done anything.
It does even out, of course. I'll be paid for all those miles--next week, after they get the bills. So I'm not losing money. On the other hand, that money could have been handy this week. Bills are a lot more consistent than paychecks in this business. A bit of money in the bank can be a VERY GOOD THING when you're a trucker. Maybe I'll have that someday.
I wonder what they did before Trip-Pak(tm) and fax machines. Carrier pigeons? Trust their very livelihood to the U. S. Post Office? (No backups, remember--the copy machine wasn't commonplace either.) Hold on to everything until the next time they got to a terminal--and do without their money until then?
They was men in them days...
-----
*Over The Road, as opposed to Local (drivers who deliver in a single city, county, or whatever), Line-haul (drivers who pick up a load at Point A, deliver it to Point B, turn around and haul something back to Point A--and then do it all again tomorrow), etc.
**Like OTR, but in a smaller region
***And that may be a whole 'nother post right there--how many miles from Mayberry to Metropolis? The answer is not what you think...
****This can get complicated. For instance, what if I didn't actually stand there and count the cartons as they got loaded on the trailer ? (A lot of shippers won't let me into the warehouse to do that.) Or worse, the trailer was loaded before I got there? Well, I can note on the Bill that I'm taking their word for what's aboard. But a lot of shippers will scream to high heaven if I do. They won't let me check the load, but they expect me to take the blame for anything that's missing...
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Governors and rolling roadblocks
Dark comes early this time of year.
I'm sitting in the sleeper cab with the curtains drawn, hoping they'll provide a little insulation. It's gonna be cool out there tonight. Besides, there's not much to see--the light was pretty much gone when I pulled in. Before six.
While I'm waiting for the sleeper to cool down too much for sleep, I suppose I'll talk about something that happened several times today. It usually does. And I figure a certain number of people get ticked off every time.
I'll bet you do, too. You're driving down the road, looking forward to the steak at that restaurant two exits ahead, and suddenly you find yourself behind a moving wall. Great big trucks in both lanes, sedately cruising along at just under the speed limit. Or worse, one almost passing the other, then slowing down while the other one almost passes him back. Like a couple of six-year-olds playing race cars. You can almost hear them yelling "vroom, vroom!" at each other.
Well, that's not exactly what's happening.
Just in case you don't know it, a lot of semi-tractors--especially the ones that belong to a big company--are governed. Put that pedal to the medal as hard as you want--it won't go over 65.* This is not necessarily a bad thing, most of the time. Drivers do have a tendency to use all the speed you give them, whether they need it or not. The problem comes when you find yourself closing steadily on a truck ahead of you.
You pull out to pass--and realize he's going exactly one mph slower than you. Or worse--one half of one mph.** Or worse still, it varies. On anything but perfectly flat ground, that's quite possible. If he's got any kind of load, his engine isn't big enough to pull him uphill at the speed limit. That's obvious to everyone when he's going up a mountainside at thirty, engine roaring and emergency flashers flashing. But even a slight slope can slow him down by one or two mph. And an equally slight downslope can speed him up past his governed speed, just a little.
The same is true for you, of course. But right now, you're the one catching up. So you must have a little more power, or a little less load. So you pull out to go around him.
You were closing at two or three mph--at least for the last hundred feet or so. But maybe some of that was drafting. Looks like you're barely closing now that you're in the left lane. Or maybe you're not closing at all. In another minute you hit another slight upslope and you start pulling past him--and then you crest the hill and his extra weight pulls him along faster than you. Until you hit the next upslope, that is.
And his truck is eighty feet long. And so is yours. And there's the little matter of safe following distance.*** So you're going to have to cover at least a hundred yards (relative to the other guy) at less than half walking speed before you can pull back over. And in your mirror you see the long string of cars and trucks, full of people speculating on your ancestry and personal hygeine.
And all because of that stupid governor.
Mind you, I don't really get too upset about the thing. But it would be nice if they'd put in an override. In this day of computer control, it wouldn't be hard--and you could put in limits to keep drivers from abusing it. If I had a button that would give me an extra 5 mph for one minute, three or four times a day, it would actually make things safer out here.
Just a thought.
-----
*Or 63, or 62--some of the companies have backed the governors down a mile-an-hour or two to save fuel in these sad times.
**Maybe his governor is set the same way yours is. But is his speedometer calibrated exactly like yours?
**Yeah, I know we all ignore it way too much of the time (except for me, of course). But it does improve your chances of staying alive out there.
I'm sitting in the sleeper cab with the curtains drawn, hoping they'll provide a little insulation. It's gonna be cool out there tonight. Besides, there's not much to see--the light was pretty much gone when I pulled in. Before six.
While I'm waiting for the sleeper to cool down too much for sleep, I suppose I'll talk about something that happened several times today. It usually does. And I figure a certain number of people get ticked off every time.
I'll bet you do, too. You're driving down the road, looking forward to the steak at that restaurant two exits ahead, and suddenly you find yourself behind a moving wall. Great big trucks in both lanes, sedately cruising along at just under the speed limit. Or worse, one almost passing the other, then slowing down while the other one almost passes him back. Like a couple of six-year-olds playing race cars. You can almost hear them yelling "vroom, vroom!" at each other.
Well, that's not exactly what's happening.
Just in case you don't know it, a lot of semi-tractors--especially the ones that belong to a big company--are governed. Put that pedal to the medal as hard as you want--it won't go over 65.* This is not necessarily a bad thing, most of the time. Drivers do have a tendency to use all the speed you give them, whether they need it or not. The problem comes when you find yourself closing steadily on a truck ahead of you.
You pull out to pass--and realize he's going exactly one mph slower than you. Or worse--one half of one mph.** Or worse still, it varies. On anything but perfectly flat ground, that's quite possible. If he's got any kind of load, his engine isn't big enough to pull him uphill at the speed limit. That's obvious to everyone when he's going up a mountainside at thirty, engine roaring and emergency flashers flashing. But even a slight slope can slow him down by one or two mph. And an equally slight downslope can speed him up past his governed speed, just a little.
The same is true for you, of course. But right now, you're the one catching up. So you must have a little more power, or a little less load. So you pull out to go around him.
You were closing at two or three mph--at least for the last hundred feet or so. But maybe some of that was drafting. Looks like you're barely closing now that you're in the left lane. Or maybe you're not closing at all. In another minute you hit another slight upslope and you start pulling past him--and then you crest the hill and his extra weight pulls him along faster than you. Until you hit the next upslope, that is.
And his truck is eighty feet long. And so is yours. And there's the little matter of safe following distance.*** So you're going to have to cover at least a hundred yards (relative to the other guy) at less than half walking speed before you can pull back over. And in your mirror you see the long string of cars and trucks, full of people speculating on your ancestry and personal hygeine.
And all because of that stupid governor.
Mind you, I don't really get too upset about the thing. But it would be nice if they'd put in an override. In this day of computer control, it wouldn't be hard--and you could put in limits to keep drivers from abusing it. If I had a button that would give me an extra 5 mph for one minute, three or four times a day, it would actually make things safer out here.
Just a thought.
-----
*Or 63, or 62--some of the companies have backed the governors down a mile-an-hour or two to save fuel in these sad times.
**Maybe his governor is set the same way yours is. But is his speedometer calibrated exactly like yours?
**Yeah, I know we all ignore it way too much of the time (except for me, of course). But it does improve your chances of staying alive out there.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
When is an eighteen-wheeler not an eighteen-wheeler?
When it's a fourteen-wheeler. Or a ten-wheeler.
Technology marches on, you see. You know those wide, low-profile tires that have started showing up on customized cars? Something similar is available for big trucks now. One tire as wide as the dual-wheel assembly on a "normal" tractor or trailer. Apparently they decrease rolling resistance and improve gas mileage.
Our newest trailers have them. So do our very newest trucks. Looks like the day of dual wheels is almost past.
And when will they change all those road signs? "Trucks six wheels and over..." That could be pretty darn big.
Oh, well. The language has never really kept up. I mean, really. How many Teamsters can handle a coach and four these days?
Technology marches on, you see. You know those wide, low-profile tires that have started showing up on customized cars? Something similar is available for big trucks now. One tire as wide as the dual-wheel assembly on a "normal" tractor or trailer. Apparently they decrease rolling resistance and improve gas mileage.
Our newest trailers have them. So do our very newest trucks. Looks like the day of dual wheels is almost past.
And when will they change all those road signs? "Trucks six wheels and over..." That could be pretty darn big.
Oh, well. The language has never really kept up. I mean, really. How many Teamsters can handle a coach and four these days?
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Adventures in something other than navigation (the sequel)
Homeward bound, on a nice wide interstate. Ahead is one of those electronic signs. This far from a major city, they usually say things like "TEST" or "DRIVE CAREFULLY." Right now, though, this one says "ACCIDENT AHEAD, MILE MARKER 234, LEFT LANE BLOCKED."
Since I'm in the right lane, I figure I've already done my part for traffic flow. Then I see an exit ahead. And traffic at a standstill right beside it. And the accident is still twelve miles away.
Fortunately there's a truck stop at the exit. I slip off and park, picking a place where I can see the cars go by--or sit there, as the case may be. Might as well wait it out, right?
Forty-five minutes later I start to wonder. Cars and trucks sit still for minutes at a time, then move slowly forward. The end of the line moves almost out of sight, then everything stops and the line reaches my exit once more.
The fourth of fifth time, the stoppage moves way out of sight, and the traffic keeps moving--slowly--for a good five or ten minutes. Guess it's starting to clear up, I say, and start the truck. Out of the truck stop parking lot, down the road to the entrance ramp, and down onto the Interstate--just in time to see everything grind to a halt again.
I cover twelve miles in the next two hours.
Remember that game I told you about some time back? Seeing how far you can get in slow traffic without stopping? It's kept me sane today. That and thinking how it could have been worse. You see, I think I saw that accident site. Several hours earlier, going the other way.
A place where the median widened, and a stand of trees grew in the middle of it. And a tractor trailer had apparently gone straight when the highway curved outward. Plowed into the trees, flipped over, and caught fire, starting a fire in the trees as well.
And sure enough, that's where the tie-up is. Emergency vehicles are still clustered around the spot. The semi has been moved, finally, but the cleanup is still underway. Environmental crews, maybe. There was a diesel fuel spill at the very least.
I remember the truck, on its side, just frame and engine. The cab completely gone.
*****
(Epilogue of sorts)
The tie-up slowed me down just enough to put me into a Major Metropolitan Area right at the beginning of rush hour. Another long slow pull--slow enough that I barely had half an hour left on the "clock" when I pulled into my home terminal. A little slower and I'd have had to find a rest area for the night and come the rest of the way tomorrow.
We're supposed to eat Thanksgiving dinner with friends. At lunchtime. I was that close to missing the holiday.
Hard to complain, though. Not after what I passed. Maybe I should be going over my thank-you-Lord list instead.
Since I'm in the right lane, I figure I've already done my part for traffic flow. Then I see an exit ahead. And traffic at a standstill right beside it. And the accident is still twelve miles away.
Fortunately there's a truck stop at the exit. I slip off and park, picking a place where I can see the cars go by--or sit there, as the case may be. Might as well wait it out, right?
Forty-five minutes later I start to wonder. Cars and trucks sit still for minutes at a time, then move slowly forward. The end of the line moves almost out of sight, then everything stops and the line reaches my exit once more.
The fourth of fifth time, the stoppage moves way out of sight, and the traffic keeps moving--slowly--for a good five or ten minutes. Guess it's starting to clear up, I say, and start the truck. Out of the truck stop parking lot, down the road to the entrance ramp, and down onto the Interstate--just in time to see everything grind to a halt again.
I cover twelve miles in the next two hours.
Remember that game I told you about some time back? Seeing how far you can get in slow traffic without stopping? It's kept me sane today. That and thinking how it could have been worse. You see, I think I saw that accident site. Several hours earlier, going the other way.
A place where the median widened, and a stand of trees grew in the middle of it. And a tractor trailer had apparently gone straight when the highway curved outward. Plowed into the trees, flipped over, and caught fire, starting a fire in the trees as well.
And sure enough, that's where the tie-up is. Emergency vehicles are still clustered around the spot. The semi has been moved, finally, but the cleanup is still underway. Environmental crews, maybe. There was a diesel fuel spill at the very least.
I remember the truck, on its side, just frame and engine. The cab completely gone.
*****
(Epilogue of sorts)
The tie-up slowed me down just enough to put me into a Major Metropolitan Area right at the beginning of rush hour. Another long slow pull--slow enough that I barely had half an hour left on the "clock" when I pulled into my home terminal. A little slower and I'd have had to find a rest area for the night and come the rest of the way tomorrow.
We're supposed to eat Thanksgiving dinner with friends. At lunchtime. I was that close to missing the holiday.
Hard to complain, though. Not after what I passed. Maybe I should be going over my thank-you-Lord list instead.
Adventures in navigation, part 3
And this time we have no idea where we're going at all. Won't this be fun?
Dispatch eventually gets us some directions. I am so relieved, I don't notice the ominous phrasing.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
It's bad enough that I can't find most of the roads mentioned. I head slowly and worriedly into the heart of town*, my head on a swivel, and suddenly I see a beautiful sight. There! A highway that my directions actually mentioned! And it's a big enough highway that I needn't worry about it suddenly petering out and leaving me stranded far from any turnarounds. So make my best guess as to direction and head down the highway, head on a swivel.
No sign of the side street the directions tell me to look for. And I'm past the city limits. Time to do the un-manly thing again.
There is a building-supply place on my left. It looks like big rigs deliver there. So I pull in, park, and ask for directions. The nice man on the forklift tells me where to go.
The nice man in the other truck tells me something completely different. Goody.
Slowly I start back the way I came, comparing my directions to the forklift driver's directions, and both of those to the truck driver's directions. Not an exercise in confidence building.
But there! There! The side-street I'm supposed to turn on! Joyfully I swing onto Pomegranite Lane--and there's a police officer looking at me oddly.
When police officers look at you oddly, you don't assume they're admiring the paint job. I stop promptly and climb out. He's already out of his car. "Are you delivering on this street?" he asks politely.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
The customer didn't give us those directions. Dispatch got them off Mapquest or Google Maps or some such. And those services, like most GPS's I've seen, often overlook little things like "NO THRU TRUCKS" postings.
Fortunately I look convincingly lost. (It helps when you really are that lost...) He confirms that the highway I'm looking for is just a hundred yards up the street, and lets me off with a warning. The next driver might not be so lucky. I'll have to warn somebody about that...
And with the wind from the bullet I just dodged still stirring my hair, I turn onto the correct highway and find the turnoff to the shipper. An hour or two later I'm loaded and homeward bound.
Headed for my home terminal. No chance of getting lost. Interstates all the way. What could go wrong?
(To be continued...)
-----
*The heart of town is a bad place, when your truck is longer than some of the city blocks you pass...
Dispatch eventually gets us some directions. I am so relieved, I don't notice the ominous phrasing.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
It's bad enough that I can't find most of the roads mentioned. I head slowly and worriedly into the heart of town*, my head on a swivel, and suddenly I see a beautiful sight. There! A highway that my directions actually mentioned! And it's a big enough highway that I needn't worry about it suddenly petering out and leaving me stranded far from any turnarounds. So make my best guess as to direction and head down the highway, head on a swivel.
No sign of the side street the directions tell me to look for. And I'm past the city limits. Time to do the un-manly thing again.
There is a building-supply place on my left. It looks like big rigs deliver there. So I pull in, park, and ask for directions. The nice man on the forklift tells me where to go.
The nice man in the other truck tells me something completely different. Goody.
Slowly I start back the way I came, comparing my directions to the forklift driver's directions, and both of those to the truck driver's directions. Not an exercise in confidence building.
But there! There! The side-street I'm supposed to turn on! Joyfully I swing onto Pomegranite Lane--and there's a police officer looking at me oddly.
When police officers look at you oddly, you don't assume they're admiring the paint job. I stop promptly and climb out. He's already out of his car. "Are you delivering on this street?" he asks politely.
Turn left onto...toward...
Continue on...toward...
Turn right onto...toward...
The customer didn't give us those directions. Dispatch got them off Mapquest or Google Maps or some such. And those services, like most GPS's I've seen, often overlook little things like "NO THRU TRUCKS" postings.
Fortunately I look convincingly lost. (It helps when you really are that lost...) He confirms that the highway I'm looking for is just a hundred yards up the street, and lets me off with a warning. The next driver might not be so lucky. I'll have to warn somebody about that...
And with the wind from the bullet I just dodged still stirring my hair, I turn onto the correct highway and find the turnoff to the shipper. An hour or two later I'm loaded and homeward bound.
Headed for my home terminal. No chance of getting lost. Interstates all the way. What could go wrong?
(To be continued...)
-----
*The heart of town is a bad place, when your truck is longer than some of the city blocks you pass...
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Adventures in navigation, part 2
After yesterday, it's good to have a nice straightforward set of directions. Just get off the Interstate at THIS exit, head SOUTH about a mile, and turn into Valley Industrial Park. Even so, it's a pleasant thing to be ahead of schedule. A good half-hour to hunt for the place once we arrive.
Ah, here we are. We get off the Interstate and turn in the proper direction. And a mile down is a entrance to--Enterprise Circle Industrial Park.
Um.
Is there another park? No. They must have renamed it. And while we were figuring this out, we passed another factory a hundred yards down. The only place in sight with room to pull into and room to turn around. And ahead of us is your classic two-lane country highway. So down the road we go, looking for the next safe pulloff. And we can't go all that fast, since we may have to swing into a drive at any moment.
As it happens, that's not a problem. For twenty miles the road curves and rollercoasters, cresting hilltops decorated with small farms and then diving into long stretches of bottom land. The scenery is lovely, but we're not looking for scenery, are we? We're looking for a place to turn around.
We find one eventually. Twenty miles down. Nervously (not much room even here) we turn around. And drive twenty miles back. And pull into Enterprise Circle Industrial Park.
And there's the customer. We've arrived. Only half an hour late.
Believe it or not, this is cause for rejoicing. At least we didn't end up in a place where we couldn't turn around at all. Believe me, it happens. It's happened to me more than once. And calling the police to help you get out of a place like that is not the highlight of your working day.
This time we got there. And the customer wasn't too mad. And we're only an hour behind schedule heading toward the next pickup. Maybe they won't be too mad either.
The romance of the open road.
Ah, here we are. We get off the Interstate and turn in the proper direction. And a mile down is a entrance to--Enterprise Circle Industrial Park.
Um.
Is there another park? No. They must have renamed it. And while we were figuring this out, we passed another factory a hundred yards down. The only place in sight with room to pull into and room to turn around. And ahead of us is your classic two-lane country highway. So down the road we go, looking for the next safe pulloff. And we can't go all that fast, since we may have to swing into a drive at any moment.
As it happens, that's not a problem. For twenty miles the road curves and rollercoasters, cresting hilltops decorated with small farms and then diving into long stretches of bottom land. The scenery is lovely, but we're not looking for scenery, are we? We're looking for a place to turn around.
We find one eventually. Twenty miles down. Nervously (not much room even here) we turn around. And drive twenty miles back. And pull into Enterprise Circle Industrial Park.
And there's the customer. We've arrived. Only half an hour late.
Believe it or not, this is cause for rejoicing. At least we didn't end up in a place where we couldn't turn around at all. Believe me, it happens. It's happened to me more than once. And calling the police to help you get out of a place like that is not the highlight of your working day.
This time we got there. And the customer wasn't too mad. And we're only an hour behind schedule heading toward the next pickup. Maybe they won't be too mad either.
The romance of the open road.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Adventures in navigation, part 1
Part of this job is finding your way around. A sample from this past week follows. The place names have been changed to protect the guilty and the merely amused.
Let's say you spent the night at a truck stop a few exits down from your next pickup, and you're ready to head that way. First things first--don't follow your GPS. I may write a long screed about that someday, but the short form is--GPS is not ready for trucker prime time. Not the ones I've had a chance to use or watch in use. They tend to send you down exotic and scenic shortcuts--and they don't always know about little things like low underpasses, bridges that won't hold your weight, or streets that are just plain illegal for a semi to follow. A GPS is nice for seeing where you are now, but don't trust the directions you get from the thing.
Usually you will get directions when you get your load information--written either by the customer or by another driver who found the way. In this case, you're told to take THIS highway into Paris, then turn right on Oxbridge Road, left on De Mille Street, and right on Connector Road. Eternalite should be on the left. Simple, right?
So you drive cheerfully into town and look for Oxbridge Road. And you don't find it. No surprise--you're only seeing street signs about every third intersection. Everybody here knows where they are, don't they?
After a time you reach the end of the highway you came in on. Fortunately you kept an eye open and made sure there was a place to turn the truck around. So back you go.
But first do a little thinking. Oxbridge Road. Well you grew up in small southern towns. You know that "Hooterville Road" often means "the road to Hooterville."
So get out the map. Is there a town called Oxbridge anywhere nearby?
Yep, there it is. And is there a road between Paris and Oxbridge?
Yep. And it's a major highway. And you passed it a mile or two ago.
First hurdle past.
So you go back, turn onto the highway also known as Oxbridge Road (if you're a local). Two streets up you see De Mille Street. So you make your turn and wend your way around the curve and back around the other curve--looking for something called Connector Road.
Only there isn't one. You go clear to the end of the street, make a guess about which way to turn, and find yourself within a hundred feet of a tiny two-lane road to nowhere.
Hastily you turn in to a small factory--the only place in sight with a parking lot big enough to turn around in. Then you go in and ask directions. (A professional driver is not ashamed to admit he's lost. It beats the alternative...) Only the people at the factory don't know where Connector Road is, either.
So you make a loop and watch more carefully. And reach the end of the street. This time you turn the other way, so you don't get stuck on that two-lane-to-nowhere again. Congratulations--you loop back to the main road without incident this time.
Now to ask directions again. Before you made your turn, you saw a place that does truck repairs. There will be room to pull in, and maybe they will know where this place is...
Well, they knew a few things.
So you follow the new directions. Slowly. Carefully. With a grain of salt. As it turns out, they're wrong, but not VERY wrong. You pull up to a factory that seems to be in the right place, making the right kind of product. The name's wrong, but that's no big deal. Many of these places are making products for the big companies and labeling them appropriately. "Paris Candles" could easily be holding stuff for "Eternalite."
You pull in and cross the rain-swept yard to the shipping dept. A man is waiting inside. He shakes your hand and says "We aren't expecting a truck this week. Where are you really trying to go?"
Sigh.
You tell him. He grins and says, "We get guys trying to find that place all the time." And he tells you how to find it--on the other side of town.
Sigh.
So you follow his directions, just as carefully and just as suspiciously. And you reach another factory. This one is called "BrightNights, LLC." That sounds slightly encouraging. So you trudge through the rain again. And sure enough, they're a contractor for Eternalite. And they're wondering where you've been.
Congratulations. Now get back in your truck and get in line. Only six people in front of you...
Let's say you spent the night at a truck stop a few exits down from your next pickup, and you're ready to head that way. First things first--don't follow your GPS. I may write a long screed about that someday, but the short form is--GPS is not ready for trucker prime time. Not the ones I've had a chance to use or watch in use. They tend to send you down exotic and scenic shortcuts--and they don't always know about little things like low underpasses, bridges that won't hold your weight, or streets that are just plain illegal for a semi to follow. A GPS is nice for seeing where you are now, but don't trust the directions you get from the thing.
Usually you will get directions when you get your load information--written either by the customer or by another driver who found the way. In this case, you're told to take THIS highway into Paris, then turn right on Oxbridge Road, left on De Mille Street, and right on Connector Road. Eternalite should be on the left. Simple, right?
So you drive cheerfully into town and look for Oxbridge Road. And you don't find it. No surprise--you're only seeing street signs about every third intersection. Everybody here knows where they are, don't they?
After a time you reach the end of the highway you came in on. Fortunately you kept an eye open and made sure there was a place to turn the truck around. So back you go.
But first do a little thinking. Oxbridge Road. Well you grew up in small southern towns. You know that "Hooterville Road" often means "the road to Hooterville."
So get out the map. Is there a town called Oxbridge anywhere nearby?
Yep, there it is. And is there a road between Paris and Oxbridge?
Yep. And it's a major highway. And you passed it a mile or two ago.
First hurdle past.
So you go back, turn onto the highway also known as Oxbridge Road (if you're a local). Two streets up you see De Mille Street. So you make your turn and wend your way around the curve and back around the other curve--looking for something called Connector Road.
Only there isn't one. You go clear to the end of the street, make a guess about which way to turn, and find yourself within a hundred feet of a tiny two-lane road to nowhere.
Hastily you turn in to a small factory--the only place in sight with a parking lot big enough to turn around in. Then you go in and ask directions. (A professional driver is not ashamed to admit he's lost. It beats the alternative...) Only the people at the factory don't know where Connector Road is, either.
So you make a loop and watch more carefully. And reach the end of the street. This time you turn the other way, so you don't get stuck on that two-lane-to-nowhere again. Congratulations--you loop back to the main road without incident this time.
Now to ask directions again. Before you made your turn, you saw a place that does truck repairs. There will be room to pull in, and maybe they will know where this place is...
Well, they knew a few things.
- Connector Road is on the map, but it doesn't exist yet. They'll build it one of these days, when the industrial park gets better built up. Meanwhile, if you shifted into eighteen-wheel drive and headed cross country across muddy farm fields, the right-of-way would take you right where you're trying to go.
- There is a place that more or less matches what you're looking for. Here are the directions.
So you follow the new directions. Slowly. Carefully. With a grain of salt. As it turns out, they're wrong, but not VERY wrong. You pull up to a factory that seems to be in the right place, making the right kind of product. The name's wrong, but that's no big deal. Many of these places are making products for the big companies and labeling them appropriately. "Paris Candles" could easily be holding stuff for "Eternalite."
You pull in and cross the rain-swept yard to the shipping dept. A man is waiting inside. He shakes your hand and says "We aren't expecting a truck this week. Where are you really trying to go?"
Sigh.
You tell him. He grins and says, "We get guys trying to find that place all the time." And he tells you how to find it--on the other side of town.
Sigh.
So you follow his directions, just as carefully and just as suspiciously. And you reach another factory. This one is called "BrightNights, LLC." That sounds slightly encouraging. So you trudge through the rain again. And sure enough, they're a contractor for Eternalite. And they're wondering where you've been.
Congratulations. Now get back in your truck and get in line. Only six people in front of you...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
B. J. and the Blog
First snowfall of the season this morning.
It's about five o'clock, in that same dark parking lot I typed in last night. And it's snowing in November. Maybe I'm just too Southern--it don't seem right, somehow. At least it's not sticking.
***
It didn't stick. And I fled to the south with a trailer full of something. It's not much warmer down here, but it's a little drier.
Some of you may be wondering why I talk so vaguely about where I am and where I'm going. And what I'm carrying, and for whom. And who pays me to do it.
Well, I covered most of those questions a while back, briefly. What it comes down to is, the company doesn't like us talking too much about where we go and what we carry. Partly it's to preserve the customer's privacy. Partly, it's to protect the customer's product, and the truck, and us.
Hijackers do exist, it appears. And they tend to hit trucks they know are hauling something they want. So talking too much about cargoes and schedules is a good way to encourage the less-than-honest. And the company frowns very hard on any casual conversation about specific runs and specific customers.
***
And why do I call them "the company," you ask? And am I ashamed of my name, you wonder? Well, to understand the answer to those questions, you'd have to meet B. J.
I met B. J. shortly after I finished my training period and was assigned my own truck. He had no more experience that I did, but he did have a good bit more cynicism. We sat down and compared notes, and at some point I mentioned my idea for this blog.
"Did you look in your employee manual?" he said.
"For what? The number for their Censorship Department?"
"Think that's funny, do you?" He pulled a beat-up paperback out of his coat pocket, flipped through it, found a spot, and handed it across the table. "Take a look," he said. "And you might want to see if yours has something like it."
I smiled and shook my head as I took the book. Then I started reading and smiled a bit less. The page he'd found covered his company's policy on employees' personal web pages, and part of it read something like this:
"They're kidding," I said. I didn't sound too convincing.
"Nope. You want to write about what you do, fine. But you might want to check your six first. Even if your outfit don't have something like this in the fine print somewhere, that don't keep 'em from sticking it in later. Lawyers never take anything OUT."
"Point," I admitted. "But there are things about being a driver that you can't talk about if you can't mention your company at all."
"Yep," he said. "And if you think it's worth risking your job to tell folks about them, you go right ahead."
I stared at the table for a while. He sat back and crossed his arms and watched me. Eventually I looked up. "What about if I tell them what YOU said about those things? They can't fire me for what somebody else said about some other company."
"Right. So I get fired instead. Real clever."
"If nobody knows who you are, and nobody knows who you work for..."
He looked at me oddly for a second or two. Then he grinned. "Secret identity, huh? Do I get a Batmobile, too?"
"What, that puny thing? Your rig's bigger."
"Guess you're right. So what're you gonna call me?"
I gave it a little thought. "What about B. J.?" I said eventually.
He snorted a laugh. "I ain't got no monkey."
"You don't look old enough to remember that show."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
***
Every once in a while B. J. calls me up. I nod and make sympathetic noises and take notes. He asks if I'm ever going to write about any of it, and I say I'm still getting up the nerve.
At least his name got on here, finally. Sort of.
(Oh, by the way, Truckbert Logistics isn't his company's name, either. Bet you never guessed.)
It's about five o'clock, in that same dark parking lot I typed in last night. And it's snowing in November. Maybe I'm just too Southern--it don't seem right, somehow. At least it's not sticking.
***
It didn't stick. And I fled to the south with a trailer full of something. It's not much warmer down here, but it's a little drier.
Some of you may be wondering why I talk so vaguely about where I am and where I'm going. And what I'm carrying, and for whom. And who pays me to do it.
Well, I covered most of those questions a while back, briefly. What it comes down to is, the company doesn't like us talking too much about where we go and what we carry. Partly it's to preserve the customer's privacy. Partly, it's to protect the customer's product, and the truck, and us.
Hijackers do exist, it appears. And they tend to hit trucks they know are hauling something they want. So talking too much about cargoes and schedules is a good way to encourage the less-than-honest. And the company frowns very hard on any casual conversation about specific runs and specific customers.
***
And why do I call them "the company," you ask? And am I ashamed of my name, you wonder? Well, to understand the answer to those questions, you'd have to meet B. J.
I met B. J. shortly after I finished my training period and was assigned my own truck. He had no more experience that I did, but he did have a good bit more cynicism. We sat down and compared notes, and at some point I mentioned my idea for this blog.
"Did you look in your employee manual?" he said.
"For what? The number for their Censorship Department?"
"Think that's funny, do you?" He pulled a beat-up paperback out of his coat pocket, flipped through it, found a spot, and handed it across the table. "Take a look," he said. "And you might want to see if yours has something like it."
I smiled and shook my head as I took the book. Then I started reading and smiled a bit less. The page he'd found covered his company's policy on employees' personal web pages, and part of it read something like this:
...any derogatory remarks concerning the Company may be grounds for immediate termination. Truckbert Logistics reserves the right to decide whether a given remark is derogatory or not. Lack of action concerning any particular remark does not imply that said remark is NOT derogatory, or that said remark will not be judged derogatory at a later date. Truckbert Logistics may act on any statement concerning the Company at any time, and is the sole judge of whether a particular remark was appropriate...
"They're kidding," I said. I didn't sound too convincing.
"Nope. You want to write about what you do, fine. But you might want to check your six first. Even if your outfit don't have something like this in the fine print somewhere, that don't keep 'em from sticking it in later. Lawyers never take anything OUT."
"Point," I admitted. "But there are things about being a driver that you can't talk about if you can't mention your company at all."
"Yep," he said. "And if you think it's worth risking your job to tell folks about them, you go right ahead."
I stared at the table for a while. He sat back and crossed his arms and watched me. Eventually I looked up. "What about if I tell them what YOU said about those things? They can't fire me for what somebody else said about some other company."
"Right. So I get fired instead. Real clever."
"If nobody knows who you are, and nobody knows who you work for..."
He looked at me oddly for a second or two. Then he grinned. "Secret identity, huh? Do I get a Batmobile, too?"
"What, that puny thing? Your rig's bigger."
"Guess you're right. So what're you gonna call me?"
I gave it a little thought. "What about B. J.?" I said eventually.
He snorted a laugh. "I ain't got no monkey."
"You don't look old enough to remember that show."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
***
Every once in a while B. J. calls me up. I nod and make sympathetic noises and take notes. He asks if I'm ever going to write about any of it, and I say I'm still getting up the nerve.
At least his name got on here, finally. Sort of.
(Oh, by the way, Truckbert Logistics isn't his company's name, either. Bet you never guessed.)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Progress, backwards
In a cold, dark parking lot outside a small truck stop in the Midwest. It's finally starting to feel like November, at least this far north. Darn.
I had a wonderful* experience this evening. Took a load into a somewhat elderly factory and found my assigned door. There it was, just outside my right-hand cab window. With a short ell sticking out from the building, just this side of it. And a fence, a gate, and several very hefty truck-proof posts to my left. A small lot opening before me. And while I was trying to figure out just how I could twist around to line up on the dock, a switch engine cruised by on one of the two railroad tracks that cut through the lot.
Joy.
After two false starts, several hesitations, and a few walks around the lot and truck, I accepted my fate. If that trailer was going to end up at that door, I would have to pull off a maneuver I'd never been stupid--or desperate--enough to try before. A ninety-degree alley dock to the right.
(Note to orchestra: Insert thunderous and frightening chord here.)
It has been said that if all you had to do was drive it down the highway, anybody could be a trucker. That's an exaggeration--I've touched on a few of the subtleties in earlier posts--but there's a lot of truth to it. Driving a truck down a straight road is fairly easy. Safely taking a curve is tougher. Taking a corner is nasty, sometimes. But even then you're still going forward.
They say if you want to know how good an airplane pilot is, watch him land. Well, if you want to check out a truck driver, watch him back up.
If you've ever backed your car or truck with a trailer, you know a little of what I'm talking about. Not all of it, though--in either direction. In some ways a tractor-trailer is actually better behaved than a boat trailer (for example). For one thing, the fifth-wheel hitch is more secure, and the truck and trailer were designed for backing at severe angle.** On the other hand, an eighteen-wheeler backing up gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "flying blind."
You've seen those diagrams, haven't you? The ones they put on the back of trailers nowadays, in a mostly futile attempt to scare you out of tailgating big rigs? Well, when I'm backing, those "NO-ZONE's" are AHEAD of me. Think about that for a moment.
I can't see half of what's behind me. And anything that's right in the trailer's path I can't see--period. The danger is so severe that most (if not all) states make it strictly illegal for a tractor-trailer to back up on a roadway AT ALL. Even a foot. Not without a police officer to keep everybody out of the juggernaut's path and to warn the driver if there's something in the way he didn't notice.
Backing in a straight line is just scary. You get out and look at what's behind you. Then you get back in and back--SLOWLY. And pray nothing ducked in there while you were climbing into the cab. But mostly you just make sure the trailer doesn't get too far out of line. It's not too bad, for short distances.
But the moment you start to back in a curve--even a gentle one--the whole world changes. All of a sudden the trailer is squarely between your mirror and whatever you're backing toward. And with a fifty-three foot trailer, even a gentle curve means the corner of the trailer disappears beyond your mirror's field of view.
You can't see what's behind you and you can't see where you're going. What fun.
Now let's consider a warehouse door. If you're extremely lucky there's half a football field worth of parking lot in front of you, and you can swing out until you're heading directly away from the door. It's kind of tricky, timing your turn to line up just right; but once you're there, you can just back straight in. Easy.
If you're extremely lucky. Don't count on it.
Most of the time, there'll be enough space to swing the truck around, and not a whole lot more. You're basically going to have to plant the rear wheels in front of the door (and in front of the trailers that are almost certainly parked on either side before you get there) and sort of swivel around them. The only question is how much extra room you'll have. Can you start from further out and get sorta lined up before you swivel? Hope so.
Oh, yes. And remember to set up so the door is on your left. That way you can open the window and lean out, and if you crane your neck you can see where the back of your trailer is. If the door is on your right--well, the window on that side is the end of a tunnel. And it's pointed at something that has nothing to do with where you're trying to go. If you try to look behind you, you'll get a fine view of the bunk bed in your sleeper section.*** Your mirrors are all you've got. And at some point your trailer will be so far out of every possible field of view you can't even GUESS what's behind it. Please, please, please, DON'T TRY TO BACK INTO A DOOR THAT'S ON YOUR BLIND SIDE!!!
Oops. Guess what I just did.
What can I say? Sometimes you don't have a choice. In this case, there wasn't a fraction of the room I'd have needed to line up straight in front of the door. And to swivel around in the normal way, I'd have had to back my truck (or maybe the front half of my trailer) right through those steel-and-concrete gateposts I mentioned earlier. So I did the stupid, desperate thing.
Back it around, SLOWLY, until the corner of the trailer is invisible even in my convex spot mirror. Stop. Get out and see where it really is. Make sure there isn't anything back there for it to hit. Climb back in the cab. Crank the wheel around the other way and pull forward a few feet--getting back in front of the trailer at the new angle. Now I can see the corner again--barely.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Eventually I've inched the trailer around to where I'm almost lined up in front of the door. I can actually see the dock itself now. And the trailer docked beside it--the one I'm trying not to hit. I may yet live.
This took something like twenty minutes. A Trucking Master I am not. But I did make the delivery.
The guy in the warehouse wondered why I took so long. The only other guy in the neighborhood was ticked off because I was blocking the alley. At least the railroad people didn't come wandering through while I was all over their tracks.
Oh, well. I know what I accomplished. I think I'll go to bed now, while the warm glow is still there.
G'night.
-----
*Full of wonder--as in "I stare in awe at this amazing thing." "Awful" used to mean kind of the same thing, in fact. Wish it still did--the double meaning would be entirely too appropriate...
**You can still overdo it, of course. And damaging your cab by trying to back through the trailer will not win you friends back at the terminal...
***Day cabs and yard tractors actually have rear windows. They're also shorter. Both these things help. But they don't solve all the problems.
I had a wonderful* experience this evening. Took a load into a somewhat elderly factory and found my assigned door. There it was, just outside my right-hand cab window. With a short ell sticking out from the building, just this side of it. And a fence, a gate, and several very hefty truck-proof posts to my left. A small lot opening before me. And while I was trying to figure out just how I could twist around to line up on the dock, a switch engine cruised by on one of the two railroad tracks that cut through the lot.
Joy.
After two false starts, several hesitations, and a few walks around the lot and truck, I accepted my fate. If that trailer was going to end up at that door, I would have to pull off a maneuver I'd never been stupid--or desperate--enough to try before. A ninety-degree alley dock to the right.
(Note to orchestra: Insert thunderous and frightening chord here.)
It has been said that if all you had to do was drive it down the highway, anybody could be a trucker. That's an exaggeration--I've touched on a few of the subtleties in earlier posts--but there's a lot of truth to it. Driving a truck down a straight road is fairly easy. Safely taking a curve is tougher. Taking a corner is nasty, sometimes. But even then you're still going forward.
They say if you want to know how good an airplane pilot is, watch him land. Well, if you want to check out a truck driver, watch him back up.
If you've ever backed your car or truck with a trailer, you know a little of what I'm talking about. Not all of it, though--in either direction. In some ways a tractor-trailer is actually better behaved than a boat trailer (for example). For one thing, the fifth-wheel hitch is more secure, and the truck and trailer were designed for backing at severe angle.** On the other hand, an eighteen-wheeler backing up gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "flying blind."
You've seen those diagrams, haven't you? The ones they put on the back of trailers nowadays, in a mostly futile attempt to scare you out of tailgating big rigs? Well, when I'm backing, those "NO-ZONE's" are AHEAD of me. Think about that for a moment.
I can't see half of what's behind me. And anything that's right in the trailer's path I can't see--period. The danger is so severe that most (if not all) states make it strictly illegal for a tractor-trailer to back up on a roadway AT ALL. Even a foot. Not without a police officer to keep everybody out of the juggernaut's path and to warn the driver if there's something in the way he didn't notice.
Backing in a straight line is just scary. You get out and look at what's behind you. Then you get back in and back--SLOWLY. And pray nothing ducked in there while you were climbing into the cab. But mostly you just make sure the trailer doesn't get too far out of line. It's not too bad, for short distances.
But the moment you start to back in a curve--even a gentle one--the whole world changes. All of a sudden the trailer is squarely between your mirror and whatever you're backing toward. And with a fifty-three foot trailer, even a gentle curve means the corner of the trailer disappears beyond your mirror's field of view.
You can't see what's behind you and you can't see where you're going. What fun.
Now let's consider a warehouse door. If you're extremely lucky there's half a football field worth of parking lot in front of you, and you can swing out until you're heading directly away from the door. It's kind of tricky, timing your turn to line up just right; but once you're there, you can just back straight in. Easy.
If you're extremely lucky. Don't count on it.
Most of the time, there'll be enough space to swing the truck around, and not a whole lot more. You're basically going to have to plant the rear wheels in front of the door (and in front of the trailers that are almost certainly parked on either side before you get there) and sort of swivel around them. The only question is how much extra room you'll have. Can you start from further out and get sorta lined up before you swivel? Hope so.
Oh, yes. And remember to set up so the door is on your left. That way you can open the window and lean out, and if you crane your neck you can see where the back of your trailer is. If the door is on your right--well, the window on that side is the end of a tunnel. And it's pointed at something that has nothing to do with where you're trying to go. If you try to look behind you, you'll get a fine view of the bunk bed in your sleeper section.*** Your mirrors are all you've got. And at some point your trailer will be so far out of every possible field of view you can't even GUESS what's behind it. Please, please, please, DON'T TRY TO BACK INTO A DOOR THAT'S ON YOUR BLIND SIDE!!!
Oops. Guess what I just did.
What can I say? Sometimes you don't have a choice. In this case, there wasn't a fraction of the room I'd have needed to line up straight in front of the door. And to swivel around in the normal way, I'd have had to back my truck (or maybe the front half of my trailer) right through those steel-and-concrete gateposts I mentioned earlier. So I did the stupid, desperate thing.
Back it around, SLOWLY, until the corner of the trailer is invisible even in my convex spot mirror. Stop. Get out and see where it really is. Make sure there isn't anything back there for it to hit. Climb back in the cab. Crank the wheel around the other way and pull forward a few feet--getting back in front of the trailer at the new angle. Now I can see the corner again--barely.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Eventually I've inched the trailer around to where I'm almost lined up in front of the door. I can actually see the dock itself now. And the trailer docked beside it--the one I'm trying not to hit. I may yet live.
This took something like twenty minutes. A Trucking Master I am not. But I did make the delivery.
The guy in the warehouse wondered why I took so long. The only other guy in the neighborhood was ticked off because I was blocking the alley. At least the railroad people didn't come wandering through while I was all over their tracks.
Oh, well. I know what I accomplished. I think I'll go to bed now, while the warm glow is still there.
G'night.
-----
*Full of wonder--as in "I stare in awe at this amazing thing." "Awful" used to mean kind of the same thing, in fact. Wish it still did--the double meaning would be entirely too appropriate...
**You can still overdo it, of course. And damaging your cab by trying to back through the trailer will not win you friends back at the terminal...
***Day cabs and yard tractors actually have rear windows. They're also shorter. Both these things help. But they don't solve all the problems.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
It's just THERE...
Sitting in a rest area near the Tennessee-Kentucky border. Just finished eating supper (Campbell's Condensed Bean with Bacon goes down fairly well cold, straight out of the can). When I finish this brief note I'll go to bed, I think.
It's odd, what you can get used to--the nuisances and the niceties both. Cold odds and ends for supper never bothered me, but I didn't expect to be quite so casual about it. And I never really thought I'd get jaded by autumn.
I expected the trees to be bare by now, for some reason. But the color isn't gone yet. I was surrounded by it today. Even under a gray sky it was lovely--pastels rather than flourescents. I was paying more attention to the road, though. The hills around me got passing glances.
I've been driving through valleys and along mountainsides for a couple of weeks now, surrounded by Color. The kind of (capital-C) Color that turns autumn into the major tourist season in the Appalachians. Bright yellows and reds in a hundred shades--sometimes almost glowing in bright sunlight, sometimes quiet and subdued in gray mists and fogs. Mountains rising out of clouds that I too was floating above--gray-mist pastel on the lower slopes, brilliant red-and-gold near the peak where the sun reached them. I would admire for a few seconds--then a curve would come up and I had to go back to work.
Eventually it occurred to me that while I was getting bored with all that beauty, my wife hadn't seen it at all. So last time I was home, I took her up into the north Georgia hills and we just wandered around. Like all the other tourists. She said it was the nicest present she'd had in a good while. I enjoyed it too.
Odd, how different something looks when you don't *have* to look at it.
It's odd, what you can get used to--the nuisances and the niceties both. Cold odds and ends for supper never bothered me, but I didn't expect to be quite so casual about it. And I never really thought I'd get jaded by autumn.
I expected the trees to be bare by now, for some reason. But the color isn't gone yet. I was surrounded by it today. Even under a gray sky it was lovely--pastels rather than flourescents. I was paying more attention to the road, though. The hills around me got passing glances.
I've been driving through valleys and along mountainsides for a couple of weeks now, surrounded by Color. The kind of (capital-C) Color that turns autumn into the major tourist season in the Appalachians. Bright yellows and reds in a hundred shades--sometimes almost glowing in bright sunlight, sometimes quiet and subdued in gray mists and fogs. Mountains rising out of clouds that I too was floating above--gray-mist pastel on the lower slopes, brilliant red-and-gold near the peak where the sun reached them. I would admire for a few seconds--then a curve would come up and I had to go back to work.
Eventually it occurred to me that while I was getting bored with all that beauty, my wife hadn't seen it at all. So last time I was home, I took her up into the north Georgia hills and we just wandered around. Like all the other tourists. She said it was the nicest present she'd had in a good while. I enjoyed it too.
Odd, how different something looks when you don't *have* to look at it.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The stuff in the back
One of my many* fans** suggested I comment on the products I haul. I'm not sure exactly what he meant, but I suspect he'll be disappointed by my answer regardless. Y'see, most of the time I never see what I'm carrying. Half the time I have no clue what it is.
Once upon a time, truck drivers loaded and unloaded their rigs most of the time. Some of them still do--car haulers and flatbed drivers, for instance, have to at least secure their loads. And local drivers frequently go "door-to-door" like a delivery truck, offloading part of their cargo at several locations.
Over-the-road drivers (in my company, at least) don't do much of that. We normally carry an entire trailer full of something from one single place to another single place. And as I mentioned in my discussion of "lumpers," loading those trailers has become a bit of an art--if you don't know how to run the forklift and distribute the weight properly, you have no business loading the trailer.
I've helped unload a few, but only a few. The usual run involves one of two things--at either end of the trip:
You can look on your bill of lading and figure out what you're carrying, of course. Most of the time.*** But often as not you don't bother. You have to know how heavy it is, and whether there's any hazardous material.**** Other than that, you mostly think about where it's going. And getting it there.
All that said, I have hauled a fair variety of cargo. I've carried motorcycles and computers, bales of scrap cardboard and bales of dead soda bottles, beer and vitamin water, and a lot of things in between. My trainer once hauled the first car of the new model year to a private showing for a luxury automaker (and boy, was he watched!). Another driver I talked to pulled a trailer full of government checks (with massive police escort). We move a lot of different stuff.
But I, for one, don't spend much time thinking about what I'm moving. Sorry 'bout that.
-----
*More than two is many, right?
**Anyone who pays enough attention to have a comment is a fan. Right?
***If you just picked up a trailer from some major chain's regional warehouse, and you're carrying it to one of their stores, there could be a lot of different items in there. And the bill might just give you a list of order numbers or product codes.
****Now THERE's a subject for when I want to write a book. A very boring book...
Once upon a time, truck drivers loaded and unloaded their rigs most of the time. Some of them still do--car haulers and flatbed drivers, for instance, have to at least secure their loads. And local drivers frequently go "door-to-door" like a delivery truck, offloading part of their cargo at several locations.
Over-the-road drivers (in my company, at least) don't do much of that. We normally carry an entire trailer full of something from one single place to another single place. And as I mentioned in my discussion of "lumpers," loading those trailers has become a bit of an art--if you don't know how to run the forklift and distribute the weight properly, you have no business loading the trailer.
I've helped unload a few, but only a few. The usual run involves one of two things--at either end of the trip:
- You back up to a dock and sit in your truck while they load you (or unload you). When the truck stops rocking and bouncing, you go in, find the shipping/receiving office, and get your bills of lading (or get them to sign for what you've delivered). Often as not, you never see the inside of the warehouse.
- You find a place on the yard and drop the trailer (empty or loaded) you brought in. Then you find the trailer you're supposed to hook up to (pre-loaded with your assigned cargo or empty (so you have something to load at your next stop)). Once you've got your new trailer, you go in as above. Unless the other end of the trip is "option 1" (above), you never see the inside of your trailer.
You can look on your bill of lading and figure out what you're carrying, of course. Most of the time.*** But often as not you don't bother. You have to know how heavy it is, and whether there's any hazardous material.**** Other than that, you mostly think about where it's going. And getting it there.
All that said, I have hauled a fair variety of cargo. I've carried motorcycles and computers, bales of scrap cardboard and bales of dead soda bottles, beer and vitamin water, and a lot of things in between. My trainer once hauled the first car of the new model year to a private showing for a luxury automaker (and boy, was he watched!). Another driver I talked to pulled a trailer full of government checks (with massive police escort). We move a lot of different stuff.
But I, for one, don't spend much time thinking about what I'm moving. Sorry 'bout that.
-----
*More than two is many, right?
**Anyone who pays enough attention to have a comment is a fan. Right?
***If you just picked up a trailer from some major chain's regional warehouse, and you're carrying it to one of their stores, there could be a lot of different items in there. And the bill might just give you a list of order numbers or product codes.
****Now THERE's a subject for when I want to write a book. A very boring book...
Friday, October 24, 2008
Adventures in scheduling
I'm sitting in my cab looking into the autumn woods. Found another place where I dare park nose-first, facing away from the crowd. It isn't as purely scenic as the one I mentioned elsewhere, but it's still a nice change.
The colors are a bit subdued where I am. Whether it's the colors themselves or the gray-sky-filtered light I'm seeing them by, the effect is a bit like a pastel drawing. Even the remaining greens are quiet.
Probably a good thing. It's relaxing to look at. And I could use a little relaxing.
The last two days haven't been all that relaxing. Not terribly profitable, either. Portioning out the blame for it could be complicated, and it would come firmly under the "spilled milk" heading, so I won't bore you with finger-pointing. Especially since one finger would be pointed back at me. But it might amuse you to see how much fun you can have with the hours-of-service thing I told you about some time back.*
Yesterday I told my dispatcher I would pick up a load in a certain place** at 1:00pm (Central time) and carry it to another place** about 550 miles away. At the time neither of us knew when the customer wanted it there.
Shortly thereafter I found a mechanical problem that might be extremely inconvenient down the road, if not positively unsafe. My company had a terminal nearby, so I let our mechanics look at the problem. It took longer than I thought to get everything straightened out, and I was late getting to the shipper. That might not have been too bad, but while the mechanical problem was being taken care of I finally found out when the load was due at the consignee: 7:00 am (Eastern time) the next day.
That sounds tough but not impossible, right? And it might well be, except for the rules we truckers must live by. If you haven't looked at the entry I referred to earlier, you might want to look at it now. The rest of this will make a bit more sense then.
***
Back already? Okay, I'll try to make this quick.
Consider a 7:00 am delivery 550 miles away. If you don't want to embarrass yourself too much, you aren't going to be casually optimistic about your average speed on a run that long. This one was mostly on Interstates, so you'd probably assume about 50mph.*** So it's going to take you somewhere around eleven hours.
That's all the driving you can legally do in a day. And you did have to get here to pick the load up, right? If you're like me, you had to finish up the previous one, too. So you don't have eleven hours left.
So you'll have to take a rest break. Ten hours worth--that's the rule. Which means you need to plan on twenty-one hours for the trip. And twenty-one hours before 7:00 am is 10:00 o'clock--9:00 am Central--the previous morning. Which is four hours BEFORE you were supposed to pick the shipment up--never mind how long it'll take them to load the stuff in your trailer.
Now, let me add one more bit of background. I accepted this assignment at about 9:00am Central. I was about 80 or 90 miles from the shipper at the time.
Do you see a problem here? I, unfortunately, didn't.
And it gets cuter. Let's pretend you prefer to drive at night. You got loaded first thing when you got up. And you're sure you can average better than 50 mph. So you're going to just drive straight through--nine to eleven hours of hard driving and you're there. Not a problem now, right?
Wrong. Remember the rule that says "fourteen hours after you start your day you can't drive any more?" Well, fourteen hours before 7:00 am is 9:00 pm the night before. This time the time zone change helps you--it's only 8:00 pm where you're picking up the load.
Which means you're only SEVEN hours late. The people in the warehouse only went home three hours before you got there.
***
So by the time I was assigned the load, NOBODY could get it there on time. Not legally, anyway.
Now, if somebody had noticed the zinger in time, we might could have salvaged the situation. Maybe arranged for a repower.**** (They tried, but it's not always easy to do on short notice.) Or at least given the customer plenty of warning. As it was, there was embarrassment and annoyance all around.
My dispatcher or my load planner should have caught this. Neither did. But then, my dispatcher has at least thirty other trucks to worry about--and that's on a SLOW day. And the load planner is working with a BUNCH of dispatchers. Who has time?
And it's my responsibility to do my job safely and legally--which means refusing jobs I CAN'T do safely and legally. So I end up being the backstop in this process. This time I didn't catch the problem either. And a good stressful time was had all around.
So here I am, sitting in my cab, looking into the woods and forgetting all my troubles for a while. Or I would be if I weren't busy writing about them.
Maybe I should stop writing now.
Ahhhhhhhh. Pretty...
-----
*See the entry for 08/07/2008: "TYTFG* #3: Nine to Five (or the equivalent thereof)"
**I'm not supposed to talk about where I am or what I'm doing. You'd be surprised at how many people make a living stealing stuff from trucks, and how many companies try to find clever new phrases to replace "Loose lips sink ships."
***Yeah, the speed limit's higher most places--but your truck has a governor on it, and several states still insist big trucks mustn't do over 55. And you ARE going to take restroom breaks, right? Please?
And we won't discuss how long it would take you on NON-interstates...
****Trading loads with another driver partway there--as described elsewhere. Where on a blog can you put a glossary?
The colors are a bit subdued where I am. Whether it's the colors themselves or the gray-sky-filtered light I'm seeing them by, the effect is a bit like a pastel drawing. Even the remaining greens are quiet.
Probably a good thing. It's relaxing to look at. And I could use a little relaxing.
The last two days haven't been all that relaxing. Not terribly profitable, either. Portioning out the blame for it could be complicated, and it would come firmly under the "spilled milk" heading, so I won't bore you with finger-pointing. Especially since one finger would be pointed back at me. But it might amuse you to see how much fun you can have with the hours-of-service thing I told you about some time back.*
Yesterday I told my dispatcher I would pick up a load in a certain place** at 1:00pm (Central time) and carry it to another place** about 550 miles away. At the time neither of us knew when the customer wanted it there.
Shortly thereafter I found a mechanical problem that might be extremely inconvenient down the road, if not positively unsafe. My company had a terminal nearby, so I let our mechanics look at the problem. It took longer than I thought to get everything straightened out, and I was late getting to the shipper. That might not have been too bad, but while the mechanical problem was being taken care of I finally found out when the load was due at the consignee: 7:00 am (Eastern time) the next day.
That sounds tough but not impossible, right? And it might well be, except for the rules we truckers must live by. If you haven't looked at the entry I referred to earlier, you might want to look at it now. The rest of this will make a bit more sense then.
***
Back already? Okay, I'll try to make this quick.
Consider a 7:00 am delivery 550 miles away. If you don't want to embarrass yourself too much, you aren't going to be casually optimistic about your average speed on a run that long. This one was mostly on Interstates, so you'd probably assume about 50mph.*** So it's going to take you somewhere around eleven hours.
That's all the driving you can legally do in a day. And you did have to get here to pick the load up, right? If you're like me, you had to finish up the previous one, too. So you don't have eleven hours left.
So you'll have to take a rest break. Ten hours worth--that's the rule. Which means you need to plan on twenty-one hours for the trip. And twenty-one hours before 7:00 am is 10:00 o'clock--9:00 am Central--the previous morning. Which is four hours BEFORE you were supposed to pick the shipment up--never mind how long it'll take them to load the stuff in your trailer.
Now, let me add one more bit of background. I accepted this assignment at about 9:00am Central. I was about 80 or 90 miles from the shipper at the time.
Do you see a problem here? I, unfortunately, didn't.
And it gets cuter. Let's pretend you prefer to drive at night. You got loaded first thing when you got up. And you're sure you can average better than 50 mph. So you're going to just drive straight through--nine to eleven hours of hard driving and you're there. Not a problem now, right?
Wrong. Remember the rule that says "fourteen hours after you start your day you can't drive any more?" Well, fourteen hours before 7:00 am is 9:00 pm the night before. This time the time zone change helps you--it's only 8:00 pm where you're picking up the load.
Which means you're only SEVEN hours late. The people in the warehouse only went home three hours before you got there.
***
So by the time I was assigned the load, NOBODY could get it there on time. Not legally, anyway.
Now, if somebody had noticed the zinger in time, we might could have salvaged the situation. Maybe arranged for a repower.**** (They tried, but it's not always easy to do on short notice.) Or at least given the customer plenty of warning. As it was, there was embarrassment and annoyance all around.
My dispatcher or my load planner should have caught this. Neither did. But then, my dispatcher has at least thirty other trucks to worry about--and that's on a SLOW day. And the load planner is working with a BUNCH of dispatchers. Who has time?
And it's my responsibility to do my job safely and legally--which means refusing jobs I CAN'T do safely and legally. So I end up being the backstop in this process. This time I didn't catch the problem either. And a good stressful time was had all around.
So here I am, sitting in my cab, looking into the woods and forgetting all my troubles for a while. Or I would be if I weren't busy writing about them.
Maybe I should stop writing now.
Ahhhhhhhh. Pretty...
-----
*See the entry for 08/07/2008: "TYTFG* #3: Nine to Five (or the equivalent thereof)"
**I'm not supposed to talk about where I am or what I'm doing. You'd be surprised at how many people make a living stealing stuff from trucks, and how many companies try to find clever new phrases to replace "Loose lips sink ships."
***Yeah, the speed limit's higher most places--but your truck has a governor on it, and several states still insist big trucks mustn't do over 55. And you ARE going to take restroom breaks, right? Please?
And we won't discuss how long it would take you on NON-interstates...
****Trading loads with another driver partway there--as described elsewhere. Where on a blog can you put a glossary?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Vocabulary lesson #3
A laptop has many uses. Tonight, once I get through here, it will become an extremely expensive alarm clock.
I forgot the cheap ones, y'see. And I still haven't replaced the cell. So my laptop is all I have. I picked up a freeware timer at one point, and it has an alarm clock function. So I'll run it all night, and hope it doesn't run down the truck batteries.
I don't know if it will, y'see. I have never been in this truck before.
Your word for today:
Slip-seating
When a driver is not assigned to a single truck. He slips into the seat, drives the truck for the length of his current assignment, then slips out of the seat and another driver slips in. Guess where the name comes from.
Slip-seating is not popular among drivers, from what I have heard these past few months. Companies love it, of course--to them it means the truck is in more or less constant use, making the most of the money they spent on it. To the driver, it means he doesn't know what to expect when he comes to work.
What truck does he get?
Does it run?
Is it clean?
What quirks does it have? (I've been in a truck where the Jake brake (see previous entry on that subject) only works while you're stepping on the brake pedal. Since the whole idea of a Jake brake is to let you use the regular brakes less...)
I drove a taxi for a while. More accurately, I drove for a taxi company--I didn't have a cab of my own. All of the above applied. It was not pleasant.
But for a truck driver it can be worse. The truck cab is your workplace. Even a day-cab driver has a tendency to personalize it. Imagine if you came in to work every morning with all your office supplies, and then hunted around the building to see which cubicle you were sitting in today. And whether the phone works. And whether the chair has a working backrest.
For an over-the-road driver, out for a week or more at a time in a sleeper cab, it's worse still. The truck is your second home. If you go by the time you spend there, you might call it your first home. Imagine if your job required you to live in a hotel room, and to move to another room every week.
And see whether the phone works. And whether the chair has a working backrest.
I spent several months driving my "own" truck. It was pleasant, in its own way. But I was out for three and four weeks at a time, and my wife needed me home more often than that. So I found a way to get home for three days out of every ten. To do that, I have to slip-seat.
It's not as bad as it sounds above. I don't get a different truck every time I go in, for instance. I'm one of three drivers who rotate through two trucks. Kind of a time-share thing.
So I only have two trucks to get used to. And I don't have to worry about the previous driver being a chain-smoker. But I still have to bring all my stuff to the terminal at the beginning of each week of driving, and haul it all home at the end.
And a week ago I came to work, got in "my" truck, and found out it wasn't my truck any more. While I was at home the teams had been reshuffled. So I have two new trucks to get used to.
This ones seems to have a good set of batteries. The laptop will probably last long enough to wake me up in the morning. Probably.
G'night.
I forgot the cheap ones, y'see. And I still haven't replaced the cell. So my laptop is all I have. I picked up a freeware timer at one point, and it has an alarm clock function. So I'll run it all night, and hope it doesn't run down the truck batteries.
I don't know if it will, y'see. I have never been in this truck before.
Your word for today:
Slip-seating
When a driver is not assigned to a single truck. He slips into the seat, drives the truck for the length of his current assignment, then slips out of the seat and another driver slips in. Guess where the name comes from.
Slip-seating is not popular among drivers, from what I have heard these past few months. Companies love it, of course--to them it means the truck is in more or less constant use, making the most of the money they spent on it. To the driver, it means he doesn't know what to expect when he comes to work.
What truck does he get?
Does it run?
Is it clean?
What quirks does it have? (I've been in a truck where the Jake brake (see previous entry on that subject) only works while you're stepping on the brake pedal. Since the whole idea of a Jake brake is to let you use the regular brakes less...)
I drove a taxi for a while. More accurately, I drove for a taxi company--I didn't have a cab of my own. All of the above applied. It was not pleasant.
But for a truck driver it can be worse. The truck cab is your workplace. Even a day-cab driver has a tendency to personalize it. Imagine if you came in to work every morning with all your office supplies, and then hunted around the building to see which cubicle you were sitting in today. And whether the phone works. And whether the chair has a working backrest.
For an over-the-road driver, out for a week or more at a time in a sleeper cab, it's worse still. The truck is your second home. If you go by the time you spend there, you might call it your first home. Imagine if your job required you to live in a hotel room, and to move to another room every week.
And see whether the phone works. And whether the chair has a working backrest.
I spent several months driving my "own" truck. It was pleasant, in its own way. But I was out for three and four weeks at a time, and my wife needed me home more often than that. So I found a way to get home for three days out of every ten. To do that, I have to slip-seat.
It's not as bad as it sounds above. I don't get a different truck every time I go in, for instance. I'm one of three drivers who rotate through two trucks. Kind of a time-share thing.
So I only have two trucks to get used to. And I don't have to worry about the previous driver being a chain-smoker. But I still have to bring all my stuff to the terminal at the beginning of each week of driving, and haul it all home at the end.
And a week ago I came to work, got in "my" truck, and found out it wasn't my truck any more. While I was at home the teams had been reshuffled. So I have two new trucks to get used to.
This ones seems to have a good set of batteries. The laptop will probably last long enough to wake me up in the morning. Probably.
G'night.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Don't stop.
Sorry for the gap. It's been an interesting few weeks. Very much in the Chinese sense. Bits and pieces may have been entertaining or edifying. If so, they'll show up here eventually. But for now I'll let the sharp edges fade.
And in the meantime, where are we now? Ah, yes. I-285 around Atlanta. Just after rush hour. Average speed, 15-20 mph. Much stopping and going. Many people in various states of irritation.
Myself: No worries.
Quite a while ago I ran across an article on the Net called "The Fluid Dynamics of Traffic Flow."* The basic idea was that stop-and-go traffic has a lot in common with "hammering" in water pipes. Exactly how is more explanation than I really want to go into. Maybe you ought to read the original here**.
It was his suggestion about being part of the solution that got my attention. This part of the explanation I will paraphrase. I hope I get it right...
When you stop a car on a highway, the car behind you has to stop, too. And, more than likely, he'll stop right behind you. So he can't move until you do. And he can't really move until more than a half-second after you do--it'll take at least that much time for him to realize you're moving, and then move his foot off the brake and to the gas pedal. Add in the fact that it takes more power and more time to get moving from a dead stop than it does to accelerate while you're still moving, and you've got a noticeable delay between you starting back up and him starting back up.
Now let's talk about the lady who stopped right behind him.
And the tractor trailer that stopped right behind her.
The truck is a real problem, in fact. When IT stops, it WILL take a while to get going again. For the Trivial-Pursuit-minded among you, a big rig goes through at least five gears to get up to about 20 mph. Even with one of the new automatic transmissions, that's a long, slow process. And the car behind THAT thing? I guarantee you--the first hint HE has that things are moving again is when the truck's brake lights go out.
So what can you do?
Don't stop.
I try to make a game of it. We truckers (real and quasi-) are taught to look way down the road anyhow.*** So I sort of exaggerate that in heavy slow traffic. Slow down a good while before I get to a clog. Try to keep slowing gently, keeping plenty of space in front of me. If the clog stops completely, I slow down some more, but I don't stop if I can help it. And I watch the brake lights as far ahead as I can manage.
**
There. The eighth car in line ahead of me. Did he just let off his brakes?
Yes, he's moving, sort of. How long before the pickup behind him eases off his?
Good. Will the last car in line be moving by the time I get up there?
Darn. Okay, let's slow down a little more.
Still nope. Well, I've got room. Touch of brake. Down to ten. That enough? Yes! Another few seconds and--
Whoops. Looks like Christmas is coming again. Oh, well. Keep slowing. Even a mile an hour is better than a dead stop. (It really is.)
Ah, there we go. Creeping along, but moving. And I've still got fifty feet. Make that thirty--somebody just pulled into the gap I left. Well, believe it or not, that evens out in the end. Strange but true. See? That guy four cars up that just pulled into the left lane? Told ya.
**
Think if it as a hand of solitaire. It doesn't get me where I'm going any faster, but it does several other things, most of them useful.
It helps smooth out the traffic behind me. As long as I'm moving, the car on my tail may well be moving too. The people behind him aren't stopping-and-going either. If I'm lucky, I'm being a public benefactor.
It cuts down on the tailgating a tiny bit. People aren't quite as likely to stop right there, touching my bumper, if I'm still moving and could stand on my brakes any minute. This makes things a LITTLE safer.
It keeps me from going insane, sitting here on a six-lane highway moving at walking speed. I have something to do. Think of it as my version of those road-sign games people try to get their kids to play on long trips.
Who knows? It might cut down on the madness behind me. Going slow is frustrating, but not as frustrating as sitting still, and then moving ten feet, and then sitting still again. Not to me, anyway, so maybe not to the people back there. I can hope, anyway.
Ah. Speed is rising. We're moving at forty-plus. Much better.
(The preceding blog entry was a flashback. I was not really typing and driving in heavy traffic at the same time. Some things are best left to IMAGINARY professionals...)
----
*Some of you may have heard this before--those who know me from Myriad, anyway. Well, tough. I'm gonna pretend other people read this, too.
**It appears the original article has expanded noticeably. My post may duplicate a lot of what's on the site. Well, a little redundant repetition can be usefully beneficial...
***Oh, that's right. I haven't done the mandatory lecture about safe spacing, have I? Well, not today. And if I get around to it, I'll try to avoid TRUE dullness...
And in the meantime, where are we now? Ah, yes. I-285 around Atlanta. Just after rush hour. Average speed, 15-20 mph. Much stopping and going. Many people in various states of irritation.
Myself: No worries.
Quite a while ago I ran across an article on the Net called "The Fluid Dynamics of Traffic Flow."* The basic idea was that stop-and-go traffic has a lot in common with "hammering" in water pipes. Exactly how is more explanation than I really want to go into. Maybe you ought to read the original here**.
It was his suggestion about being part of the solution that got my attention. This part of the explanation I will paraphrase. I hope I get it right...
When you stop a car on a highway, the car behind you has to stop, too. And, more than likely, he'll stop right behind you. So he can't move until you do. And he can't really move until more than a half-second after you do--it'll take at least that much time for him to realize you're moving, and then move his foot off the brake and to the gas pedal. Add in the fact that it takes more power and more time to get moving from a dead stop than it does to accelerate while you're still moving, and you've got a noticeable delay between you starting back up and him starting back up.
Now let's talk about the lady who stopped right behind him.
And the tractor trailer that stopped right behind her.
The truck is a real problem, in fact. When IT stops, it WILL take a while to get going again. For the Trivial-Pursuit-minded among you, a big rig goes through at least five gears to get up to about 20 mph. Even with one of the new automatic transmissions, that's a long, slow process. And the car behind THAT thing? I guarantee you--the first hint HE has that things are moving again is when the truck's brake lights go out.
So what can you do?
Don't stop.
I try to make a game of it. We truckers (real and quasi-) are taught to look way down the road anyhow.*** So I sort of exaggerate that in heavy slow traffic. Slow down a good while before I get to a clog. Try to keep slowing gently, keeping plenty of space in front of me. If the clog stops completely, I slow down some more, but I don't stop if I can help it. And I watch the brake lights as far ahead as I can manage.
**
There. The eighth car in line ahead of me. Did he just let off his brakes?
Yes, he's moving, sort of. How long before the pickup behind him eases off his?
Good. Will the last car in line be moving by the time I get up there?
Darn. Okay, let's slow down a little more.
Still nope. Well, I've got room. Touch of brake. Down to ten. That enough? Yes! Another few seconds and--
Whoops. Looks like Christmas is coming again. Oh, well. Keep slowing. Even a mile an hour is better than a dead stop. (It really is.)
Ah, there we go. Creeping along, but moving. And I've still got fifty feet. Make that thirty--somebody just pulled into the gap I left. Well, believe it or not, that evens out in the end. Strange but true. See? That guy four cars up that just pulled into the left lane? Told ya.
**
Think if it as a hand of solitaire. It doesn't get me where I'm going any faster, but it does several other things, most of them useful.
It helps smooth out the traffic behind me. As long as I'm moving, the car on my tail may well be moving too. The people behind him aren't stopping-and-going either. If I'm lucky, I'm being a public benefactor.
It cuts down on the tailgating a tiny bit. People aren't quite as likely to stop right there, touching my bumper, if I'm still moving and could stand on my brakes any minute. This makes things a LITTLE safer.
It keeps me from going insane, sitting here on a six-lane highway moving at walking speed. I have something to do. Think of it as my version of those road-sign games people try to get their kids to play on long trips.
Who knows? It might cut down on the madness behind me. Going slow is frustrating, but not as frustrating as sitting still, and then moving ten feet, and then sitting still again. Not to me, anyway, so maybe not to the people back there. I can hope, anyway.
Ah. Speed is rising. We're moving at forty-plus. Much better.
(The preceding blog entry was a flashback. I was not really typing and driving in heavy traffic at the same time. Some things are best left to IMAGINARY professionals...)
----
*Some of you may have heard this before--those who know me from Myriad, anyway. Well, tough. I'm gonna pretend other people read this, too.
**It appears the original article has expanded noticeably. My post may duplicate a lot of what's on the site. Well, a little redundant repetition can be usefully beneficial...
***Oh, that's right. I haven't done the mandatory lecture about safe spacing, have I? Well, not today. And if I get around to it, I'll try to avoid TRUE dullness...
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Update on "rumbly sonic thingies"
Back on the 2nd, I quoted an old journal entry about some "earnest bug-looking trucks" doing mineral surveys with "rumbly sonic thingies." Extremely scientific of me. The correct term, I have learned, is "vibroseis." And the trucks look sort of like this:
Saturday, September 6, 2008
More odds and ends
Talked to my wife tonight--after three days of trying.
Once upon a time, those bargain phone cards could be a bargain. Tonight I just shoveled change in the phone long enough to make sure she was all right, and it was noticeably cheaper.
But we discussed that a couple of days ago.
On that subject--remember the banks of phone booths I mentioned as a staple of truck stops a few years ago? This (nice, well-equipped) truck stop has a room full of phone booths like that. No phones, though. They use it to store cleaning supplies. I finally found a pay phone in the lobby of the restaurant.
But we covered that, too.
#####
On the "getting around" front, the scooter came in a little handy today. A couple of things about nice, big new warehouses:
The result? Well, in this case, the only bathroom I was allowed to use was on the other side of the building. With the front very carefully fenced in, "going" meant going around three sides of the warehouse.
Did I mention the warehouse was BIG?
The scooter only speeds me up to a trot, but even that was quite welcome. I may keep the thing with me.
#####
It's been a while since I did a long drive through a Midwestern state (Illinois, in this case). I remembered the lack of hills from drives toward Colorado in my childhood, but it's not something that really registers when you're just remembering it. I'm not used to that kind of flat. At least it didn't surprise me.
I also remembered the oases of trees in the middle of the great flat fields, where the owners had sheltered their houses from the winds. What I didn't remember were the little lakes every mile or three, each with its little dock, its motorless pontoon boat, and its cluster of RV's, trailers, or tents. I suppose they're for reservoirs for the irrigation systems--they looked more like big ponds than little lakes. And it's Saturday--if you've got the water anyway, why not camp next to it on the weekends?
But for someone who grew up in more irregular and wooded country it seemed odd--an endless stretch of cornfield, an interstate less than a hundred feet away--and there you are, camping in the wilderness. Oh well, I've set up a tent in my back yard before...
#####
And speaking of camping out, the fiberglass tent is cool enough to sleep in now. G'night.
Once upon a time, those bargain phone cards could be a bargain. Tonight I just shoveled change in the phone long enough to make sure she was all right, and it was noticeably cheaper.
But we discussed that a couple of days ago.
On that subject--remember the banks of phone booths I mentioned as a staple of truck stops a few years ago? This (nice, well-equipped) truck stop has a room full of phone booths like that. No phones, though. They use it to store cleaning supplies. I finally found a pay phone in the lobby of the restaurant.
But we covered that, too.
#####
On the "getting around" front, the scooter came in a little handy today. A couple of things about nice, big new warehouses:
- Modern warehouses are BIG.
- Many companies have become security-conscious to the point of paranoia--especially at the (BIG) new warehouses.
The result? Well, in this case, the only bathroom I was allowed to use was on the other side of the building. With the front very carefully fenced in, "going" meant going around three sides of the warehouse.
Did I mention the warehouse was BIG?
The scooter only speeds me up to a trot, but even that was quite welcome. I may keep the thing with me.
#####
It's been a while since I did a long drive through a Midwestern state (Illinois, in this case). I remembered the lack of hills from drives toward Colorado in my childhood, but it's not something that really registers when you're just remembering it. I'm not used to that kind of flat. At least it didn't surprise me.
I also remembered the oases of trees in the middle of the great flat fields, where the owners had sheltered their houses from the winds. What I didn't remember were the little lakes every mile or three, each with its little dock, its motorless pontoon boat, and its cluster of RV's, trailers, or tents. I suppose they're for reservoirs for the irrigation systems--they looked more like big ponds than little lakes. And it's Saturday--if you've got the water anyway, why not camp next to it on the weekends?
But for someone who grew up in more irregular and wooded country it seemed odd--an endless stretch of cornfield, an interstate less than a hundred feet away--and there you are, camping in the wilderness. Oh well, I've set up a tent in my back yard before...
#####
And speaking of camping out, the fiberglass tent is cool enough to sleep in now. G'night.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Small ironies in the modern world, continued
(The following post has been floating in my "drafts" folder for two years now. I just now found it, and publish it now for your amusement.
(Disorganized? Me? Nahhhh...)
I just finished talking to my wife. It wasn't voluntary.
(The finish, I mean. Honest.)
Remember last night, when I mentioned the rest stop I was overnighting at had wi-fi but no pay phones? This truck stop has phones. But they don't take especially good care of them anymore. After all, when one quits, who notices?
My company's terminal in Georgia has a special semi-soundproofed room with lots of phone desks, so drivers can make all the various phone calls the trucking life calls for. Most larger truck stops have something similar--a series of soundproofed booths, or a restaurant with phone jacks at every table, or something of the sort. The smaller ones still have more space for pay phones than the average service station/convenience store.
You will note I said "phone desks." "Soundproofed booths." "A restaurant with phone jacks." "More space for pay phones." That was quite deliberate.
The phone room at my company's terminal has about three working phones. In a room with about twenty-five desks. The rest either have been removed, or have stopped working and were just left there. Every time I stop at that terminal, I have to search the room to figure out which one(s) I can use.
The truck stops aren't quite as bad, since paying customers do ask about the phones from time to time. But working phones are becoming rarer. Many have been quietly removed. And the ones still in place are occasionally kind of flaky.
Like the one I was using to talk to my wife. I didn't know until after I'd called that the cord had an intermittently faulty connection. Right after we'd covered the important information, and I'd said I had time to talk and started telling her about my day, I suddenly heard a dial tone. She will not be happy.
And I can't afford to call back and explain. Literally. Remember all those el cheapo long distance cards you used to get at convenience stores? Well, maybe you still can. The ones I find at truck stops are a bit more limited. Only a penny a minute!, they say. They don't immediately mention the connect fee. And they are careful to wait 'til way down in the fine print to mention the (much bigger) surcharge for using the card from a pay phone.
How often do you use one of those things anywhere else? Never mind.
The upshot is that a five dollar phone card is good for maybe three calls, of whatever length. Unless you're calling someone far away and intend to say everything you need to say for a week in one marathon session, communication gets expensive.
Maybe I can apologize tomorrow night.
I've got to get that cell replaced.
(Disorganized? Me? Nahhhh...)
I just finished talking to my wife. It wasn't voluntary.
(The finish, I mean. Honest.)
Remember last night, when I mentioned the rest stop I was overnighting at had wi-fi but no pay phones? This truck stop has phones. But they don't take especially good care of them anymore. After all, when one quits, who notices?
My company's terminal in Georgia has a special semi-soundproofed room with lots of phone desks, so drivers can make all the various phone calls the trucking life calls for. Most larger truck stops have something similar--a series of soundproofed booths, or a restaurant with phone jacks at every table, or something of the sort. The smaller ones still have more space for pay phones than the average service station/convenience store.
You will note I said "phone desks." "Soundproofed booths." "A restaurant with phone jacks." "More space for pay phones." That was quite deliberate.
The phone room at my company's terminal has about three working phones. In a room with about twenty-five desks. The rest either have been removed, or have stopped working and were just left there. Every time I stop at that terminal, I have to search the room to figure out which one(s) I can use.
The truck stops aren't quite as bad, since paying customers do ask about the phones from time to time. But working phones are becoming rarer. Many have been quietly removed. And the ones still in place are occasionally kind of flaky.
Like the one I was using to talk to my wife. I didn't know until after I'd called that the cord had an intermittently faulty connection. Right after we'd covered the important information, and I'd said I had time to talk and started telling her about my day, I suddenly heard a dial tone. She will not be happy.
And I can't afford to call back and explain. Literally. Remember all those el cheapo long distance cards you used to get at convenience stores? Well, maybe you still can. The ones I find at truck stops are a bit more limited. Only a penny a minute!, they say. They don't immediately mention the connect fee. And they are careful to wait 'til way down in the fine print to mention the (much bigger) surcharge for using the card from a pay phone.
How often do you use one of those things anywhere else? Never mind.
The upshot is that a five dollar phone card is good for maybe three calls, of whatever length. Unless you're calling someone far away and intend to say everything you need to say for a week in one marathon session, communication gets expensive.
Maybe I can apologize tomorrow night.
I've got to get that cell replaced.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Small ironies in the modern world
I lost my cell a few days ago, and haven't been in a position to replace it yet. So I drove all day and stopped at this rest stop for the night.
Texas rest stops have wi-fi. But this one, at least, doesn't have pay phones. I was able to post my adventures to the whole world. But I couldn't talk to my wife.
Progress progresses.
Texas rest stops have wi-fi. But this one, at least, doesn't have pay phones. I was able to post my adventures to the whole world. But I couldn't talk to my wife.
Progress progresses.
Gustav, past tense
Sitting at a picnic table at a Texas rest stop, watching the traffic go by. Interstate in front of me, local access road behind me (not much traffic there), and beyond the access road is
Do I pick the classy places or what?
It's just barely possible this entry will actually get posted the day it was written. Texas is one of the states that have decided travellers would appreciate free wi-fi at its rest stops. In my case they're certainly right.
Of course it went down as soon as I tried to use it but I'm hoping it'll come up again soon. The caretaker was in the storage room when it quit, and he let me look at the router. No power. Its power strip was hooked into a lamp timer. If I was interpreting the thing right it cuts the router off for a few minutes once a day, probably for a reset. We'll see.
(It's working! It's working!)
I've covered about 500 miles today, between Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Orange, Texas. Baton Rouge and New Orleans were just south of me somewhere in the middle. Strange how little you see of a disaster from any noticeable distance. Other than a few broken trees and some really messed-up billboards (one had fallen on somebody's mobile home--a crane was carefully removing it), the only real signs of Gustav I had were:
I think I'll leave it there. I just can't think of a clever remark to go with that...
Jb's D- PLACE
FULLBLOOD
SIMMENTAL CATTLE
---
QUALITY FAMILY FISHING
MEMBERSHIPS
OPEN
FULLBLOOD
SIMMENTAL CATTLE
---
QUALITY FAMILY FISHING
MEMBERSHIPS
OPEN
Do I pick the classy places or what?
It's just barely possible this entry will actually get posted the day it was written. Texas is one of the states that have decided travellers would appreciate free wi-fi at its rest stops. In my case they're certainly right.
Of course it went down as soon as I tried to use it but I'm hoping it'll come up again soon. The caretaker was in the storage room when it quit, and he let me look at the router. No power. Its power strip was hooked into a lamp timer. If I was interpreting the thing right it cuts the router off for a few minutes once a day, probably for a reset. We'll see.
(It's working! It's working!)
I've covered about 500 miles today, between Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Orange, Texas. Baton Rouge and New Orleans were just south of me somewhere in the middle. Strange how little you see of a disaster from any noticeable distance. Other than a few broken trees and some really messed-up billboards (one had fallen on somebody's mobile home--a crane was carefully removing it), the only real signs of Gustav I had were:
- Traffic was much heavier going toward that part of Louisiana than away from it. The evacuees started returning early this time, it appears.
- I saw quite a few trucks--from pickups to flatbed tractor-trailers--carrying portable generators of every size known to man.
- During those five hundred miles I counted twenty-six convoys headed into the area--from various tree-surgeon companies. Something like 100-150 cherry-picker trucks with their support crews. And that's just the ones I saw.
I think I'll leave it there. I just can't think of a clever remark to go with that...
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Odds and ends
Sitting in a Subway(tm) waiting for the truck to cool down. I just fueled, so I've got a shower waiting for me if I want it.
(I want it, of course. But is it worth it, when I'll probably spend part of the night sweating into my sleeping bag? I might wait 'til morning and see if I'm awake enough to find the soap...)
Not especially disposed to lecturing tonight for some reason. I'm sure there are those who will want to know what's special about tonight and bottling it, but that's another story. Meanwhile I need to say something here, don't I?
How 'bout a few of the "uncategorized" little notes I've made while trundling around out here? For example:
#####
The lady who rode carefully by me this morning on one of those new "superscooters." With training wheels.
I kid you not. At first I thought she had one of those Harleys or Gold Wings you see now that have been converted to trikes, but it wasn't. It was a superscooter. And it had its standard rear end, complete with rear wheel. And two more rear wheels. One to each side, with suspension.
I had vaguely heard of such things, but had never seen one before. I gather they, like the trikes, are aimed at people who want the sensation of riding a motorbike but don't trust their sense of balance. Judging by this lady's demeanor, she wasn't really enjoying the experience as such, though. I suspect she was more interested in a SMALL car. The fuel crisis marches on...
#####
Some time back (I WISH I'd made a note of where) I wandered into a rest stop and discovered something I could have sworn was impossible. A hot-air hand dryer that works.
It took me a moment to figure out how to use it. It had a depression in the top, as if it thought it was a water fountain. You put your hands into the depression, and a narrow, high-speed stream of air roared DOWNWARD onto your hands. It was warm, yes, but it worked mostly by blasting the water off your skin into the bottom of the depression.
I think it was developed by the same guy that did the Dyson vacuum cleaner. It would have to be someone that off-the-wall, I guess. It worked, anyway. The first time I went into an ecologically aware restroom and didn't leave wiping my hands on my pants legs.
#####
Seen on a billboard advertising a casino near Memphis:
A 50's pinup-type photo. Actually fairly modest, as such things went even in the 50's. But the caption:
"Ample Space to Park Your Big Rig"
Ewwwwwww...
#####
From a journal entry I made to myself in February:
While picking up a load in Texas, I saw a couple of pilot trucks leading a "Work Convoy" down the road--then up the drive and into the parking lot where I was waiting at a dock. The "Work Convoy" was three odd-looking vehicles--four-wheel drive on what looked like tractor tires, with a great big diesel engine in the back and a big platter-looking thing underneath. They would trundle earnestly along for a hundred or two feet, and then stop, lower their "platters," rev up the diesels, and make the ground hum beneath them. After a few minutes of this, they would pick up the "platters" and trundle earnestly along again.
I finally couldn't stand it any longer, so I asked one of the drivers what he was doing. "Looking for minerals," he said. "Especially gas and oil."
As best I can tell, these things have replaced the old "dynamite and seismograph" method of underground mapping--for some purposes at least. The "platters" are apparently subsonic transducers, and need the kind of horsepower the engines in the back supply to power them. Think of a fishfinder that works through solid rock.
I tried to get a picture of them but I was using my phone. I haven't figured out the camera yet. I may have to find a picture online...those great big rumbly sonic thingies and the earnest-bug looking vehicles that carried them...
#####
Interstates in Texas and Arkansas (and other broad flat places) are sometimes laid out on a very wide right-of-way, with an access road parallelling the interstate on both sides. Every so often, a cutover allows entrance and exit.
If you've got the room it makes a lot of sense, but for someone who hasn't seen it before it can be a little odd. Or even disorienting, especially at night. Imagine driving through the darkness on an Interstate and suddenly seeing headlights DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU. A few seconds later you realize the interstate is curving slightly to the left, and the headlights are on the access road, which has curved just enough to put him in your line of sight. Sure, that makes sense. But for that first second or so...
The other thing it does is make access "ramps" VERY short. As in, less than a hundred feet. As in two truck lengths? Slowing from 65 to 35 or less before hitting the end of one of those...
#####
Sign on a warehouse snack machine: "At Work & Play, Let Saftey Lead The Way"
So who's Saftey, I wonder?
#####
Hmph. That should do for now. G'night.
(I want it, of course. But is it worth it, when I'll probably spend part of the night sweating into my sleeping bag? I might wait 'til morning and see if I'm awake enough to find the soap...)
Not especially disposed to lecturing tonight for some reason. I'm sure there are those who will want to know what's special about tonight and bottling it, but that's another story. Meanwhile I need to say something here, don't I?
How 'bout a few of the "uncategorized" little notes I've made while trundling around out here? For example:
#####
The lady who rode carefully by me this morning on one of those new "superscooters." With training wheels.
I kid you not. At first I thought she had one of those Harleys or Gold Wings you see now that have been converted to trikes, but it wasn't. It was a superscooter. And it had its standard rear end, complete with rear wheel. And two more rear wheels. One to each side, with suspension.
I had vaguely heard of such things, but had never seen one before. I gather they, like the trikes, are aimed at people who want the sensation of riding a motorbike but don't trust their sense of balance. Judging by this lady's demeanor, she wasn't really enjoying the experience as such, though. I suspect she was more interested in a SMALL car. The fuel crisis marches on...
#####
Some time back (I WISH I'd made a note of where) I wandered into a rest stop and discovered something I could have sworn was impossible. A hot-air hand dryer that works.
It took me a moment to figure out how to use it. It had a depression in the top, as if it thought it was a water fountain. You put your hands into the depression, and a narrow, high-speed stream of air roared DOWNWARD onto your hands. It was warm, yes, but it worked mostly by blasting the water off your skin into the bottom of the depression.
I think it was developed by the same guy that did the Dyson vacuum cleaner. It would have to be someone that off-the-wall, I guess. It worked, anyway. The first time I went into an ecologically aware restroom and didn't leave wiping my hands on my pants legs.
#####
Seen on a billboard advertising a casino near Memphis:
A 50's pinup-type photo. Actually fairly modest, as such things went even in the 50's. But the caption:
"Ample Space to Park Your Big Rig"
Ewwwwwww...
#####
From a journal entry I made to myself in February:
While picking up a load in Texas, I saw a couple of pilot trucks leading a "Work Convoy" down the road--then up the drive and into the parking lot where I was waiting at a dock. The "Work Convoy" was three odd-looking vehicles--four-wheel drive on what looked like tractor tires, with a great big diesel engine in the back and a big platter-looking thing underneath. They would trundle earnestly along for a hundred or two feet, and then stop, lower their "platters," rev up the diesels, and make the ground hum beneath them. After a few minutes of this, they would pick up the "platters" and trundle earnestly along again.
I finally couldn't stand it any longer, so I asked one of the drivers what he was doing. "Looking for minerals," he said. "Especially gas and oil."
As best I can tell, these things have replaced the old "dynamite and seismograph" method of underground mapping--for some purposes at least. The "platters" are apparently subsonic transducers, and need the kind of horsepower the engines in the back supply to power them. Think of a fishfinder that works through solid rock.
I tried to get a picture of them but I was using my phone. I haven't figured out the camera yet. I may have to find a picture online...those great big rumbly sonic thingies and the earnest-bug looking vehicles that carried them...
#####
Interstates in Texas and Arkansas (and other broad flat places) are sometimes laid out on a very wide right-of-way, with an access road parallelling the interstate on both sides. Every so often, a cutover allows entrance and exit.
If you've got the room it makes a lot of sense, but for someone who hasn't seen it before it can be a little odd. Or even disorienting, especially at night. Imagine driving through the darkness on an Interstate and suddenly seeing headlights DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU. A few seconds later you realize the interstate is curving slightly to the left, and the headlights are on the access road, which has curved just enough to put him in your line of sight. Sure, that makes sense. But for that first second or so...
The other thing it does is make access "ramps" VERY short. As in, less than a hundred feet. As in two truck lengths? Slowing from 65 to 35 or less before hitting the end of one of those...
#####
Sign on a warehouse snack machine: "At Work & Play, Let Saftey Lead The Way"
So who's Saftey, I wonder?
#####
Hmph. That should do for now. G'night.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Getting around
After a few days at home, I came back to the terminal and spent the day waiting for a load. Looks like I'll have one for the morning, but today was very, ah, relaxed.
Waiting for a load, you have to just hang around. If you miss the satcom message, you may be out some money. On the other hand, there are days when you can't go anywhere anyway. Either you have a load and you can't deliver it today (as happened in Thomasville (see previous post)), or you've been working hard lately, and you're running out of hours.*
That last hasn't happened to me lately, but it was not that uncommon when I was out for three or four weeks at a time. And if you can't haul anything, you might as well play tourist. If you can. We've discussed how close the average truckstop is to the average sightseer's haven. Thomasville was barely within walking distance--MY walking distance.
I have a folding bicycle I picked up years ago. It looks funny and it isn't too fast, but it folds up almost to suitcase size. Back when I was doing the 3-to-4-weeks thing I was seriously thinking bringing it along. I wouldn't have used it much, but a few times it would have been so nice.
I was actually starting to look for a place to hide it in the cab. But then I ended up on my present assignment. And now, unless something strange happens (like an Interstate backing up for nearly twelve hours...see previous), I'm not out for more than a week at a time. I hardly ever run out of hours.
And though I do have to sit for a day every so often, it doesn't happen enough to justify hauling around thirty-plus pounds of folded-up two-wheeler.
So this week I'm trying something else. Some time back we got one of those silly little scooters you find at Wal-Mart's and the like. And I discovered, to my great surprise, that it actually does let you get around faster. Sort of. A bike will leave you in the dust, of course. But on level ground it's faster than walking. And downhill it's kinda nice. And uphill? Well, it weighs, what, five pounds? You pick it up, trudge up the hill, and you're still ahead of the game.
It's tiny, it's light, and it fits in the cargo bin on the truck. All I lose is dignity. We'll see whether it's worth the trouble.
-----
*If you're lucky you run out of hours on a weekend, when there isn't much to do regardless. Sunday is a good day for a restart.
Waiting for a load, you have to just hang around. If you miss the satcom message, you may be out some money. On the other hand, there are days when you can't go anywhere anyway. Either you have a load and you can't deliver it today (as happened in Thomasville (see previous post)), or you've been working hard lately, and you're running out of hours.*
That last hasn't happened to me lately, but it was not that uncommon when I was out for three or four weeks at a time. And if you can't haul anything, you might as well play tourist. If you can. We've discussed how close the average truckstop is to the average sightseer's haven. Thomasville was barely within walking distance--MY walking distance.
I have a folding bicycle I picked up years ago. It looks funny and it isn't too fast, but it folds up almost to suitcase size. Back when I was doing the 3-to-4-weeks thing I was seriously thinking bringing it along. I wouldn't have used it much, but a few times it would have been so nice.
I was actually starting to look for a place to hide it in the cab. But then I ended up on my present assignment. And now, unless something strange happens (like an Interstate backing up for nearly twelve hours...see previous), I'm not out for more than a week at a time. I hardly ever run out of hours.
And though I do have to sit for a day every so often, it doesn't happen enough to justify hauling around thirty-plus pounds of folded-up two-wheeler.
So this week I'm trying something else. Some time back we got one of those silly little scooters you find at Wal-Mart's and the like. And I discovered, to my great surprise, that it actually does let you get around faster. Sort of. A bike will leave you in the dust, of course. But on level ground it's faster than walking. And downhill it's kinda nice. And uphill? Well, it weighs, what, five pounds? You pick it up, trudge up the hill, and you're still ahead of the game.
It's tiny, it's light, and it fits in the cargo bin on the truck. All I lose is dignity. We'll see whether it's worth the trouble.
-----
*If you're lucky you run out of hours on a weekend, when there isn't much to do regardless. Sunday is a good day for a restart.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Driving in the rain yesterday,
I passed four wrecks in the space of thirty minutes. Three cars and a tractor trailer. All four had lost control in the left lane and ended up in the median. All but the tractor trailer had spun out before it was over; and the big rig looked like its trailer might have tried to swap ends before it stopped. And I could tell that three of them had hit one of those cable "fences" they're stringing up all up and down the Interstates now. The big rig's trailer was still hard up against it.
Apparently it's really easy to lose it swinging into the left lane on a wet road. And apparently when you do you can lose it big.
And apparently those silly fence-looking things do work--two of the cars looked like they might have ended up in the oncoming lanes without it (one hit it HARD--there were still pieces of it jammed into the cables). And the big rig might have made it too, if it didn't flip over on the way. I don't think I'll chuckle quite so much about those things now.
Scary and educational. Hmph.
Apparently it's really easy to lose it swinging into the left lane on a wet road. And apparently when you do you can lose it big.
And apparently those silly fence-looking things do work--two of the cars looked like they might have ended up in the oncoming lanes without it (one hit it HARD--there were still pieces of it jammed into the cables). And the big rig might have made it too, if it didn't flip over on the way. I don't think I'll chuckle quite so much about those things now.
Scary and educational. Hmph.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Vocabulary lesson #2
I thought about writing up a theoretical exercise today. What if, when I finally got weighed after yesterday's adventure, I'd found the load was too out-of-balance to fix by moving the tandems? Not impossible, after all. I've come close to it before.
So let's say the load was too far forward, and the tandems were slightly too heavy. And although I might get someone to fix that by going back to the shipper, I would (assuming all this) not dare try it. I barely have time to make my first delivery on time as it is. Going back now would guarantee a service failure. Not A Good Thing.
So what to do? Well, I would have to lighten ship. And the only thing I can get rid of that's near the front of the truck is fuel.* Dumping it would be a NO-NO, even if I had a way to do it (can you say Environmental Protection Agency?). But it's the only weight I could (hypothetically) get rid of. And the only untraceable way to get rid of it would be to burn it.
You see why this is hypothetical. I am presumably meditating on techniques to deliberately waste fuel, while driving a truck that is not legal, hoping to waste enough fuel that it WILL be legal by the time it passes a weigh station. No truck driver would do such a thing. Really...
But I might use the notions I came up with in an article someday. After all, if you know how to waste fuel, you also know something about NOT wasting it. And one of the tools I considered for this heinous exercise seemed appropriate for a vocabulary lesson.
#####
Jake Brake
The common term for any of several devices that allow a diesel engine to resist the forward motion of the truck instead of encouraging it. They usually work by increasing the back-pressure in the engine during the exhaust stroke--so the pistons have to work at moving the gas in the cylinders, instead of the gas working to move the pistons. A side effect of this process is a very different (and often loud) sound from the engine. If you've ever wondered why an eighteen-wheeler slowing down makes more noise than it does speeding up, now you know.
The name derives from the "Jacob's brake"--one of the earliest and most common of these devices.
See also: Jake, Engine Brake, Compression Brake, Exhaust Brake, Engine Retarder
#####
The Jake Brake has done wonderful things for truck safety. It greatly reduces the need for the regular brakes on steep downhill grades, thus greatly reducing the chances of those brakes overheating and failing. The Jake Brake and improvements in brake-lining technology have, between them, cut down drastically on runaway-truck-ramp use, and made it possible for truckers to actually laugh when they hear Harry Chapin singing "Thirty Thousand Pounds of Bananas."
On the other hand, it has also given certain truckers a whole new way of making their trucks sound cool (read "LOUD"). The urge to make lots of noise to impress passersby with your ride is not confined to bikers and hot-rodders. This particular misuse of technology has resulted in many towns outlawing the use of Jake Brakes. Usually, thank goodness, the towns in question aren't on steep hillsides...
And it's not perfect, even when used as intended. For example, it's a bad idea to use the Jake when it's raining, or icy. It only slows down the drive wheels--not the steers, and (here's the real kicker) not the tandems. Worst-case scenario: All of a sudden the front of the rig is trying to slow down and the back isn't. Or else the drives start skidding, and the middle of the rig is now free to go wherever the mood takes it. Either way, Not Good.
#####
There. Useful (or at least interesting) information. So, you see? A good writer can get ideas even when he's imagining bad things.
-----
* If any of this had really happened, the smart thing would have been to pick up the load and THEN fuel. It's a lot easier not to put fuel in than it is to take it out.
So let's say the load was too far forward, and the tandems were slightly too heavy. And although I might get someone to fix that by going back to the shipper, I would (assuming all this) not dare try it. I barely have time to make my first delivery on time as it is. Going back now would guarantee a service failure. Not A Good Thing.
So what to do? Well, I would have to lighten ship. And the only thing I can get rid of that's near the front of the truck is fuel.* Dumping it would be a NO-NO, even if I had a way to do it (can you say Environmental Protection Agency?). But it's the only weight I could (hypothetically) get rid of. And the only untraceable way to get rid of it would be to burn it.
You see why this is hypothetical. I am presumably meditating on techniques to deliberately waste fuel, while driving a truck that is not legal, hoping to waste enough fuel that it WILL be legal by the time it passes a weigh station. No truck driver would do such a thing. Really...
But I might use the notions I came up with in an article someday. After all, if you know how to waste fuel, you also know something about NOT wasting it. And one of the tools I considered for this heinous exercise seemed appropriate for a vocabulary lesson.
#####
Jake Brake
The common term for any of several devices that allow a diesel engine to resist the forward motion of the truck instead of encouraging it. They usually work by increasing the back-pressure in the engine during the exhaust stroke--so the pistons have to work at moving the gas in the cylinders, instead of the gas working to move the pistons. A side effect of this process is a very different (and often loud) sound from the engine. If you've ever wondered why an eighteen-wheeler slowing down makes more noise than it does speeding up, now you know.
The name derives from the "Jacob's brake"--one of the earliest and most common of these devices.
See also: Jake, Engine Brake, Compression Brake, Exhaust Brake, Engine Retarder
#####
The Jake Brake has done wonderful things for truck safety. It greatly reduces the need for the regular brakes on steep downhill grades, thus greatly reducing the chances of those brakes overheating and failing. The Jake Brake and improvements in brake-lining technology have, between them, cut down drastically on runaway-truck-ramp use, and made it possible for truckers to actually laugh when they hear Harry Chapin singing "Thirty Thousand Pounds of Bananas."
On the other hand, it has also given certain truckers a whole new way of making their trucks sound cool (read "LOUD"). The urge to make lots of noise to impress passersby with your ride is not confined to bikers and hot-rodders. This particular misuse of technology has resulted in many towns outlawing the use of Jake Brakes. Usually, thank goodness, the towns in question aren't on steep hillsides...
And it's not perfect, even when used as intended. For example, it's a bad idea to use the Jake when it's raining, or icy. It only slows down the drive wheels--not the steers, and (here's the real kicker) not the tandems. Worst-case scenario: All of a sudden the front of the rig is trying to slow down and the back isn't. Or else the drives start skidding, and the middle of the rig is now free to go wherever the mood takes it. Either way, Not Good.
#####
There. Useful (or at least interesting) information. So, you see? A good writer can get ideas even when he's imagining bad things.
-----
* If any of this had really happened, the smart thing would have been to pick up the load and THEN fuel. It's a lot easier not to put fuel in than it is to take it out.
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